He laughs, and I see in his eyes that he’s been thinking about me, too, tortured by dreams of us together and in love. He picks me up and twirls me around, and I laugh into his neck, which smells just as amazing as I remembered. Gran said my heart summoned him. Now that I am in his arms again, I believe her. Devin is part of my happy ending.
“Hey now, none of that,” Leo says, getting out of the car. “Aren’t you the hooligan from the party? You’re real brave showing up here again.”
Devin puts me down gently and straightens his shirt. “Sir, I mean no disrespect with your daughter. I’m just here to say hello.”
“He’s not my father; he’s my godfather,” I whisper to Devin.
“Wait, who’s disrespecting my sister?” Zion says, coming out of the van, puffing his chest needlessly.
“Sissy, way to reel him in with the long-distance lasso!” Aurora chuckles, following Zion.
“Arden, is this your boyfriend? Please introduce us!” Mom says, fluffing her hair as she closes the passenger door.
“Everyone, seriously, a girl is trying to have a private conversation. Thank you for the backup, but I got this.” I wave everyone inside the house. “Yup, I’ll see you in a minute. Goodbye.” Once the front door is closed, I turn back to Devin, fearing he’s annoyed by my nosy family, but instead I see that he’s smiling. “What?” I ask, as he wraps his arms around my waist.
“It’s clear from their suspicion of me that your family adores you.”
“I’m sorry. They’re so embarrassing,” I mumble, biting my lip.
He sighs and strokes my cheek. “You’re adorable. There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re precious goods, and you’re well loved. I want to earn the right to love you like they do.”
I sigh and lean into his strong chest. His heart is beating as fast as mine. The moment feels so perfect, I’m almost afraid to believe in it. Am I living in a dream? No, this is what it feels like when everything is in its right place.
“But can I say one thing without sounding like a wuss?”
“Okay.” I look up into his gray eyes.
“I did not know you had such a very big older brother.” He frowns.
I laugh. “I didn’t either. It’s kinda a long story.” I look to the house and the curtains shift quickly. I shake my head and look back to Devin. “I should get inside.”
“Yes,” he says, holding my hand. “I’ll let you go. Sorry not sorry on the semi-stalking,” he smiles shyly.
“It’s okay,” I say, grinning. “I’m glad your mission was a success.” I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes mine back, then laces his fingers through mine. I close my eyes and sigh quietly.
“So, I know you have to go in, and you’re probably jetlagged, but could I call you tomorrow night to ask you out?” He caresses the skin on the back of my hand. In his eyes I see how excited he is to start living the future he sees in his dreams. Me, too.
“Yes,” I say, but suddenly I’m overwhelmed with shyness. I look down at the ground. This gorgeous, sweet guy wants and has been waiting for and dreaming of awkward, introverted, bookworm me? What do I know about being in a relationship? He can’t want just me, the way I am, right?
The answer comes loud and clear: Why not? You are a goddess, Arden. You deserve a true and deep love because that’s what you give to everyone, naturally.
I breathe deeply, holding this truth. I’m at the end of a journey that’s made me stronger, more ready than ever for whatever comes next. I can be fearless in the love I give others, and I can be fearless in the love I demand for myself, too.
“Arden?” Devin whispers.
I look up into his lovely eyes and am speechless.
“I’m really glad you’re home.” He leans in, and we are kissing. His lips are soft, questioning, and teasing against my mouth. It feels amazing, and my entire body is tingling, and as my lips open, I hear a voice cry from the porch.
“No babies on the front lawn, okay?”
We turn to see Aurora peeking out from the front window
“Rora!” I scream at her, as Devin laughs. She closes the window, and Devin buries his face in my hair, breathing deeply.
“So that was pretty embarrassing,” I frown, and he chuckles.
“One of these days we won’t have an audience,” he says. “I can wait.”
I blush and look away.
“I promise I’m leaving now,” he yells to the house, then looks back to me with a grin. “But before I do, happy belated birthday.” He hands me a wrapped package.
I can feel that it’s a book. I smile widely.
“It’s nothing big,” he says, “My cousin was stationed in Japan and told me about this story. I thought you might like it.”
