Storm, page 14
I jerk back. “Huh?”
“Usually when one’s hair is white, it means they are either old or something very traumatic happened.”
I want to laugh. So much has happened in my life, that would almost make sense, but I shake my head. “I was born with it.”
“So, you were born with your power as well, then?”
“Power? Ha! No, it’s not power. I’m no superhero. It’s just a silly curse. I’ll be rid of it soon.”
He is quiet for a moment. “Is that why you want to reach Kenya? You think the cure is there?”
My thoughts drift back to my dreams. To the strange old woman, her hair like mine, her voice in my ear. Her white eyes.
“Something…is there.”
Leaves rustle above us. Two more monkeys. T’Challa tightens his hold, breath tickling my neck.
“Well, I think it is beautiful,” he says, delicately swiping my braid over my shoulder, fingers lingering on my collarbone. “But I can see why you would want to keep it covered. You would certainly give people something to talk about.”
“It’s distracting. Makes me the center of attention.”
“And what is wrong with that?”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe you’re used to that, my king. But that doesn’t fly in my line of work.”
“Your line of work, eh?”
I lightly elbow him in the gut, and he flinches.
“Eh, eh! Are you trying to kill us? Again?”
I stifle a laugh. “Sorry.”
He sets himself right, mumbling under his breath.
“My hair runs in my family,” I admit, finding it easier to talk to him without seeing his face. Something in my chest feels tender. I haven’t talked about the origins of my hair with anyone in so long. Not even with Moche.
His next words come slowly. “So it is possible that…other things run in your family as well? What do you know about your people?”
A bird hoots above us, disturbed by our chatter. I lower my voice. “My mother didn’t have a chance to tell me all I needed to know. But I remember some things.”
“Like?”
I close my eyes, thinking back to that last day, in our living room, and can almost smell the incense burning on the bookshelf. “She told me that many of the women in our family had blue eyes and white hair. That they were a tribe of powerful women before they disappeared.” As I say it out loud, I realize this almost sounds like a dream. My memories of Mommy are the only things I have left of her. “I wish she’d told me their names, so I would at least have something to go by.”
I can feel him nod. “Powerful women are not easily forgotten. They often stand out. I am sure someone knows.”
I think of Daddy, how he always used to say he saw my mother from across the room as if a spotlight were on her. Even without white hair, she stood out in the crowd.
Stood out…
“That’s it! That’s how I’ll find my people. I’ll just go to the city and be myself. If anyone takes one look at me and my hair…I’ll have to dust up a memory or something, right?” And if the Shadow King has men in Kenya, I’ll deal with that problem then.
T’Challa grips my side, steadying me. “Yes. We should start by asking some of the elders. Maybe they can recall something or someone mentioned in passing.”
“We?” I cough out.
“Well, yes. Unless you don’t want me to help you on your search?”
My heart flutters at the thought of him wanting to stay with me, despite all he’s seen.
“Uh, no. I mean, yeah, that would be cool. Thanks.”
A comfortable silence settles between us as the insects take over the night. His chest rises and falls on my back, warm arms firm around me. I wonder if he can feel my heart pounding. It’s almost deafening in my ears.
T’Challa takes a deep breath, arms squeezing a touch tighter. “It was good, what you did back there,” he says softly. “For those children.” He shifts closer, lips right by my ear as he murmurs, “You are a good person.”
My throat closes. I think of that backpacker whose wallet I stole. I think of Moche and the boys at Farouk’s mercy back home. All the people I’ve hurt—that henchman lying dead in that alley.
I can’t believe someone like T’Challa could see any good in me. After all I have done.
It’s because he hasn’t really seen that side of you. Yet.
I lean my head back, letting the tension ease out of my shoulders.
“Good night, T’Challa.”
He rests his cheek on top of my head, grinning. “Good night, Ororo.”
ELEVEN
I wake up to a peach-pink sky, T’Challa dozing softly behind me, birds chirping their songs around us. It’s peaceful up here, and in the morning light, not exactly the dangerous jungle it looked like at night. Cocooned in the warmth of T’Challa’s arms, I snuggle into him and find myself wondering why it can’t be this way all the time. Why I can’t wake up every morning in his arms.
