“If I’m going to die, I want to see what I’m dying for. I want to see the future. So you can either waste time taking me back or let me come with you.”
Demetri sighs. “Fine. But don’t say a word and do exactly as I say. I mean it.”
I put my hand in the air. “I promise.” I kiss his cheek.
He throws a pair of ugly jeans and a plain T-shirt at me, and I pull them on. I twist my hair up and put on a red wig that’s styled in a sleek bob. Mom insists we keep wigs packed for times like this. But Demetri puts on a baseball cap before handing me a hook-billed knife. “Put this in your purse—and use the nail polish.”
I nod and do as he says. Mom made me stardust-infused polish to magnify my magic and help me access the power of the stars even in sunlight. I quickly coat my nails with it. I’ve never used a knife and hope I won’t have to. I follow him out of the abandoned parking lot and onto a city block. We stroll on cracked concrete, passing a beautiful mural painted on the side of a gas station; it’s an image of Martin Luther King Jr. speaking at a podium to a crowd of smiling faces.
The smell of delicious fried chicken mixes with the stench of urine that clings to the alley across from us. Kids ride bikes through brick alleys. Others play basketball, their hoop a milk crate attached to a streetlight in front of ragged duplexes. A small brown boy makes a shot and pumps his tiny fist in success.
A heavy feeling pushes my shoulders down and makes my stomach sink. Exploring the past was hard, but the future…
I hoped it would be better.
My mind races, trying to love the experience of being in this time. “This doesn’t look like a spot that a flea circus would stage a show in, much less the Davenports.” I point to a condemned building nearby. “Look at this place. I bet it’s scary as hell after dark.”
Demetri laughs. “I don’t fear street violence or walking with my own.”
I nod, swallowing guilt for finding this part of town a bit intimidating.“I thought the future would be, you know, flying cars… or at least better-looking neighborhoods.”
Demetri laughs harder. “This place has rhythm, life. Good neighborhoods, too. It’s more than what you see here. But I imagine the Davenports chose to perform here for a reason.”
He skids to a stop in front of an old brown brick building with a beige stone arch over the door. “This is it,” he says, pointing. “The address Grandmère gave me.”
I turn in a slow circle, taking it all in. There’s a ticket booth standing in front of a black steel gate that must be fourteen feet tall. The gate curls around the old structure, which looks like an apartment building. It’s three stories high, with a saggy balcony on the third floor. Its windows are all barred with metal or boarded up. A line of people snakes from the ticket booth all the way up the block.
A sign advertisesTHE DAVENPORT FAMILY REVUE & SHOW.
“Wow,” Demetri whispers. “Look at that line… for this? This place is a dump. Clearly, they have no showmanship.”
I agree as the line creeps forward slowly. People wipe sweat from their brows and twitch impatiently, but they don’t stop waiting.
“The newspapers said it’s better thanSleep No More,” someone says.
“Doubt that,” another replies.
“But the music will be,” a third chimes in.
“You’re right about that,” the man in the ticket booth hollers out.
Demetri and I finally get our tickets and stroll through the tall gate. As we near the building, I see that the stone arch above the door is intricately etched with a sun that seems to beam down onto the entrance. The door itself glows red and glittery. The sweet smell of candied yams and magic flows from it, and my fingers vibrate when I touch the surface.
With a creak of the hinges, the door opens a crack.
“Bruh, I need to see your tickets please…” It’s a woman’s voice, but I see nothing but darkness when I try to peek in. I raise my ticket higher.
“Thanks,” the voice says.
The door slams closed, causing a breeze that shifts my wig. A chain rattles, and with another creak, the door is flung inward, opening to reveal adark empty space. I step forward, but the darkness shifts, making me freeze in place. Shadows twist like black ribbons in a tornado, curving, spinning, and elongating into a small female shape. She steps forward, blocking me. Her body is mostly solid and human-looking, but one hand looks like a black cloud. She holds it in front of my face so I can see tattoos as it solidifies into a fist.
Her name tag readsJAYLA DAVENPORT.
My heart drops into my stomach. I’ve never come face-to-face with one of our enemies before. What if she recognizes us? I swallow a growing panic.
“Not so fast!” Her clothes brighten into a heart-shaped bustier made of rhinestones, glass beads, and shards of mirror over a white skirt with a rainbow of dots like colorful confetti. Black cat-eye glasses and fluffy afro puffs frame her brown doll-like face. Her lips, full perfection under the slim slope of her nose, curve down into a frown. “I can’t read you. Why can’t I read you?”
I step back, bumping into the wall of my brother’s chest. “What?”