I open the package and find a copy of Mai the Psychic Girl, Volume 1. “Thank you!” I beam at him. “This is so thoughtful, Devin. I love this book. I’ve been wanting to read it again.” I kiss his lips softly, then lean in for a warm hug. Eighteen looks pretty good on you, Arden, the Psychic Goddess Twin.
“I’ll speak to you soon,” Devin says.
I hold onto his hand when he pulls away. I can’t deny that he belongs in the life I’m starting, and it doesn’t feel right that he’s leaving. Be fearless, Arden.
“You should come meet everyone. Like, officially, not as the random guy in my bedroom or stalker mauling me on the lawn,” I say.
“So, as your boyfriend?” he smiles.
I gulp. “Wow, you’re pushy,” I say, my heart threatening to explode.
“‘Wow, you’re a pushy boyfriend,’ you mean?” he wiggles his eyebrow at me.
“I don’t think I said that …” I reply, feigning confusion, biting my lip to keep from smiling.
“You know what? It’s okay, I can wait on the title. Because I know I’m going to earn it.”
“And aren’t we confident!?” I laugh, walking away from Devin’s heat.
“Yes, well …” he shrugs. “It’s not that complicated. It feels right in my dreams, and it feels right in real life. Can I mention how I’m genuinely enjoying the weirdness of our love story thus far?”
I smile at him over my shoulder. “Well, if you enjoy weird, then you’re definitely at the right house. We couldn’t be normal if we tried.” I have a lot to tell Devin, but I know he’ll be able to take it.
“Who wants normal? Beautiful things happen when you let life be what it is,” Devin says simply.
I stop and turn around, speechless. His words summarize exactly the feelings dancing in my head. The universe, or my goddess heart, definitely did good picking this man for me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, reaching out to link his fingers in mine.
“Nothing, it’s just …” I laugh at the irony. “I’m not used to people reading my mind.” I kiss Devin’s hand and then open the door. We cross over the threshold, but freeze at the sound of Mom shouting, “Aurora, why did four sets of neighbors leave messages about a party?” Followed by a scream. “And who cracked my mermaid painting?”
“Oh, shit,” Aurora says, appearing from the hallway, her shoulders hunched in guilt. “I’m already hella busted for the rager. Arden, can you please, please just tell her you did the mermaid in?” She walks away assuming I will say yes. Typical.
“Welcome to my life.” I say to Devin, shaking my head.
“Thanks. I’m quite happy to be here,” he responds.
I smile and really feel the joy from my head to my toes. Even though our evil grandfather is still out loose, my family is safe and together again. We’re home, and I’m happy to be here, too.
EPILOGUE
Teresh sits on a plush grey couch, silently watching Ezekiel pace against the white-and-black-tiled floor of their London hotel. It is hours past midnight; two nights since Zion’s confrontation with the twins. Teresh has watched his father grow more agitated in the last forty-eight hours than he has ever seen in his long life. Ezekiel has refused to eat or sleep. He will only pace the length of their suit
e, muttering, shaking his head, and smacking the walls hour after hour.
Teresh is full of thoughts. Thoughts about the fact that he and Ezekiel had raced away from the fight like cowards. Thoughts that Zion never met up with them at their safe house and was clearly defeated. Thoughts that Ezekiel’s century-long plan for revenge and global domination had fallen completely apart. But still, as the hours roll on from day to night, Teresh says nothing.
“We have failed!” Ezekiel yells, slamming his fists against the wall like a child exploding into a temper tantrum. Teresh sighs at the outburst, thankful they reserved the entire floor and have no neighbors to complain about the noise.
“Ghani’s latest vision has revealed that Zion is back in her arms along with Selene and the twins—or will be very soon. The twins are alive, the power has not been transferred, we have failed. Zion has failed. I have failed. I have failed. I. Have. Failed!” Ezekiel beats his chest between the words, marching back and forth in a continuous loop.
From the couch Teresh clears his throat, and Ezekiel looks up, seeming to notice his son for the first time in a while.
“Teresh. Speak to me. I know there must be many thoughts running through your mind.” Ezekiel walks toward the couch, his arms outstretched. His voice cracking. “I never considered this outcome! I never thought it was possible—that Zion would fail!”