Because he’s a prince. And you’re nothing.
Something inside me aches a little. But it still doesn’t stop me from enjoying these stolen moments. I can’t even remember the last time I was hugged, truly, by anyone. Moche?
Maybe that day…with Mommy.
My vision blurs, the trees creep in like dark clouds, and I’m back under the rubble with bloody fingers. The plane’s roar silences the birds.
Stop it!
I jolt up, quickly untying our vines. T’Challa stirs.
“What are you doing?” he moans, voice hoarse with sleep as I crawl away from him.
I just need space. I just need to…
It happens so fast. My hand slips on a patch of moss and I tumble off the branch, screaming.
“Ororo!” T’Challa shouts, his fingers just reaching my foot. But it’s too late. Air whistles through my ears as I plummet, grasping for anything to hold on to, anything to stop my fall.
A burst of cold slips under my skin, my legs weightless, almost numb. The ground races toward me, and I wrap my arms around my head and squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact, bracing for my death.
But then suddenly…I stop.
Slowly, I unwrap myself and find that I’m merely a few feet from the ground, swaying the rest of the way like a drifting feather.
What the hell?
I twirl, arms flapping like a bird that just learned to fly. Soft wind whips under me, and I land in a bed of leaves. I stare up at the sky, stunned.
“Ororo!” T’Challa calls from somewhere above, the large branches and foliage blocking my view.
I’m alive. But how?
I scramble to my feet, look up at the tree with a shudder. The fall should have broken my neck. Yet it felt as if I fell into an invisible cloud and floated down.
Floated? That’s impossible. The wind must have slowed my fall. But there is no wind.
Unless…unless….
Branches shake above me as T’Challa slides down the vines. I yank leaves and snap twigs out of my hair, trying to collect myself as he rushes toward me.
“You okay?” he gasps, panting, eyes raking over me in search of the damage. He must not have seen me float.
Act normal.
“I’m fine!” I croak out, dusting myself off.
“Fine?” He looks at the tree, craning his neck up toward the high branch we were on, and then turns back to me.
No way can I tell him what really happened. It’ll only make him more interested, when he should be focused on helping me rid myself of this thing.
“Yeah. The leaves broke my fall.” I let out a weak laugh. “What a wake-up call, right?”
He glances up at our spot in the tree again, then back to the ground, doing his own calculations.
“The vines,” I offer, sensing his doubt. “I got caught in them. They slowed me down.”
He straightens with a raised eyebrow, not buying what I’m selling.
“Um, we should get going,” I insist.
He nods, and I can tell this is not the end of the conversation. “We need to get back to the bike.”
In all the commotion of my fall, I almost forgot we were being hunted. I spin around, scanning the trees.
“You sure that’s such a good idea? What if they come looking for us there?”
“They won’t come back to the town. Not after those children have escaped. They have probably moved camp.”
I take another look around, not sold on the idea that the soldiers would give up so easily.
T’Challa offers his rolled-up, torn T-shirt. “For your hair.”
I frown, trying not to stare at his bare chest. “What about you?”
“I will be fine,” he says with a knowing chuckle, and places the shirt in my hands.
It smells like him, and I want to bury my face in the scent. I scold myself at the instinct.
You’re being ridiculous. Get it together!
I manage to wrap my hair up in a bun and stuff it under the shirt. At the next village, I need to find a new scarf as soon as I can.
We trek through the forest with T’Challa leading the way, giving me a perfect view of his back, muscles rippling as he pushes through vines and thick foliage.
“How is your leg?” he asks.
“Fine. Stings a little.”
He nods with a yawn and glances back, giving me a tired smile.
“Didn’t you get some sleep?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Not really. I only maybe dozed right before you untied us. I was keeping watch. It was kind of interesting.”
“What do you mean, interesting?”
“A few animals came by. I did not want to wake and startle you. But they only looked…curious.” He gives me a questioning look, a smile pulling at his lips. “Curious about you.”
I think about the dogs following me around in Garbage City. The camels that bowed in Giza. Did they sense something…more about me? Even when I was younger?
For the first time, doubt nags at the back of my mind. What if this curse isn’t new? What if this has been with me all along?
