Chapter Thirteen Malcolm Davenport #2
I nod. There’s crazy energy between us. I got a lot I wanna say.
But I bite back the words because of our mission and her last name.
The carriage rounds a bend, and we pass a flock of beautiful dancers.
None of them are as pretty as Emma, though.
They flutter and sway in their dresses, a whirlwind of midnight blue with gold embroidery turning in circles, arms skillfully raised as they grip sharp daggers that gleam blindingly bright in the sun.
I bet Emma could dance like them. She walks like she’s got rhythm.
Hell, Emma’s so tough that I bet she could even take out a pirate if she held a dagger. I smile. I love a strong woman.
Emma stares at the blades without blinking as the dancers twirl to the rhythm in a blur of color and light. “Have you ever killed anyone before?” she asks.
The beat of the drums vibrates through the carriage, matching the racing of my heart. I look at Emma and wonder if her beautiful smile is real or if it’s a mask covering threats. “Have you?”
She looks away. “Maybe we should stick to talking about the things we can change.”
Damn. She has. That vulnerability and pain draws me in, makes me wanna know what caused it.
Emma leans in close, her lips hovering near my ear. Her breath is warm and smells like honey. It sends a chill through me.
“If we stick together,” she says, “we can break the curse. We can save our families. Save each other.”
Those words were so much more than I’d hoped to hear.
Our eyes lock, then I look at the full beauty of her heart-shaped lips.
I sure hope her words are true and that she isn’t playing me with pretty lies before trying to push a dagger in my heart.
“No doubt,” I say, nodding, “We can stick together like stink and feet.”
Her laugh is like music. “Let’s go in there!” Emma shouts suddenly, pointing to a tent of bloodred velvet. A worn wooden sign bearing a crystal ball made of gray chipped paint has the words PSYCHIC READINGS looping in swirly red calligraphy.
“Why there?” I ask.
“We may find a hint from the beyond,” she replies. “A clue from my sister…”
I smile at the fact that she believes in the ancestors’ guidance like I do.
No matter how time loops and the years turn, eventually, everyone crosses over into a future that no longer includes them.
So it’s comforting to think that those we love are still out there someplace near and far.
That they still want to look out for us too.
“Grace could tell us something that could let us know if our plan will work,” Emma adds. “Or give us a better one.”
Ancestors, yes. Carnival psychics? Aww hell, naw.
I don’t trust fake fair psychics. I have the real deal in my family: my little sister Imani.
But I want to make Emma happy and keep our truce going, so I signal the driver to stop.
I help her out of the carriage, and we head into the psychic’s tent.
Hopefully, the psychic here isn’t a scammer.
Inside the tent, the air is thick with incense.
A crystal ball sits on a dark wooden table.
A silhouette emerges from the shadows in the back of the tent.
It’s a teenage girl. The shadows melt off her as she steps forward, revealing a girl with chestnut-brown skin, a long red ponytail, dark lipstick, and a familiar smirking face.
My mouth dangles wide.
Why the hell did Imani come here? She’ll ruin everything!
Imani’s stupid ponytail always matches her dang outfits.
It sways as she sashays closer in a red dress with a heart-shaped bustier top.
As she approaches, her wide bustle skirt rustles with layers of velvet hearts stabbed by shimmering metallic gold daggers.
Her lips curl into a teasing smile, and her wide eyes lock on mine.
“I knew you’d be here…” She gives me a scolding look that seems to add, Chasing Emma and her rivers of blood.
“Huh?” Emma says, head tilted in confusion. “Do I know you?”
I give Imani a pleading look, silently begging her not to say something that could mess things up with Emma.
Imani pops her gum, her dark nail polish matching her lipstick as her finger touches one of her earrings.
Her ears have tiny hoops leading down to the massive one that touches her cheek.
With a sigh, she looks at Emma and says, “You do now. Welcome.”
Shocked and uneasy with Imani’s presence, I pull her aside and whisper, “Are you nuts? Emma’s gonna think I’m setting her up!” I hiss. “You can’t be here.”
Imani strokes her long crimson ponytail and gives me a look that shakes my bones.
“Somebody has to tell y’all the hard truth.
” Her voice is so soft I almost don’t hear it.
“So I paid the psychic to let me work her shift today. I had a vision, Malcolm. Emma doesn’t know we’re fam, but you both need to know what I saw.
Don’t worry. I didn’t snitch to Big-Mama.
Wouldn’t do no good. She can’t even stop you when you got a big dumb idea in your head.
But if you guys insist on doing this, I’m gonna make sure you do it with your eyes wide open. ”
I swear, my sisters always meddle in my business knowing they’re not invited.
Emma raises an eyebrow, staring skeptically. I step back, knowing she’s wondering why I’m whispering with the psychic.
Imani’s silky red ponytail sways behind her as she walks over to Emma. “Your boyfriend told me you want a reading.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Emma says. Something inside me shrinks.
“Yet,” Imani corrects her, offering a satisfied grin.
“I’d never,” Emma mumbles, but she avoids eye contact with me.
Emma and I sit awkwardly at the table. Imani blinks wide eyes outlined with two silver lines of eyeliner.
She glances at a crystal ball on the right side of the table before gripping velvety black tarot cards with metallic-gold pointy edges.
The cards gleam like rain on a spiderweb.
A jingle from the bracelets on Imani’s wrist makes Emma look at the neon eye inside the image of a palm tattooed on the back of my sister’s hand.
Emma says, “You’re young for tattoos … and to be a working psychic. Aren’t you?”
“You’re a little young to be a car thief,” Imani replies, “but here we are.” She blows a massive pink bubble with her gum, its pop an exclamation point.
She flips her ponytail onto her shoulder and points to the silver eye in the center of her biggest hoop earring.
