“Big-Mama!” Jayla says. “I have ideas about how we should deal with them. We got to—”
“Kill ’em!” Pop-Pop finishes. “Plain and simple. They killed my sons. Killed the father of these children. Destroying that family is the only solution. Injured or not, I’m going to use the last drop of my strength to help take them out! To end it now. I want none of you to have to go seventy years always looking over your shoulder.”
“The answer to bloody problems isn’t always bloodier solutions!” I blurt out. But the fact is, I’m not sure Big-Mama and Pop-Pop are wrong. The curse can bubble up in us and bring violent urges that make any of us want to seek revenge. A bloodlust.
The room explodes with more arguments. But there’s no point. None of these stubborn folks are about to change their mind.
“Enough!” Big-Mama shouts.
The room turns silent in an instant.
“I’m tired.” Big-Mama sighs. “Bone-tired of burying those I love,” she says. “This is a far cry from what the ancestors expected when they struck a deal with that witch, Sabine. They thought magic meant freedom, but the Tether makes it a jail with its own death sentence. Hell, I’d die before I’ll accept that it’s the only legacy left for this family. We must end this. Even if that means burying every one of those Baldwins.”
Big-Mama drums her fingers on the tabletop. “I have something that might help us disorient them before we attack.” She takes Jayla’s arm, flashing the tattoos. “It will magnify the effects of the power in her tattoos.”
I rock back in my chair, feeling shaky inside. If Big-Mama has a strategy, there’s no way she’s backing down.
“My spell won’t work unless we have Baldwin blood. Of the fallen. Let’s just make sure the fallen is a Baldwin this time.” She flicks her wrist, and the card changes again. It melts into a closer image of the faces of Emma and the rest of the Baldwin family, smiling in front of their circus. “Look at this family. Study these faces so good you’d know them behind a disguise, because we don’t know what they may be planning. No more fussing. It’s time to remember who the real threat is.”
I run a hand over my hair, defeated. After all Big-Mama said, I know the future is going to be bloody because Baldwins don’t go down easy. And I’m not trying to see anybody in my family go down at all. But my heart swears Big-Mama’s wrong this time. Seems to me the real enemy we should take aim at is the Tether. The curse itself.
With a final flick of her wrist, she melts the card like gold wax, and it vanishes. “Now, shut up and eat before all this talk of murder and death kills your appetites,” she barks.
The large plates at the center of the table rise and float to each of us, unattended serving spoons heaping large helpings of eggs, French toast, and other eats onto our plates. The steam rising from them assures me that Big-Mama’s magic kept the food warm while we were talking.
And at long last, my sixteen-year-old sister, Imani, slinks in, late as ever, wearing an orange dress. Her chestnut-brown fingers toy with a long orange ponytail. She always matches her silky straight ponytail with whatever clothes she’s wearing. But her dark lipstick don’t change. She gives us a big smile as she eases into a seat.
“Where you been?” Big-Mama asks.
“I overslept,” she replies, blinking wide eyes with matching silver lines of paint around them.
“That’s no excuse.” Big-Mama cuts her eyes at Imani. “You know better, so do better. I needed you here to tell everyone about the vision you had last night.”
“Okay.” Imani’s eyes look worried. “When I look at the future—” She pauses, blowing a bubble. It pops, and she peels the pink gum off of her lips with dark nails. “—I see Emma Baldwin. Red-eyed ravens. And a river of blood. See awful things. I can’t tell who will survive… if anyone will.” Everyone around me gasps, but Imani just sighs. “A storm’s coming.” She flicks her orange ponytail and blows another bubble. “So I figured I needed to rest up for it.”
Big-Mama huffs. “It’s important that you be a part of these conversations, Imani. From now on, if I call everybody to the table, I expect everybody to be here. I’m sick of having to repeat myself.”
Imani’s face lights up. “Why come earlier? I saw breakfast starting now.”
“Ma-a-an,” I grumble. How come she gets to use her psychic ability to wriggle out of hearing Big-Mama’s speeches when I’m forced to listen to them?
Big-Mama looks like she’s going to backhand Imani. “You need to listen and be around more, Imani. You don’t see everything. Just possible futures that change based on our choices. Oh, and you’ll be doing these dishes, since you wanted to stroll in late and wrong. Bet you ain’t seen that.”
CHAPTER FIVEEmma BaldwinNEW ORLEANS, 1922
Grandmère’s ballroom blurs and shifts, her illusion misty and unclear for a moment. I focus on the massive golden clocks and colorful celestial paintings that I remember gazing at for hours as a child. But her magic has altered the space since then. Made it far bigger than it appears from the outside. The fine blue silk tapestries still hang in splendor. Our family crest is displayed proudly on a flag in the corner of the room. Soaring above it all, a massive chandelier dangles from an oval blue ceiling painted with golden constellations. But tonight, the furniture has been removed to make way for a crowd of smiling people.
I look around, confused. Is Grandmère throwing us a welcome party? Maybe this is her way of bribing me to remain obedient and follow the rules. Or are we simply crashing one of the lavish shindigs she regularly hosts to network with other families with magical abilities who have become her allies, as well as the few nonmagical people who have earned her trust over the years?
Grandmère’s piano sits by the spiral staircase leading to the ballroom’s upper level. Smartly dressed men and women whirl to an upbeat tune played by a ten-piece penguin-suited band set up under the window.Several dessert tables line the walls, covered with gold trays. There are macarons, chocolate-banana crepes, and lemon-berry savarin with strawberries so red and plump that I have to lick my lips as I look down at them.
We make our way to one of the dessert tables, where Demetri shovels pink star-shaped sugar cookies into his mouth. I guess his sweet tooth is strong enough to make him forget about everything that’s happened tonight. Following his lead, I bite into a sweet roll that melts in my mouth.
Grandmère smiles as I lick the sweet topping off my lips.
People sway and spin around us.
“So this is your surprise?” I ask. “What are you celebrating?”