T’Challa walks backward to check my reaction, and I keep a straight face, despite my stomach dropping. I can’t even begin considering it—that this could be my new reality, rather than temporary. That after trying to blend in my entire life, I’m more different than I could’ve ever imagined. A freak after all.
“What can I say?” I quip. “Animals love me.”
“Hmm,” he notes, turning back. “So it seems.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, I can hear the smile in his voice. “You slept well.”
I’m glad I’m behind him so he can’t see me flush at the memory of his arms around me. I did sleep well. Better than I have in years. Didn’t even have nightmares.
“But when we get back to town, we need to get you something to eat,” T’Challa muses. “You are very light.”
“What? No, I’m not!”
He laughs. “Tall, thin, and weightless. You are like an angry praying mantis with wild white hair.”
My stomach drops to the ground, and I raise a hand automatically, protectively, to my hair as that childhood taunt creeps back in.
White jungle monkey.
“What did you just say?” I snarl, anger spiking.
T’Challa freezes, hearing the edge in my deepening voice.
“I…I mean…I didn’t mean…” He backpedals. But it’s too late.
He’s making fun of me. Making fun of my hair.
But he said it was beautiful, another part of me whispers before my fury quickly shoves it aside, my blood boiling.
I’m just a joke to him…like I was to all the other kids.
“Did you just compare me to a damn insect?”
A bolt of lightning hits a nearby tree, and I shriek. We both jump back from the flying sparks that dig deep into the trunk, the bark splintering. The crack travels down the base of the tree, stopping at its roots.
We stand, gaping at the giant charred mark, waiting for the entire tree to fall. T’Challa slowly turns to me, and I’ve lost my tongue.
“I…I…”
His blank expression breaks and he roars with laughter. I mean, hands on his knees, buckled over. Has he gone mad?
I cross my arms, glaring. “I see nothing funny about this at all.”
“I am sorry.” He cackles, holding his abs. “But where was all that when we needed it yesterday?”
Shame creeps in. I wanted to help T’Challa, I wanted that weird light to pop out of my hands. But I couldn’t do anything. And we almost died.
But the boy keeps laughing, holding his stomach, and I can’t help it—I crack a smile. It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve just laughed with someone else.
“Seems like you didn’t really need me,” I say, patting my eyes dry. “You handled those men all on your own.”
He shoves through a thicket of bushes, leading the way. “I have trained in hand-to-hand combat since I was a child. You have good reflexes. With the proper training, you could really learn to defend yourself.”
“Tuh. I did pretty well. Saved you back in Luxor.”
“Yes. And you are still not sure how.”
I wave him off. “I don’t need all of that. I know how to fight, too.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really? You call what you did yesterday fighting?”
“Hey! I’ve taken down my brothers several times.”
He stops to face me with a skeptical eye, a laugh on his lips.
“What? What is it?”
“Attack me,” he says, his arms crossed, chest puffed out.
I frown. “What? Now?”
“Yes. Right now. Give it your best shot. If you can.”
Tuh. The boy doesn’t know me well. I’m not one to skip out on a challenge. I roll my neck.
“Okay. Fine.”
I’ve practiced sparring with Moche and the boys plenty, but never with a stranger. Unsure of how to start, I throw a fist and he dodges to the right.
I throw another and he dodges to the left, almost politely, but there’s a small smirk on his face. Frustrated, I charge at him, but somehow he spins me around.
“Ugh!” I step back, trying to trip him, but he rounds me until my legs are in the air. I nearly land on my ass with a yelp before he catches me by the waist.
I stare at the prince, a grin on his face, fire in his eyes, and I promptly lose my breath.
“Go for the throat next time,” he says, his voice low, before standing me upright. “You are tall and have a height advantage.”
He raises my hand and curls my fingers into my palm. “Always wrap your thumb over your knuckle. Hold your fist tight and strong.”
He places his hands on my hips again and corrects my posture.
“And you need to shift from your core, so as not to lose your balance…”
I’m no longer paying attention. Too distracted by his hands seamlessly moving over my body, the sweat dripping down his shoulders, the tingle in my chest whenever we connect.
“Everyone should know their own strengths,” he continues. “If you were to use your powers…”
“I don’t have powers!” I snap.
He holds his arms up in surrender.
