Chapter Thirteen Malcolm Davenport
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Malcolm Davenport
The World’s Fair is a kaleidoscope of color and sound—white buildings like ice castles, people wearing clothes of all shades, and musicians in loud suits playing louder music.
They make me wish I’d brought my guitar.
On the cobblestone path beside me, a child tugs at his mother’s skirt, eyes wide as he points to a juggler tossing red balls, while a vendor in a red-and-white pinstriped vest shouts, “Caramel popcorn. Get your caramel corn here!,” and children walk by eating chocolate candies and bowls of colorful fruit coated in a veil of sugar syrup that makes my belly grumble.
Finally, the universe seems to slow as the crowd parts for Emma.
Her brown skin shimmers in the sunlight.
She blinks deep brown eyes with bursts of hazel like drizzles of honey on a praline.
And lashes. Her lashes are so long a man could get tied up in thoughts of them.
Then she crinkles a cute broad nose. Her fingers comb the dark curls around her face.
And for some reason those curls make me think of the ocean at midnight.
She looks around, searching the sea of people to find me.
Our eyes meet. I smile, and she gives me a little wave. And my heart betrays me. It starts jumping like a bullfrog.
Emma weaves through a parade of jugglers in sapphire vests adorned with shimmering sequins.
They toss emerald-colored balls around her.
But she eclipses them. Colors fade next to her cotton-candy-pink dress.
It’s full of tiered skirts that bury her hips, but a tight bodice lined in bows in the middle shows off some of her dangerous curves.
I race through the crowd and meet her near the carriages parked by the curb.
As I near her, fluffy balloon animals held by clowns with faces painted in scary exaggerated smiles block my path. I pivot around them.
“Hey,” I say to Emma.
“Hi,” she replies in a breathy voice. “You’re bright and early.”
“I’m early, but not always bright,” I joke.
Just when I think Emma can’t get any more beautiful, her fluttering dress blushes into a bewitching candy-apple-red shade. People gasp, mouths hitched wide as they start to gather around. A child beside Emma points. “How’d she do it, Mommy?”
I’m worried that we might attract bad attention, and my eyes dart all over.
“Let’s go,” I say, guiding Emma toward a carriage with thick vines of gold leaf climbing around its frame. The vines blossom at each edge into painted flowers whose centers gleam with tiny rubies in the sunlight.
“What?”
“Trust me.”
“Trust you?” she huffs, pulling her arm from my grip. “Your family stole from me. Where’s my necklace?”
“You’ll get it soon,” I reply. A powerful white horse tosses its head, its long mane shiny in the wind.
It jerks its red-and-gold muzzle, adorned with a velvet bridle, as I approach the driver and slide him some cash.
The animal’s breath mists out in a funky haze, making me want to puke.
The sun glints off the gold-plated trim of the carriage.
I open the door and look at Emma. “Your carriage awaits, little star.”
Eyeing me cautiously, Emma reluctantly lets me help her inside. “What’s going on?” she asks, creasing her forehead. She glances back nervously as the carriage clip-clops forward.
“Trust me,” I say again as we ride through the fair.
I lean over, looking at the carriage wheels.
They resemble intertwining branches, complete with leaves forged from gold.
“We had to get out of there. Before someone who saw that change called you a witch.” Or some prejudiced people hate on her lovely outfit and try to tear her down because they’re insecure.
She smirks. “You think I made it to eighteen without being called that before? Or called worse?”
I shake my head. “I just didn’t want you dealing with that today.”
Emma reaches out to brush lint off my shoulder.
Her fleeting touch sends a surge of energy through me, stirring a blend of desire and the darker urge to break her arm.
The bloodlust simmers, whispering that I should kill her now and avoid the Tether.
But I shove those awful thoughts away. I inch back, putting a safe distance between us.
I can never predict when the curse’s bloodlust will bubble up, but I hoped I wouldn’t feel it today.
I wonder if it ever bothers her. She hit me with stardust the day we met.
So maybe it bugs her too. I try to think of the things I like about her to help calm those evil impulses.
I think of her bravery, her inner strength, the way she charged backstage to help her brother.
I look at the crowd and gulp breaths. As I get myself together, she’s quiet.
