Chapter Eight Emma Baldwin
CHAPTER EIGHT
Emma Baldwin
As I peek through the curtain, the unfrozen crowd looks confused. Murmurs ripple through the theater like a tidal wave, crashing against the stage. Demetri’s head jerks around, his face pale under the amber lights. His frantic gaze sweeps the room before locking on mine.
I step out from behind the glittery black curtain, my hair wild, my red gown streaked with crimson splatters from the bleeding roses in the hallway. My lungs sting, each breath scraping raw.
“Emma!” Demetri shouts, his voice slicing through the chaos—people pushing, gasping, their faces masks of confusion and fear.
Some shout at each other, while others edge toward the exits, their footsteps pounding like war drums against the wooden floor.
He pushes through the crowd, his eyes blazing with fear and fury, but his brow furrows once he has a chance to take me in.
“You’re a mess, Emma. What the hell happened? ”
I stagger forward, gripping the torn fabric of my dress. “I was frozen too,” I blurt, the lie spilling out. “It was … weird. One minute I was here, and the next I was backstage.”
“Backstage?” Suspicion curls around the word like smoke as his eyes linger on the blood streaked across my gown. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” I pause, faking confusion. “It’s not my blood.”
His lips press into a hard line. “Whose blood is it?”
“No one’s,” I bite out.
His stare hardens, his jaw tight. I know what he’s thinking, that I’m impulsive, reckless—lying. He might be right, but I’ll never admit it.
I brush past him, my heels clicking sharply against the empty stage, each step an exclamation point ending the conversation.
The heavy theater doors creak as we push them open, spilling us out into the humid night air.
Golden streetlamps cast warm light across the avenue.
The smell of popcorn and cinnamon mingles with the rich aroma of candied yams and jambalaya from the food trucks.
The city hums with life, but dread twists in my stomach when I think of going home.
“Emma,” Demetri whispers, his steps quickening beside mine. “Were you fighting someone? Are we in danger? What’s going on?”
“Everything’s fine. Just drop it.” If Demetri knew I’d chased Malcolm down a hallway dripping with blood and confronted him while staring down a flaming lion, he’d drag me home, his hand locked around my wrist, his voice a hurricane of lectures about safety and all the things I don’t want to hear.
“Emma,” he says, stopping before the magical alley we entered earlier. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
I spin to face him, frustration boiling over. “And you are? You’ve been lying and keeping secrets, Demetri. So don’t act like you’re entitled to the truth from me.”
A suffocating silence spreads between us. Finally, he exhales, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he isn’t telling me. “Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s just go home.”
We step into the alley, and the magic starts to fade as we move back into the world we left behind.
The air shifts, crackling like static. Glitter swirls around us.
The cobblestones dissolve into cracked concrete.
The brownstones, the smells and sounds of the city of Philadelphia, greet us.
My glittering gown melts away, pooling into smoke before re-forming into plain jeans and a T-shirt.
My hair untangles, the glitter evaporating as my red wig settles back into place. Only now it’s tilted.
Demetri’s transformation is just as swift. His crimson jacket shrinks into a blue T-shirt, his sleek black pants fading back into scuffed jeans. The top hat disappears, leaving his hair damp in the humid air.
“Lost my watch,” he mutters, glancing at me as we near the car. “Whatever happened back there,” he says quietly, “you don’t have to tell me. But you know Gran’s gonna want answers.”
“I know,” I whisper.
We slide into the oppressive silence of the car. On the outside, we look calm and composed, but the dread of the drama waiting at home pulls me down like a riptide.
No, I don’t owe my brother the truth. But the lies gnaw at me, sharp as a lion’s teeth sinking into my throat.
As the Bentley glides through the busy streets of New Orleans in 1922, I stare at the moon and flash a defiant grin.
The city is a steamy cauldron of scents, sounds, and secrets that boils me like a voodoo queen’s gumbo.
My confidential meeting backstage stirs in my head, along with a bubbling curiosity when I think of Malcolm Davenport’s crooked smile …
I could use him as a resource. If he’s serious about wanting to avoid “mutually assured destruction,” maybe I could use him to help me figure out if there’s a loophole or an escape hatch that could help me—us—avoid the Tether.