“Okay, well, if you had powers, you would use them to strike first, to unnerve your opponent, aim to disarm their senses.” He raises my hand again and pulls me closer until we’re inches apart. “But if your opponent becomes too close…that is when you must strike.”
Chin raised, I stare up into his eyes, my heart pounding. His smile slowly fades, body softening, but he doesn’t look away, doesn’t loosen his grip. And it almost feels as if he were about to tip forward into me. Right into my lips.
Or that’s what I imagined would happen.
“Um, I can teach you more,” he breathes. “If you would like.”
I would like. Very much. But as I inhale his scent and come to my senses, I step back, clearing my throat.
What in the world am I doing? He and I are not going to happen. No need for favors outside of our arrangement. I need to stay focused on the task at hand, which is making it back to the bike before those soldiers find us.
“I’m good on my own, thanks,” I mumble, fidgeting with my makeshift scarf. I turn away and nod in the opposite direction. “Um, it’s this way.”
He smirks. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know,” I groan, marching away. “I just…know.”
“Just like you know the weather,” he says, following. “You just happen to know which direction we should go. Have you been feeling this all along?”
I blink, stuttering to a stop.
He steps closer. “You have not looked at a map this entire journey. Yet somehow you always know exactly where we should be and have not been wrong once.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Because in truth, I somehow know we’re on the right path, even while we trek through the jungle. The curse feels stronger, coursing and speeding through my body. Always humming in the background of my mind. A song only I can hear on repeat, driving me crazy.
And I can’t wait to be rid it. Whatever it is.
* * *
Covered in sweat and dirt, we reach the outskirts of the town by early afternoon stopping at the first small market we see for water.
“Do you think the bike is still there?” I ask, breath ragged. I wash off my bloody leg, wincing through the stinging pain, and tear a fresh piece of T-shirt to wrap it. “What if someone stole it?”
T’Challa chugs down a bottle of water, sweat glistening off his chest, and checks his bracelet. His eyes narrow as he studies the hologram that rises up.
“It is in the same spot…but there is someone with it.”
Dread fills me. “The soldiers?”
T’Challa looks up at me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am not sure.”
“Usually when one’s hair is white, it means they are either old or something very traumatic happened.”
I want to laugh. So much has happened in my life, that would almost make sense, but I shake my head. “I was born with it.”
“So, you were born with your power as well, then?”
“Power? Ha! No, it’s not power. I’m no superhero. It’s just a silly curse. I’ll be rid of it soon.”
He is quiet for a moment. “Is that why you want to reach Kenya? You think the cure is there?”
My thoughts drift back to my dreams. To the strange old woman, her hair like mine, her voice in my ear. Her white eyes.
“Something…is there.”
Leaves rustle above us. Two more monkeys. T’Challa tightens his hold, breath tickling my neck.
“Well, I think it is beautiful,” he says, delicately swiping my braid over my shoulder, fingers lingering on my collarbone. “But I can see why you would want to keep it covered. You would certainly give people something to talk about.”
“It’s distracting. Makes me the center of attention.”
“And what is wrong with that?”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe you’re used to that, my king. But that doesn’t fly in my line of work.”
“Your line of work, eh?”
I lightly elbow him in the gut, and he flinches.
“Eh, eh! Are you trying to kill us? Again?”
I stifle a laugh. “Sorry.”
He sets himself right, mumbling under his breath.
“My hair runs in my family,” I admit, finding it easier to talk to him without seeing his face. Something in my chest feels tender. I haven’t talked about the origins of my hair with anyone in so long. Not even with Moche.
His next words come slowly. “So it is possible that…other things run in your family as well? What do you know about your people?”
A bird hoots above us, disturbed by our chatter. I lower my voice. “My mother didn’t have a chance to tell me all I needed to know. But I remember some things.”
“Like?”
I close my eyes, thinking back to that last day, in our living room, and can almost smell the incense burning on the bookshelf. “She told me that many of the women in our family had blue eyes and white hair. That they were a tribe of powerful women before they disappeared.” As I say it out loud, I realize this almost sounds like a dream. My memories of Mommy are the only things I have left of her. “I wish she’d told me their names, so I would at least have something to go by.”