Teresh bites his tongue, struggling to contain his explosive thoughts. He had considered this outcome, oh yes. Ezekiel would never hear of it, of course. Could not conceive of anything less than Zion’s success, overtaking the white world, and toppling Ghani and The Fates.
But for the first time, Teresh now has the advantage over his father. He is now the one with a plan for action. Teresh exhales loud and deep, standing up tall from his place on the couch, overcome by a feeling of power—like a dragon breathing fire for the very first time.
“Father …” Teresh begins in a low voice, but Ezekiel has continued his pacing and muttering.
“Father—stop!” Teresh commands sharply, his voice booming in the air. Ezekiel freezes and turns to his son, his eyes wild with madness.
“What do you have to say, Teresh? There is nothing you can say to fix this! Nothing can make the future what we wanted now that Zion is lost! Nothing!”
Ezekiel rips an abstract painting from the wall and screams as he throws it, frame and all, towards Teresh’s head. But Teresh holds up his arms and easily blocks the art, tossing it aside. He takes small steps towards Ezekiel, his shoes crunching on shattered glass and tile, never losing eye contact with his father. For a moment, Teresh sees Ezekiel shiver and shrink backwards. Father is afraid of me? he considers wildly, realizing that Ezekiel is now at his most vulnerable and has nothing, no one but Teresh. Or, Father is afraid to lose me?
Either way, Teresh finally holds the power between them. A slow smile creeps on his face as he begins again, but more gently this time.
“Father, do you remember what your deepest desire was, so many years ago? The thing you wanted the most of all, that began all of this plotting against Ghani and The Fates?”
“Yes, of course I remember.” Ezekiel huffs, turning away. “It is still my deepest desire! To have the power to truly lead my people, my black men, to the prosperity I know we deserve in this life.” He sighs, dropping his frame heavily into the large black leather armchair by the door. To Teresh, Ezekiel looks suddenly so small and weary, crushed by the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Giving Ghani and our daughters these powers … a waste! It should have been me and you, my son! We should have the power to bring black justice to this white world. We were robbed from the start. But I thought, what if a grandson …”
Ezekiel trails off, his shoulders drooping as he slumps in the chair, defeated.
“You are right, Father. We were robbed.” Teresh puffs up his chest. “And who got the spoils that were meant for us?”
“Ghani. Your sisters. Your nieces. All of the women,” Ezekiel sneers.
“Then that’s who we go after to get what belongs to us,” Teresh says, his voice turning ice cold.
Ezekiel’s head snaps back to his son in surprise. “What are you saying?”
“In that order. We start with Ghani. Where it all began. We’ll end her life and move onto my sisters and nieces. We’ll keep going until The Fates themselves intervene. We’ll get the power we deserve over their dead bodies.” Teresh grinds his foot into the tile, crushing the glass to a fine dust. Without feeling, he imagines strangling the women of his family, draining the life from their bodies. And Zion. I’ll finally have the chance to kill him, too.
Ezekiel stares at Teresh with wide eyes, rising from the chair as if suddenly revived. “My son,” he whispers and folds Teresh into his arms.
They stand together, locked in silence for a long time. It is the first time Teresh can ever remember being held by his father. Part of him wants to brush off the embrace, to maintain a sense of power and distance from Ezekiel. But the other part, the larger part, never wants Ezekiel to let go. This was what he had always wanted. To be seen and adored and needed by his father. As he breathed in the scent of cigars and cinnamon and squeezed his father a bit tighter, Teresh knew he would do anything, kill anyone, to keep this feeling alive.
Eventually, Ezekiel pulls back, but he stares at Teresh, his eyes dancing with excitement for what is to come.
“Teresh, my son. I am ready.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I feel completely blessed to have had many people come into my life and help guide my path toward this great accomplishment, my first published book. While it feels “on brand” for me to want to thank from the bottom of my heart every single person I’ve ever met, including and especially those who never thought I could do this, I want to focus these pages on the very stand-out figures that helped in the tremendous growth I experienced in the past five years as I became the author of this book.