Can I trust him? Probably not. But if he wanted to make me a corpse, he could have tried to do it when we were alone backstage. Besides, his life is on the line too.
If Malcolm were any other boy, I would have thought he seemed kind, even charming.
But I don’t trust his last name. I’d been awestruck by Malcolm’s show, by the joy his family gave their audience.
Why kill Malcolm, that beautiful boy with a crooked smile as bright as the city’s lights?
Why fight him and risk him killing me? I’ll take any risk to end this curse.
But fear rises, relentless and filling me with dread of the future and how it will affect my family.
Demetri switches lanes, his golden-brown skin illuminated by the dim glow of streetlights.
As I look at him, I know there’s only one way I’d ever be a part of this Tether: if it meant protecting my family.
I can’t bury another family member. No matter how much my relatives drive me crazy, I’d fight to protect them.
I just don’t want to die for a stupid game.
But for Demetri, I’m scared of what I might do and who I could hurt.
If it means defending me or my brother … the world better watch out.
Demetri’s brows are in a worried line. I’d love to tell him I’m gonna meet Malcolm in two days—to get the necklace that Grace gave me back and try to figure out a path toward ending the Tether.
But he and my family would try to stop me.
So instead, I struggle to sound unbothered as I talk about other things.
But the closer we get to the house, the bigger the knot of anxiety in my stomach grows.
I ask, “Do you think they figured out I went with you?”
“Obviously,” Demetri scoffs. “They’re not fools, and you’re not invisible, Emma.” His tone is full of irritation and worry. He’s concerned about facing our family too. He’s the oldest, so he probably thinks he’ll be blamed for me tagging along.
Tension and the perfume of the city: Beignets, spices, gator blood, and the cinnamon smell of magic hang in the air like mist.
Streetlamps wash the cobblestone streets in a warm, yellow glow, casting dancing shadows on strangers walking by.
Loud, carefree laughter chimes. Elegant women sashay by in flapper dresses.
Finger waves and feathers adorn their hair, and ribbons cascade down their backs, bouncing joyfully with each step.
Men strut past with an air of mystery, fedoras casting shadows over their eyes, their double-breasted suits crisp and fitted with pristine trousers that extend over polished shoes.
Cigar smoke. Bessie Smith’s song “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home” sends a sad bluesy tune flowing from a nearby cabaret.
A smiling woman wearing a crystal-beaded dress smooths a blond bob with tapered layers as she steps off the curb in red Mary Jane shoes.
She crosses the street in front of us and passionately kisses a man in a dark suit and matching bowler hat on the corner.
It must be nice to have a real romance. Real freedom.
I wish I could dance to the music spilling out of bars and talk to the people around me, learn their stories, share my own.
But my lips and feet are stilled by the curse that plagues my family.
People smile all around us as we drive by.
The past is an ocean. A breathing current, merging with the people here enjoying their present, all blending into the ocean of time.
But I’m drowning in worry for the future.
The brewing hurricane of seeing my family after defying their orders—and worse, facing the deadly tidal wave of the Tether.
My chest aches with a nervous tightness that intensifies as we get closer to home.
My family will make this homecoming a homegoing.
But I would have been a fool not to sneak to Philadelphia to see what I am up against. The Davenports are my biggest threat, and now I know that Malcolm is the one I am supposed to battle in the Tether and I’ve had a peek at his power before being forced to fight.
Mom won’t understand. I can almost hear her fussing at me: “You’re too impulsive, Emma.
Lately, you’re always breaking the rules.
” She might be right, but I still ain’t trying to hear it.
I couldn’t let my brother face the Davenports alone.
No matter how annoying Demetri is, I love him and our dysfunctional family.
But despite the risk, I’m still going to meet Malcolm in two days.
I need the necklace Grace gave me. I can’t let go of the only piece of her left to hold on to.
And hopefully, he and I can find a way out of this deadly Tether while we’re both on the right side of the dirt.
Demetri and I arrive at home. After parking, we head past beautiful women clad in afros and black-fringed dresses, sporting shiny guns. I wish these security guards could protect me from my family’s anger, but they only shield us from unrelated threats.