I can feel him nod. “Powerful women are not easily forgotten. They often stand out. I am sure someone knows.”
I think of Daddy, how he always used to say he saw my mother from across the room as if a spotlight were on her. Even without white hair, she stood out in the crowd.
Stood out…
“That’s it! That’s how I’ll find my people. I’ll just go to the city and be myself. If anyone takes one look at me and my hair…I’ll have to dust up a memory or something, right?” And if the Shadow King has men in Kenya, I’ll deal with that problem then.
T’Challa grips my side, steadying me. “Yes. We should start by asking some of the elders. Maybe they can recall something or someone mentioned in passing.”
“We?” I cough out.
“Well, yes. Unless you don’t want me to help you on your search?”
My heart flutters at the thought of him wanting to stay with me, despite all he’s seen.
“Uh, no. I mean, yeah, that would be cool. Thanks.”
A comfortable silence settles between us as the insects take over the night. His chest rises and falls on my back, warm arms firm around me. I wonder if he can feel my heart pounding. It’s almost deafening in my ears.
T’Challa takes a deep breath, arms squeezing a touch tighter. “It was good, what you did back there,” he says softly. “For those children.” He shifts closer, lips right by my ear as he murmurs, “You are a good person.”
My throat closes. I think of that backpacker whose wallet I stole. I think of Moche and the boys at Farouk’s mercy back home. All the people I’ve hurt—that henchman lying dead in that alley.
I can’t believe someone like T’Challa could see any good in me. After all I have done.
It’s because he hasn’t really seen that side of you. Yet.
I lean my head back, letting the tension ease out of my shoulders.
“Good night, T’Challa.”
He rests his cheek on top of my head, grinning. “Good night, Ororo.”
ELEVEN
I wake up to a peach-pink sky, T’Challa dozing softly behind me, birds chirping their songs around us. It’s peaceful up here, and in the morning light, not exactly the dangerous jungle it looked like at night. Cocooned in the warmth of T’Challa’s arms, I snuggle into him and find myself wondering why it can’t be this way all the time. Why I can’t wake up every morning in his arms.
Because he’s a prince. And you’re nothing.
Something inside me aches a little. But it still doesn’t stop me from enjoying these stolen moments. I can’t even remember the last time I was hugged, truly, by anyone. Moche?
Maybe that day…with Mommy.
My vision blurs, the trees creep in like dark clouds, and I’m back under the rubble with bloody fingers. The plane’s roar silences the birds.
Stop it!
I jolt up, quickly untying our vines. T’Challa stirs.
“What are you doing?” he moans, voice hoarse with sleep as I crawl away from him.
I just need space. I just need to…
It happens so fast. My hand slips on a patch of moss and I tumble off the branch, screaming.
“Ororo!” T’Challa shouts, his fingers just reaching my foot. But it’s too late. Air whistles through my ears as I plummet, grasping for anything to hold on to, anything to stop my fall.
A burst of cold slips under my skin, my legs weightless, almost numb. The ground races toward me, and I wrap my arms around my head and squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact, bracing for my death.
But then suddenly…I stop.
Slowly, I unwrap myself and find that I’m merely a few feet from the ground, swaying the rest of the way like a drifting feather.
What the hell?
I twirl, arms flapping like a bird that just learned to fly. Soft wind whips under me, and I land in a bed of leaves. I stare up at the sky, stunned.
“Ororo!” T’Challa calls from somewhere above, the large branches and foliage blocking my view.
I’m alive. But how?
I scramble to my feet, look up at the tree with a shudder. The fall should have broken my neck. Yet it felt as if I fell into an invisible cloud and floated down.
Floated? That’s impossible. The wind must have slowed my fall. But there is no wind.
Unless…unless….
Branches shake above me as T’Challa slides down the vines. I yank leaves and snap twigs out of my hair, trying to collect myself as he rushes toward me.
“You okay?” he gasps, panting, eyes raking over me in search of the damage. He must not have seen me float.
Act normal.
“I’m fine!” I croak out, dusting myself off.
“Fine?” He looks at the tree, craning his neck up toward the high branch we were on, and then turns back to me.
No way can I tell him what really happened. It’ll only make him more interested, when he should be focused on helping me rid myself of this thing.
