Blood Like Magic, page 33
Both of us stare at each other for a moment, mentally acknowledging what the other said. Then Alex stands from her chair, and I barrel into her arms.
“Okay, okay, too sappy,” Alex declares, and I let go of her. “You have glitter on your face now.” She laughs and flicks at my cheek.
I laugh along so I don’t cry, the tension in my stomach loosening a bit. “I don’t mind sparkles.” I pause, then ask her, “Are you okay, being here?”
Alex collapses back into her seat. “She asked him. It was her choice.” She looks me in the eye. “And I’m learning that when people make hard decisions, they don’t do it lightly. If he didn’t do it, she would have found someone else. He made sure it got done right.”
“Yeah,” I say because I don’t know what else to say.
“It’s not easy to be here, but I am. This is my family too. Even if I’m not blood-related like the twins.” She lets out a deep sigh and flicks her chin at Johan. “Why do you need to see him?”
“You’re not going to tell anyone that I was here, right?”
That makes Alex’s eyebrows climb. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to ask Johan about something.” I start to walk away, then turn back. “I mean it. Don’t say anything to anyone.”
“Girl, I heard you.” Alex shakes her head. “You’re so suspicious right now. I hope you know that.”
Get sparked, now she’ll go out of her way to figure out what I’m doing. It doesn’t matter. No one is changing my mind. Not Granny, not Alex, or anyone else. I need to save Eden. And to do that, I need to be able to kill Luc. If I can’t even watch a murder, how could I commit one?
It’s like learning a new recipe, I tell myself. Sure, you can read what’s on-screen and do it. But it’s better to watch it being made on a feed. You can get a better feel for how everything is supposed to come together.
Right now, the idea of murdering a real person is so foreign and impossible. Watching will bring it into sharp focus. And maybe I’ll finally understand how the Davises can do it, so that I can too.
I swallow hard as Johan waves me over. “Voya? You want to play mas this year?”
“No.” I wring my hands together.
“Then what you want? I’m busy, you know?” His dreads swing as he moves.
I force myself to put my hands at my sides. “I was hoping I could talk to you in private. It’ll be quick.”
He tosses the scrap of fabric in his hands to the woman he was talking to, then walks to the door.
I hurry to keep up with his long strides.
He takes me to a room straight across the hallway. Emerald is sitting on a couch inside, flipping through feeds.
“We need the room,” Johan says.
She bolts up, green-and-black wig swaying, and leaves. It’s another reminder of how different our families are.
Johan stretches out on the couch and waves a hand. “Is this about your Mama problems?”
I sink into the seat beside him with hunched shoulders. “I need to learn how to kill someone.” There it is. I said it. It’s out there. “I know there’s a rite tonight. I’d like to watch it. Not join! Just… watch.”
Johan’s dark eyes sharpen. “That would make your granny furious.” He tilts his head to the side. “Though that’s kind of a pro in and of itself.” He frowns. “Either way, this is a big favor. Why would I do that for you?”
“Because we’re family.”
“Yawn, next.”
I cross my arms and draw myself up. “What if I was your intern?”
“Excuse me?”
“Roti Roti. At the block party, all anyone could talk about was my food and dessert. I can cook. You know I can. Don’t you want your business to thrive? I thought that was your legacy.”
Johan curls his lip. “And my legacy needs you?”
“Caribbean Queen has a fifty-year-old history. We come to you because we’re witches and know you. But everyone with any island in their blood or an interest in West Indian food goes to them.”
“So you’ll give me a three-year internship?”
“One.”
Johan steupses. “What you gon’ do in that time? Three.”
“Two. That’s the most.”
“Fine.”
I blink at him.
“What? You’re shocked it worked? I’m about to double back to three.”
“No! Just two.” This is the best scenario for Johan. He gets me for two years, and since I’m his only intern, the government will pay my salary.
My future is not my own—now more than ever, because for two years it belongs to Johan.
