Hearing those words, Ma tears her gaze away from the birds fluttering around the room and sees my wound. She freezes. “Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no,” she cries, her fingers vibrating and fluttering like the birds’ wings. “My spell didn’t work!” Her voice rises in panic. “I can’t protect you!” The sun on the ceiling darkens to a crimson hue, mirroring her distress. “My son-shine! My sunshine gone! It’ll go away. Like Alex.” Tears puddle in her eyes, and she gazes at Big-Mama. “Mama,” she pleads. “It’s gone rain.”
The sun on the ceiling is swallowed by black clouds that roll over the ceiling, replacing the golden beams with starry darkness.
I rub my mother’s arm and force my biggest and most reassuring smile, trying not to wince at the pain the movement causes me. “I’m okay, Ma.”
But she loses my words inside her panic. “No. No. No!” She hugs her honey-brown arms, rockin’ and rubbin’, mumbling, “It’s a bloody omen. My baby gone die.”
Big-Mama’s brows form a stern line. She grips her orange linen dress and looks at Ma like she’s a broken doll again. “Shut up, Carmella. Don’t bury this boy with words long before any Baldwin has the chance to. The power of life and death is in the tongue.”
Mama keeps hugging herself, rocking, her voice a low mumble. “The curse gonna demand blood again. It’s the price of power. There’s gone be more figurines…”
My mind flashes back to the African warrior figurine in Alex’s image that Mama has clung to since his body got cold in the grave. I remember Ma rocking, sobbing as she’d hugged Alex’s corpse. Rain fell. Ma went from tears to scary, silent anger… and in a way, she never got back to herself after we lost him. My eyes get full. But I’m not about to let no tears fall. And I ain’t gonna become one of Ma’s dolls, either. I’ll be here to protect her. To protect everybody.
Pop-Pop walks over to Ma, his leathery face etched with lines of worry. He wraps an arm around her, his voice soothing. “Malcolm will be fine, dear. I’ll keep him safe.” He hugs Ma like she is still his baby girl. Still the most perfect thing in the world. “Nothin’ will happen to my grandson,” he assures her. But his eyes are sad and guilty. Safety is a promise no parent can keep. None of us has the power to stop the reaper. Or the time we think is promised.
Tears trail down the curve of Ma’s cheeks. She goes limp and small in Pop-Pop’s arms. Trembling, she whispers, “Daddy, I don’t want more dolls.”
My heart cracks as he rubs her back. I gotta fix things for Ma. No matter what, I gotta end the Tether so it never makes her bury another piece of her spirit.
Big-Mama leans forward in her chair and pats Ma too. “He’ll be fine, Carmella,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “Charles can heal him.” Then, her tone sharpens as she turns to us. “Look how you’ve upset your mother,” she hisses, her dark eyes flashing. “In her condition!”
Ma’s mental health ain’t usually talked about, but it’s always understood. Us kids walk on eggshells to protect it and her. I think therapy would help, but Big-Mama is afraid she’d redesign the therapist’s office with a stampede of angry horses or something. So we try to handle it at home, but this feels bigger than us—sometimes it’s like a wound bleeding all over the house, drowning us as we struggle to keep her head above water.
Big-Mama pulls us aside, her voice a low whisper. “What happened?”
The dim light from the conjured savannah reflects on Jayla’s glasses, highlighting the tears pooling behind them. “Malcolm,” she puffs. “He wasn’t focused on battle training today. His head wasn’t in it.”
I glance at my bandaged arm and think about Ma’s drink and how my mind had drifted to Emma during training. Jayla’s right, but admitting it will only make things worse.
“He’s… he’s not ready for the Tether,” Jayla stammers, fidgeting with the coils of her afro puffs. “And—”
“And you carelessly wounded your brother,” Big-Mama says, cutting her off. “The Tether could start at any moment. Malcolm’s life can be at stake if he’s not at his best.” In a whisper, she adds, “Jayla, this is so irresponsible of you, knowing what a meltdown your mother could have at the thought of injury to any of you. Especially Malcolm.”
Jayla fiddles with the coils of her afro puffs and pouts. “For a second, I almost forgot how the boys in this fam matter so much more than I do.” There’s something broken behind her face as she adds, “Thanks for reminding me.”
Big-Mama looks like she’s a second from backhanding her. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Jayla lowers her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated. I was trying to help him.” Her voice trembles, and sadness shadows her face. My sister is as frail as a glass statue when Big-Mamaglares at her. But despite that, Jayla is always the most human and most real person in any room.
“B-but,” Jayla sputters. “It really ain’t my fault! Malcolm wasn’t focused.” She points at me. “He’s not taking anything seriously. If he doesn’t get it together and concentrate on trying to win, he’ll end up like… like…” Her fingers tremble and so does her voice. “Like Alex.”
Mama must have overheard us, because she sobs harder, quaking in Pop-Pop’s arms like a branch in the wind. Pain sears through my chest, and my arm goes limp. I’m supposed to be this family’s protector. But I’m standing here, useless, unable to help until I figure out how to stop this Tether and all of Ma’s tears.
Jayla was fighting hard in the alley. She was fighting for me, trying to keep me safe. But I didn’t realize it. Her worry made her lose control of her power. That’s what family is: a ball of love and concern.
“I’m tryna save him,” Jayla mutters. Her catlike eyes ooze more tears, her face shadowed with grief and fear.
It makes me remember how Jayla lay in bed, crying and unable to eat, after Alex died fighting in the Tether. The lion came out to protect her from pain. For months Jayla coped by not being herself. Alex’s death broke Mama and shredded Jayla’s heart too. I’d felt weak, useless, and small back then. I was a dumb kid who couldn’t protect Alex from Isabel Baldwin or my family from grief. I almost lost my sister to the lion forever. I swore I’d change things. I’d guard my family, be Mama’s new champion. I look down at my injured arm and feel like a failure.
I can’t let her take the blame for this. I step forward, ignoring the pain in my arm, and position myself between her and Big-Mama. “It’s not her fault,” I say, my voice steady. “I messed up, aight? She didn’t have nothing to do with it.”
“I was there,” Charles chimes in. “It was an accident.”
Jayla shoots me and Charles a grateful look, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. But I can’t shake the feeling that it took Charles too long to speak up—maybe he’s still mad about the claw marks on the hood of his truck.
A jingle draws my attention to the door. Imani’s bracelets announce her arrival. “Another Baldwin family emergency,” she tuts. Her long, silky black-and-gold ponytail sways with each step, matching her fitted, shimmering dress. Metallic patterns ripple across the fabric, swirling like beaming constellations. “Sorry it took me so long,” Imani says, holding up a glowing, translucent orb filled with looping golden lights. “Had to get this for Ma.”
Ma’s tear-streaked face lifts from Pop-Pop’s chest, and her breath stutters at the sight of the orb. “What… what’s that, Imani?”