“Yeah. The leaves broke my fall.” I let out a weak laugh. “What a wake-up call, right?”
He glances up at our spot in the tree again, then back to the ground, doing his own calculations.
“The vines,” I offer, sensing his doubt. “I got caught in them. They slowed me down.”
He straightens with a raised eyebrow, not buying what I’m selling.
“Um, we should get going,” I insist.
He nods, and I can tell this is not the end of the conversation. “We need to get back to the bike.”
In all the commotion of my fall, I almost forgot we were being hunted. I spin around, scanning the trees.
“You sure that’s such a good idea? What if they come looking for us there?”
“They won’t come back to the town. Not after those children have escaped. They have probably moved camp.”
I take another look around, not sold on the idea that the soldiers would give up so easily.
T’Challa offers his rolled-up, torn T-shirt. “For your hair.”
I frown, trying not to stare at his bare chest. “What about you?”
“I will be fine,” he says with a knowing chuckle, and places the shirt in my hands.
It smells like him, and I want to bury my face in the scent. I scold myself at the instinct.
You’re being ridiculous. Get it together!
I manage to wrap my hair up in a bun and stuff it under the shirt. At the next village, I need to find a new scarf as soon as I can.
We trek through the forest with T’Challa leading the way, giving me a perfect view of his back, muscles rippling as he pushes through vines and thick foliage.
“How is your leg?” he asks.
“Fine. Stings a little.”
He nods with a yawn and glances back, giving me a tired smile.
“Didn’t you get some sleep?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Not really. I only maybe dozed right before you untied us. I was keeping watch. It was kind of interesting.”
“What do you mean, interesting?”
“A few animals came by. I did not want to wake and startle you. But they only looked…curious.” He gives me a questioning look, a smile pulling at his lips. “Curious about you.”
I think about the dogs following me around in Garbage City. The camels that bowed in Giza. Did they sense something…more about me? Even when I was younger?
For the first time, doubt nags at the back of my mind. What if this curse isn’t new? What if this has been with me all along?
T’Challa walks backward to check my reaction, and I keep a straight face, despite my stomach dropping. I can’t even begin considering it—that this could be my new reality, rather than temporary. That after trying to blend in my entire life, I’m more different than I could’ve ever imagined. A freak after all.
“What can I say?” I quip. “Animals love me.”
“Hmm,” he notes, turning back. “So it seems.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, I can hear the smile in his voice. “You slept well.”
I’m glad I’m behind him so he can’t see me flush at the memory of his arms around me. I did sleep well. Better than I have in years. Didn’t even have nightmares.
“But when we get back to town, we need to get you something to eat,” T’Challa muses. “You are very light.”
“What? No, I’m not!”
He laughs. “Tall, thin, and weightless. You are like an angry praying mantis with wild white hair.”
My stomach drops to the ground, and I raise a hand automatically, protectively, to my hair as that childhood taunt creeps back in.
White jungle monkey.
“What did you just say?” I snarl, anger spiking.
T’Challa freezes, hearing the edge in my deepening voice.
“I…I mean…I didn’t mean…” He backpedals. But it’s too late.
He’s making fun of me. Making fun of my hair.
But he said it was beautiful, another part of me whispers before my fury quickly shoves it aside, my blood boiling.
I’m just a joke to him…like I was to all the other kids.
“Did you just compare me to a damn insect?”
A bolt of lightning hits a nearby tree, and I shriek. We both jump back from the flying sparks that dig deep into the trunk, the bark splintering. The crack travels down the base of the tree, stopping at its roots.
We stand, gaping at the giant charred mark, waiting for the entire tree to fall. T’Challa slowly turns to me, and I’ve lost my tongue.
“I…I…”
His blank expression breaks and he roars with laughter. I mean, hands on his knees, buckled over. Has he gone mad?
I cross my arms, glaring. “I see nothing funny about this at all.”
“I am sorry.” He cackles, holding his abs. “But where was all that when we needed it yesterday?”
Shame creeps in. I wanted to help T’Challa, I wanted that weird light to pop out of my hands. But I couldn’t do anything. And we almost died.
But the boy keeps laughing, holding his stomach, and I can’t help it—I crack a smile. It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve just laughed with someone else.