My hands clench into fists.
This is the only opportunity I have to get closer to fulfilling my task. There aren’t exactly murder schools out there, and there’s a different quality to an impure ritual. The Davises aren’t doing this because they enjoy killing people. It doesn’t make it right, but at least our intentions align.
Everyone in my family wants me to complete this task to save Eden, even if they don’t like it. But no one has even the first idea about how I’m supposed to do it. Granny would be the only one who might know, and from the conversation I overheard, she seems pretty confident that I won’t be able to kill no matter what. Time is running out. If this brings me closer to being able to complete this task, then it’s worth two years of my life in the Roti Roti kitchen.
Johan fixes me with a stare. “You were raised with your granny hammering in the importance of staying away from these rites. She thinks her message of purity puts her above us. And yet, here you are.” His spits out the word “purity” like a swear. “The ancestors love irony, don’t they?”
I don’t think I’m meant to say anything, so I don’t.
Johan leans toward me. He’s so close I can smell the musk of ash that clings to impure witches, with a hint of curry powder. “You make sure you just watch. It is not easy to get bodies in this city, and if anything goes wrong, there aren’t any extras conveniently hanging around. This is an important piece of protection for Caribana.”
My nails cut into my palm as I squeeze my hands tighter. “I’m just watching. It’s not like I’m joining in where you have to worry about me breaking the circle.”
He leans back against the couch. “True. Still, it’s always good to double-check. Be sure that you’re on your best behavior.”
Johan doesn’t say it, but there’s an unspoken warning in his words.
I don’t understand what he’s worried about. I’m watching, not joining. That’s where the real danger is. If you’re involved in a ritual, you can ruin everything by breaking the circle. It means you forfeit the rite and the magic that comes with it. That sort of free-flowing power doesn’t take well to being left without a host. It lashes back.
I know that because when their last ritual failed, Johan lost his youngest girl. Sapphire. At her funeral, tears rolled down his smooth cheeks as her ashes blew in the wind.
That year at Caribana, a brawl broke out and the police were called. Three people died. Two of them were hit by cars, chased into the street by the authorities. And the last died of his injuries from the fight. Maybe the cops could have cleared the crowds and roads to get him help in time, but it didn’t happen. So he lay there and bled out.
* * *
I spend the rest of the day tucked away in the room across from the sewing chaos to wait until it’s time for the ritual. Will they use sharp blades that make cutting feel easy? Or something blunt so they have to use all their muscle to dig into the victim’s skin?
And who is this person they’re going to murder? Will their family miss them? I swipe my shaking finger through feeds, picturing every member of my family bleeding out in the name of magic.
A message from Luc flashes across my eyes: Juras woke up. His speech isn’t great, but Justin has the best therapists on it. He’ll be okay.
My chin dips to my chest, and I curl my knees up.
All I can do is hurt.
I send back a message: I’m glad to hear it. How are you?
Fine. I’m thinking about things.
Thinking about things?
Wondering if I was wrong. If I missed other people like you who don’t just want something from me. Maybe I’ll increase my ratings?
You can only try.
My fingers slip away from the phone, and I can’t anymore.
Luc is wrong. I do want something from him.
I want to trade his life to save my sister’s. Even as I wish he could live.
The couch in this room is comfier the more you sit in it. I’m half drowning in brown suede by the time Emerald comes into the room and throws herself down next to me hours later.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Nah. You’re fine.” Her modded eyes are shining emerald like her namesake. “Daddy says you’re coming to the rite tonight. I thought Thomases did pure magic?”
I sink farther into the couch. “They do. Just… maybe not me. Not anymore. And I’m only watching.” I point at the monitor on her wrist. “How’s the matching program been for you?” It’s an obvious attempt to change the subject.
She bites. “It’s been okay. The guy I got paired with is an intern there.”
“What?”
Emerald makes a face like she thinks I’m the densest piece of overcooked black cake she’s ever been forced to associate with. “An intern. Apparently, they wanted a few of them in the project.”