It makes me wonder if she is struggling under the weight of the curse too.
I try to distract myself with thoughts of the last time I experienced this version of Chicago.
It was way back when Dad was alive. My parents were teaching me how to navigate safely as an African American time traveler.
I dig into my suit pocket and feel hard binding brush my fingertips.
I find the small red guidebook Dad had made for my siblings and me, filled with details of safer times and locations for our travels and warning us of events that could toss us headfirst into danger—like the Tulsa massacre and Rosewood.
I smile at the memory of my father, of a time when my mom was well, gripping the guidebook tightly.
Emma shifts on the mossy-green velvet seat. We wobble along to the sound of the horseshoes clip-clopping over the cobblestone street. Stilt walkers in striped trousers of bold red and white tower above our carriage, their red shirts trimmed with golden tassels blowing in the breeze.
“What’s going on with you, Malcolm?” Emma stares at the handle on the carriage door.
It’s made from crystals that reflect the light, dappling the space around us.
“Where are we going?” Her nervous brown eyes catch the light, making the tiny specks of gold inside them glimmer.
“Is this some type of game? Or are you serious about giving back my necklace and wanting to end the Tether?”
“Do you always just dive in?” Clearly small talk isn’t her style today; I wonder if it ever is.
I glance down at my three-piece navy suit with the sling cradling my sore arm.
I’d thought I’d looked cool before, but now the suit feels dark and plain next to her glamour. But I love it—being next to her.
“You clean up nice,” I lie.
She looks better than nice. Emma is beyond beautiful.
I’m not sure I got the words to describe the way she looks in red.
I’m almost certain a face that flawless can’t be trusted.
So I leave it at nice. Her hair is pinned up in the back, but curls frame her flawless face as the corners of her mouth inch toward a smile.
She smooths her dress. The fabric cools into a sky-blue shade, matching the air above us.
“Thanks.” Her eyes are sad for a second as she says, “My grandmother enchanted this for Grace. I knew it would change styles to fit the time because she wore it sometimes when she’d travel for scouting missions. I didn’t know it changed colors.”
I can tell by the dip in her mood that Grace meant a lot to her. So I try to change the subject, lift her mood. “Have you been to this fair before?”
“Look,” Emma says. “I didn’t come to talk. If you really want to end the Tether, I have some ideas.”
We ride farther down the street. A colorful troupe of acrobats do twisting somersaults in the middle of the plaza. Their bodies and limbs flip, twirl, and spin through the air in unified precision.
Emma’s dark eyes scan the people and the horizon as if she is already charting the best route for us to take. “We need to understand the Tether if we want to know how to stop it. And you need to give me back Grace’s necklace before I can trust you enough to try to do anything with you.”
“I will,” I say. “You’re right. We gotta know the witch’s history.” I raise my voice over the crowd. “She could be the key to ending the curse.” I dig into my pocket to grab the necklace, but the horse jerks, the carriage jolting, and I fumble. It gets shoved deeper in my pocket.
Emma glances at another troupe of jugglers. This one twirls flaming batons that flip and spin in the air across from us. She nods and then looks at me. “Malcolm, I think the past Tethers could have answers or clues, too.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “We gotta research all of that. I can go back in time, ask my ancestors what they know about the Tether and the witch. They can help us learn more about how our families got tangled up with this mess in the first place.”
The horse clip-clops along the road. Emma gazes at a fire-eater who draws gasps from the crowd, but she doesn’t seem impressed. “I’ll explore my grandmother’s library,” she says. “It’s packed with family secrets. Stuff about the witch and the Tether must be there somewhere.”
I dig into my pocket again and hand her the necklace.
She smiles, and the world lights up. Emma clasps the necklace around her neck. “This means everything to me.” The sun hits the pendant on her necklace, and it glimmers like a chained star, painting small rainbows across the smooth brown skin of her neck.
Her eyes paint slow up-and-down streaks on me, but her voice is soft and timid. “Thanks.” She notices my sling, and her gaze darkens with concern. “How’d you get hurt?”
“Battle training,” I grumble.
She frowns. “I hate it too,” she says. “We gotta stop this. Somehow.”