“Seems like you didn’t really need me,” I say, patting my eyes dry. “You handled those men all on your own.”
He shoves through a thicket of bushes, leading the way. “I have trained in hand-to-hand combat since I was a child. You have good reflexes. With the proper training, you could really learn to defend yourself.”
“Tuh. I did pretty well. Saved you back in Luxor.”
“Yes. And you are still not sure how.”
I wave him off. “I don’t need all of that. I know how to fight, too.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really? You call what you did yesterday fighting?”
“Hey! I’ve taken down my brothers several times.”
He stops to face me with a skeptical eye, a laugh on his lips.
“What? What is it?”
“Attack me,” he says, his arms crossed, chest puffed out.
I frown. “What? Now?”
“Yes. Right now. Give it your best shot. If you can.”
Tuh. The boy doesn’t know me well. I’m not one to skip out on a challenge. I roll my neck.
“Okay. Fine.”
I’ve practiced sparring with Moche and the boys plenty, but never with a stranger. Unsure of how to start, I throw a fist and he dodges to the right.
I throw another and he dodges to the left, almost politely, but there’s a small smirk on his face. Frustrated, I charge at him, but somehow he spins me around.
“Ugh!” I step back, trying to trip him, but he rounds me until my legs are in the air. I nearly land on my ass with a yelp before he catches me by the waist.
I stare at the prince, a grin on his face, fire in his eyes, and I promptly lose my breath.
“Go for the throat next time,” he says, his voice low, before standing me upright. “You are tall and have a height advantage.”
He raises my hand and curls my fingers into my palm. “Always wrap your thumb over your knuckle. Hold your fist tight and strong.”
He places his hands on my hips again and corrects my posture.
“And you need to shift from your core, so as not to lose your balance…”
I’m no longer paying attention. Too distracted by his hands seamlessly moving over my body, the sweat dripping down his shoulders, the tingle in my chest whenever we connect.
“Everyone should know their own strengths,” he continues. “If you were to use your powers…”
“I don’t have powers!” I snap.
He holds his arms up in surrender.
“Okay, well, if you had powers, you would use them to strike first, to unnerve your opponent, aim to disarm their senses.” He raises my hand again and pulls me closer until we’re inches apart. “But if your opponent becomes too close…that is when you must strike.”
Chin raised, I stare up into his eyes, my heart pounding. His smile slowly fades, body softening, but he doesn’t look away, doesn’t loosen his grip. And it almost feels as if he were about to tip forward into me. Right into my lips.
Or that’s what I imagined would happen.
“Um, I can teach you more,” he breathes. “If you would like.”
I would like. Very much. But as I inhale his scent and come to my senses, I step back, clearing my throat.
What in the world am I doing? He and I are not going to happen. No need for favors outside of our arrangement. I need to stay focused on the task at hand, which is making it back to the bike before those soldiers find us.
“I’m good on my own, thanks,” I mumble, fidgeting with my makeshift scarf. I turn away and nod in the opposite direction. “Um, it’s this way.”
He smirks. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know,” I groan, marching away. “I just…know.”
“Just like you know the weather,” he says, following. “You just happen to know which direction we should go. Have you been feeling this all along?”
I blink, stuttering to a stop.
He steps closer. “You have not looked at a map this entire journey. Yet somehow you always know exactly where we should be and have not been wrong once.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Because in truth, I somehow know we’re on the right path, even while we trek through the jungle. The curse feels stronger, coursing and speeding through my body. Always humming in the background of my mind. A song only I can hear on repeat, driving me crazy.
And I can’t wait to be rid it. Whatever it is.
* * *
Covered in sweat and dirt, we reach the outskirts of the town by early afternoon stopping at the first small market we see for water.
“Do you think the bike is still there?” I ask, breath ragged. I wash off my bloody leg, wincing through the stinging pain, and tear a fresh piece of T-shirt to wrap it. “What if someone stole it?”
T’Challa chugs down a bottle of water, sweat glistening off his chest, and checks his bracelet. His eyes narrow as he studies the hologram that rises up.
“It is in the same spot…but there is someone with it.”
Dread fills me. “The soldiers?”
T’Challa looks up at me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am not sure.”