There’s no way two daughters from prominent Black witch families ended up being paired with NuGene interns by chance. Does Luc know about this? No. Justin frequently keeps things from him. This would be another.
But why would he loop the Davises in on this? Justin needed Auntie Elaine’s genetic manipulation abilities to help him, but none of us has that gift, and it would take generations for it to cycle through our family. And while the Davises are related to us, it’s probably not enough to get her gift. What is his endgame?
Emerald eyes me. “Why are you watching the ritual?”
Looks like I wasn’t as good at subject changing as I thought. “I… just need to.” I almost elaborate, but don’t.
“The more you do it, the easier it is.”
My vision narrows to the space on the floor just under my feet. I press down on my knees so they don’t tremble and clench my teeth together so I don’t cry out, How could something like this ever be easy?
The door swings open, and Alex walks in. She jerks her head at Emerald. “Can you give us a minute?”
Emerald pushes out a deep sigh at being ejected for the second time today, but leaves.
Alex’s makeup has partly run down. Probably from being in that hot sewing room. She hands me a cup. The liquid in it is the yellow orange of a sunset. She has one for her, too.
I take a sip. The sweetness hits, followed by a bitterness that makes me cringe. “What is this?”
“Rum punch. You should drink the whole cup. Help you get through the night.”
Hack my feed. I don’t know why I thought Alex wouldn’t find out. Not after I ran my mouth in the sewing room. “You know?”
“I know.”
“And?” I hide behind my cup, taking another sip. I would rather have plain juice. How do Mom and Auntie knock these back?
“Like I said, sometimes people need to make hard decisions,” Alex says. “I wasn’t spouting spam on Monday. I do think you’re the strongest of us.”
I don’t know if I believe her, but I’m grateful for her words. “I don’t want to do it. This task.”
“I know.”
“But I have to.”
“I know that, too.” She reaches over and pulls me into a side hug that I melt into.
When I was growing up, I constantly relied on Alex for strength. I would drag Keis out of her room when I had nightmares, and we would both sneak into Alex’s for protection. She can’t protect me from this task, so all I can rely on is her support.
The door swings open, and I expect Emerald, but it’s Topaz standing in the doorway. “It’s time to go.”
Already? It’s eight p.m. Shouldn’t a ritual involving murder happen at midnight or something? I tilt my cup and chug the rest of it. When I stand, my head kind of spins for a moment. It’s gone by the time I’ve handed the empty cup to Alex, and instead, a sort of calm fuzziness has set in. I glance at the one in her hand.
She hands it over. “Maybe just take it easy.…”
Alex hasn’t even finished her sentence, and I’ve already gulped the whole thing down, cringing from the bitterness. Dimly, I realize this is the first time I’ve drunk alcohol since Christmas, when Granny let me have a sip of her shandy.
“I’ll see you at home later,” I say.
She shakes her head. “I’ll wait for you. We can go home together.”
My throat dries out faster than macaroni pie in an unattended oven, so I don’t say anything and follow Topaz out of the room.
We go down a set of stairs to the basement. There’s a digital scanner there. The lock on the door clicks, and he opens it for me. “Ladies first.”
The stairs are cement, and my steps echo as I make my way down. I have to press my hand against the wall so I don’t trip. The door shuts behind me, and I ignore the shiver that works its way along my back. Auntie Elaine came here years ago, knowing she was heading to her death.
I expect the basement to look ceremonial. Stone and bare. It isn’t. It’s a regular rec room with pool tables and huge L-shaped couches. At the back is a touch screen that spans almost the entire length of the wall. It would look like an ordinary room if not for the plastic sheeting laid down, and the man swinging from the ceiling by his ankles.
They’ve stripped him naked, blindfolded him, and gagged him. For a second, I think he might be dead, he’s so still. Then he makes a muffled cry through his gag.