My mom: The absolute fiercest mother goddess of them all. Everything she does for me comes from the deepest well of unconditional love. And even when she doesn’t understand me or my ways, she has more belief in my spirit than could fill the galaxy. She is the true muse for this novel. She is the reason I faced my writing talents head-on (I said, okay, if I’m really writing a novel, this thing better get published, I have to do it for Mom). She is also the source of inspiration for the plot. So much of this novel is inspired by my mother and by our beautifully intense relationship, which is every color of the rainbow and their opposite tones all in one.
The other day, I recalled how when I was little, I honestly thought my mother could read my mind because she could always tell when I was trying to lie. Now, to have written a book about a mind-reading girl who gets it from her mama … I can’t help but feel an overflow of gratitude to the source. Her love for me has made me who I am, in every way possible, and her very present existence in my life has made this novel a thing. There’s too much to say for these pages, but it boils down to this: I love making art because it makes my mother proud that I am her daughter. Thank you so very much, Lady. I love you.
My big sis, Tracy: Jesus, this woman, my beautiful big sister … Look, I would be obsessed with her even if I wasn’t her little sister, but then I am, so, yeah, I could go on for a decade about my beyond-love for her. The existence of this novel is greatly due to the earth-shaking example she has set in how to be a loving and courageous black young woman. She has empowered me when I’ve been weak, forgiven me when I’ve been horrible, and helped ignite my life force when I’ve thought I might not survive. She was also the biggest backbone in me making the leap to leave my career in fashion and focus on writing. I remember asking her if I should quit a job I hated to write the novel of my dreams, terrified that she would insist I do the “reasonable” thing, and her saying, like it was no brainer, “Yeah, do it. I got you.” And she has had me, every single step of the way. There is no way I would be a writer with a book, much less a sane human, r
ight now, without my most beloved Tracyann. Everybody deserves someone like her in their life. I am so very grateful she is in mine. Thank you for everything and more.
My eldest sister, Marsha: The long distance love of my life … when I was little and she in college, she was a beacon of hope and love to me. She would mail me books and special things from her voyages and encouraged me to think about traveling and adventuring through life, too. She begged me to write her letters. She said she loved and cherished my way with words, even though I felt my life was barely worth memorializing. I have spent most of my life pining for her company and trying to do something so I’ll have a great story for her the next time we meet. I have thought about her constantly throughout this writing process, and I hope she loves this story. I also greedily hope she gives me hours of recap of every single thing she felt while reading it. Marsha, you are in these pages, and you are a deep part of why I believed this was possible. Thank you and I miss you.
Valerie, my other mother: I always love the part of the hero’s journey when they meet their mentor … I still remember the rainy evening in 2014 when I attended Valerie’s writing workshop for the first time. I had no idea for a novel or belief in myself as a serious writer, but I connected with her in a way I never have with any other writing teacher. Maybe it’s because my soul is so at peace around her that without trying I’m able to blossom; maybe it’s because when she speaks I feel transported through dimensions and time; maybe it’s because I want to be like her and make her proud. Whatever the reason, the magic she wields as a writer, teacher, editor, and coach has had a powerful effect on me. Valerie helped me become a serious writer. Valerie helped make this book possible, from start to end. Valerie is incredible. Thank you for everything you are to me and the entire universe. (The twins each give their thanks, too.)
Ms. Smith: When a prophecy is fulfilled, homage is due to the Oracle who first spoke the word. She was my fourth grade English teacher, and she loved my writing in a way that was laser focused and prophetic. She was my personal Professor Trelawney; she was insistent that I was a naturally gifted writer, that I was born to create with words, and that I would write a novel one day. I, for my part, was confused why this lady was so impressed with the drivel I produced and had concerns about her sanity. While I was busy trying to disappear from the daily bullying afforded to a “black nerd,” Ms. Smith submitted a poem I wrote to an anthology because she believed my writing was too good to not share. When it won an award and got printed in an all-youth publication, I still told her, “I’m not that good. It’s just a little poem, it’s not like I wrote a whole novel.” And she said, “Oh, but you will.” With such confidence that I went home and cried at the wonder of your deepest dream thriving outside of your own body and in someone not even related to you. Thank you, Ms. Smith. You were so right, all along.
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