Chapter Four Malcolm Davenport #3
“We’ve all been bad. I’ll give you that,” Big-Mama says. “Bodies have piled up too high over the years. So this time, this match must end the curse. If there are no Baldwins left, then there’s no one to fight. Their bloodline is gone, and we’re free.”
I want to argue with her, but there’s no point. Her mind isn’t changing. But part of me wonders … They’re in the same boat as us, stuck in this devil’s bargain. Seems to me we have more in common than we have differences.
“Big-Mama!” Jayla says. “I have ideas about how we should deal with them. We got to—”
“Kill ’em!” Pop-Pop finishes. “Plain and simple. They killed my sons. Killed the father of these children. Destroying that family is the only solution. Injured or not, I’m going to use the last drop of my strength to help take them out!
To end it now. I want none of you to have to go seventy years always looking over your shoulder. ”
“The answer to bloody problems isn’t always bloodier solutions!” I blurt out. But the fact is, I’m not sure Big-Mama and Pop-Pop are wrong. The curse can bubble up in us and bring violent urges that make any of us want to seek revenge. A bloodlust.
The room explodes with more arguments. But there’s no point. None of these stubborn folks are about to change their mind.
“Enough!” Big-Mama shouts.
The room turns silent in an instant.
“I’m tired.” Big-Mama sighs. “Bone-tired of burying those I love,” she says.
“This is a far cry from what the ancestors expected when they struck a deal with that witch, Sabine. They thought magic meant freedom, but the Tether makes it a jail with its own death sentence. Hell, I’d die before I’ll accept that it’s the only legacy left for this family.
We must end this. Even if that means burying every one of those Baldwins. ”
Big-Mama drums her fingers on the tabletop. “I have something that might help us disorient them before we attack.” She takes Jayla’s arm, flashing the tattoos. “It will magnify the effects of the power in her tattoos.”
I rock back in my chair, feeling shaky inside. If Big-Mama has a strategy, there’s no way she’s backing down.
“My spell won’t work unless we have Baldwin blood.
Of the fallen. Let’s just make sure the fallen is a Baldwin this time.
” She flicks her wrist, and the card changes again.
It melts into a closer image of the faces of Emma and the rest of the Baldwin family, smiling in front of their circus.
“Look at this family. Study these faces so good you’d know them behind a disguise, because we don’t know what they may be planning.
No more fussing. It’s time to remember who the real threat is. ”
I run a hand over my hair, defeated. After all Big-Mama said, I know the future is going to be bloody because Baldwins don’t go down easy.
And I’m not trying to see anybody in my family go down at all.
But my heart swears Big-Mama’s wrong this time.
Seems to me the real enemy we should take aim at is the Tether. The curse itself.
With a final flick of her wrist, she melts the card like gold wax, and it vanishes. “Now, shut up and eat before all this talk of murder and death kills your appetites,” she barks.
The large plates at the center of the table rise and float to each of us, unattended serving spoons heaping large helpings of eggs, French toast, and other eats onto our plates. The steam rising from them assures me that Big-Mama’s magic kept the food warm while we were talking.
And at long last, my sixteen-year-old sister, Imani, slinks in, late as ever, wearing an orange dress.
Her chestnut-brown fingers toy with a long orange ponytail.
She always matches her silky straight ponytail with whatever clothes she’s wearing.
But her dark lipstick don’t change. She gives us a big smile as she eases into a seat.
“Where you been?” Big-Mama asks.
“I overslept,” she replies, blinking wide eyes with matching silver lines of paint around them.
“That’s no excuse.” Big-Mama cuts her eyes at Imani. “You know better, so do better. I needed you here to tell everyone about the vision you had last night.”
“Okay.” Imani’s eyes look worried. “When I look at the future—” She pauses, blowing a bubble.
It pops, and she peels the pink gum off of her lips with dark nails.
“—I see Emma Baldwin. Red-eyed ravens. And a river of blood. See awful things. I can’t tell who will survive …
if anyone will.” Everyone around me gasps, but Imani just sighs.
“A storm’s coming.” She flicks her orange ponytail and blows another bubble.
“So I figured I needed to rest up for it.”
Big-Mama huffs. “It’s important that you be a part of these conversations, Imani. From now on, if I call everybody to the table, I expect everybody to be here. I’m sick of having to repeat myself.”
Imani’s face lights up. “Why come earlier? I saw breakfast starting now.”
“Ma-a-an,” I grumble. How come she gets to use her psychic ability to wriggle out of hearing Big-Mama’s speeches when I’m forced to listen to them?
Big-Mama looks like she’s going to backhand Imani. “You need to listen and be around more, Imani. You don’t see everything. Just possible futures that change based on our choices. Oh, and you’ll be doing these dishes, since you wanted to stroll in late and wrong. Bet you ain’t seen that.”