I slap my hand over my mouth and stumble back. Something touches my shoulder, and I whip around. Topaz pulls his hand away. “Sorry.”
“No. I’m sorry. It’s okay.”
When I turn back, I get a better look at his black springy curls and brown skin. Silent tears stream down the man’s face.
I look for a place to spit. I need to get the taste out of my mouth. It’s mixing with the rum flavor and threatening to bring everything up as sunrise-colored vomit. Topaz nudges me forward, and I force my legs to move the rest of the way down the stairs.
Johan pushes away from the wall where he was leaning. “Aqua, get them ponchos.” He gestures to my feet. “Shoes off. Just in case. Splatter, you know?”
I kick my sandals off and ignore the “splatter” comment. Aqua, Johan’s oldest daughter, comes over to Topaz and me with two plastic ponchos. They’re the kind they give you when you go to Niagara Falls and ride the Maid of the Mist. You feel the cool splashes of water against your face, and if you close your eyes, it’s like you’re floating through the falls.
Except there’s no cool water or floating feeling. There is, however, a sort of fog in my head. The air is heavy with humidity made thicker by the air fresheners meant to cover the stink of sweat. Already, it’s like the scent of impurity, the ash, lingers in the air along with it. I sniff the inside of my wrist like it might stick, though I know that’s hacked. You have to participate in impurity, in the pain, the suffering, and benefit from the kickback to get that scent. Witnessing wouldn’t be enough to transfer it to me.
“You, on the steps,” Johan says, pointing to me. “Everyone else, over with me.”
I’m cold. Industrial. I cling to Topaz, stopping him from going forward, and whisper, “Is he… a bad man?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “We aren’t here to pass judgment. We’re here to exchange one life for the protection of many.” His voice is flat and robotic. These are lines he’s been fed many times.
Garnet, sixteen years old, just like me and Emerald, presses a knife into Topaz’s hand. The handle is made of ivory, and the blade is a sharp stone. Ceremonial.
The circle is made up of Johan, Topaz, Aquamarine, Emerald, Garnet, and the youngest, Peridot, who’s only thirteen.
I sit hard on the cement steps and get rewarded with a sharp shock to my tailbone. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I rest my chin on the plastic-covered surface of the poncho and wrap my arms around myself. My head is too light. The fuzziness brought on by the rum punch is making it hard to concentrate. Hack me, I shouldn’t have drunk Alex’s, too.
The man shakes in his bonds, and his whimpers screech in my ears, pointed and cutting.
“Voya,” Johan barks, and I jerk straight. “Stay there. You can’t leave once it starts, and I can’t babysit you. This requires a huge amount of focus. Do not distract us.”
I’ve always known Johan is dangerous, but he’s never hurt me. I remember being a little girl with Keis at Roti Roti, where he would sneak us pholourie and tamarind balls. He would sit with me for extra hours after class when I struggled with an assignment. Pure or impure, we’ve always been family. I know what he’s capable of, but I’ve never worried about those claws turning to me.
Until now.
Impure rituals are powerful but fragile. Johan couldn’t teach us about them, but of course his kids have whispered about it at the annual backyard party before. Once the rite begins, they need an intense focus on their intent, so much so that they can’t pay attention to anything else but the body in front of them. Not to mention it strips them of the ability to cast while it’s happening, which is why they need to be in secure places like this locked basement.
“Yes, sir,” I say, forcing my voice to be stable.
Johan gives me a curt nod.
The Davis kids have blank expressions on their faces. How many times have they done this? Johan, gay and proud the entire time I’ve known him, had them made in a petri dish with his love and gives them everything. Their moms are unknowns. In Canada, you can’t buy eggs from donors. They can only be given free of charge to families. There are rumors that his kids’ moms are witches who asked Johan for favors, and their surrogacy was his price. I asked Emerald once if she wanted to know her birth mom, and she raised an eyebrow and said, “Why? I have Daddy.”