The eyeball inside is a small onyx ball.
“They say onyx protects you from evil and adversaries. Pity you don’t have any, Emma.
” A devilish smile curls on my sister’s lips.
“But this world wants people to think everything black is bad.”
Imani’s slim brown fingers tremble above the cards on the table.
She starts to study them. Then her eyes roll back in her head until they are nothing but whites.
When they turn brown again, they get wide and worried.
“When I see your futures—” She pauses, blowing another bubble.
It pops, and she peels the pink gum off her black lipstick with matching nails.
“—I see a river of blood. A broken body. Ashy brown skin. Lifeless blue fingertips. Death.”
Emma gasps. “Whose?” Her dress darkens to funeral black while her skin gets chalky brown. She is completely still, but I can tell by looking at her that she’s trembling inside. My fingers shake too.
“The image keeps flipping in my mind,” Imani says, “like a coin from head to tails. Either of you could die. Or both.”
Emma and I exchange panicked glances. Does this mean our plan will fail?
“Fate may set the stage for us in life,” Imani says, “but the words are ours. The future changes because of our actions. Our choices.”
“What do we gotta do?” I shift in my seat, asking my sister, desperately, “How do we stop this from coming true?”
“I don’t know.” Imani’s wide eyes dart nervously.
She sucks in a ragged breath. “This is just a warning,” she murmurs.
Her voice quakes. “I don’t know if you’ll survive …
or if anyone will.” She sighs, looking tired.
“But a storm’s comin’.” Blowing another bright pink bubble and popping it, she adds, “I don’t need cards to predict that you’ll both live longer if you stay apart.
” My stomach drops as Imani talks about unavoidable destruction.
“Look,” she says, “if the vision changes or if there’s any way I can help you, I will. But right now … that’s all I got.”
Emma’s fingers tremble as she rises on unsteady feet.
She walks far ahead of me as we leave the tent’s flaps and head back into the crowded fairground.
She looks around anxiously, her arms hugging her chest. The bodice of her dress shifts to a stormy gray, with black clouds raining red on its full-tiered skirts.
The fair seems dimmer, the laughter sounding like it’s underwater. Our vision is scarred by unspoken fears. I follow her through the crowd, but she walks five paces ahead of me. When we reach her car, Emma is silent and scared looking.
She pauses by the car door. “Look, maybe…” she says slowly, “… all this was a mistake.”
“No,” I insist. “Maybe us working together is the only way to change the future she saw.” But what I want to say is Don’t worry. I’m trying not to hurt you, and I’ll do anything to stop our future from getting bloody.
She shakes her head sadly, not believing me.
“Here.” With no one looking, I press a slip of paper into her palm.
Emma’s fingers touch mine. Warm tingles rush over me.
I try to ignore them. I give her a location and time for our next meeting.
“This paper has instructions for sending me letters instantly through a magical mailbox. So we can stay in contact.”
Emma crinkles her brows and glares at my note, but she tucks it away for safekeeping.
“Stick to the plan,” I say. “Look for clues in your present, and I’ll search for them in my family’s past. Reach out anytime, and we’ll meet again soon so we can compare notes and figure out our next move. Okay?”
“For what?” Emma’s lower lip quivers as her brown eyes fill. She shakes her head, and one tear falls. “If she saw death, it means we can’t stop the Tether. It happens, and someone dies, Malcolm. There’s no hope. We should just give up.” More tears roll down Emma’s cheeks.
“Nah,” I say, wiping her tears away with a finger.
“The future ain’t set in stone, Emma. Losing hope and giving up on our plan could be the cause of the death the psychic saw.
Our plan can work. It has to. It will save us, and even if it fails, isn’t it better to go down swinging instead of waiting on fate to take us out? ”
She nods, smiling despite her damp cheeks, and the light catches a fleck of gold in her big brown eyes.
She moves closer, and my chest tightens.
I want to hold her until her fear is gone.
But as much as I want to, I pause, remembering the death Imani described.
Emma’s a Baldwin. People with her last name kill people with mine.
“What we’re doing is monumental, Emma,” I say. “This is the first time in centuries that people from our families have tried to work together. Girrrl, we’re change makers. You and me can shape our destiny.” I try hard to believe my own words. “Our choices can change the future, Emma.”
Suddenly, she rushes forward, wrapping her arms around me and looking up at me with those big, beautiful eyes as we hug. I stare down at her lips. God, I wanna kiss her. Warmth spreads through my chest, and everything inside me feels light and joyful. I want to stay in this moment forever.
“Thank you,” she says. But her hug feels so good that I should be thanking her.
Our faces are so close that I can feel her warm breath on my lips.
She smells like honey and flowers, and her closeness makes my heart thunder.
Realization falls over both of us at once—this hug is going on a little too long to be friendly.
We break apart quickly, avoiding each other’s stares like we try to avoid the attraction that’s undeniable.
The weight of the Tether, the bloodlust it causes, our family feud, and Imani’s prediction all wedge between us.
A steamy breeze flows through Emma’s curls, lifting her hair so the ends kiss her high cheekbones and caress the contours of her full lips.
She smiles in the amber light. The orange rays of the setting sun make her brown skin shimmer and glint against her dress, now a flirty crimson.
Our eyes lock, and I smile, glancing at the maple tree by her parked car.
I slowly open the door for her. Disappointment presses down on me as she settles into her seat, every inch of me wishing she could stay, that we could run away from this curse.
I glance over my shoulder. In the distance the massive Ferris wheel spins, its carriages swaying in the breeze.
I wish we were free to ride them forever.
But I know I gotta let her go. I lean into the car and fasten her seat belt.
“See you soon, Emma Baldwin,” I say.