It feels good not to have to worry about anything for a minute. Tonight, I don’t have to kill nothing but this stage.
The curtain behind it is closed. Most folks dance in the center of theroom. Some sit eating at mahogany tables on the sides of the room. Others drink at the matching bar.
“Malcolm Davenport!” someone shouts.
I raise my palms and slide a smile across my face at the warm welcome. This place makes my heart happy. I’m with my people. Man, I’m going to miss this. I hate what I have to do tonight. But I’ve got lives to save.
A small band plays on the stage in the far corner. Lil Petey blowing on the saxophone with fat jaws. And Miles killing it on bass. Boom boom go the drums. The music steams a ragtime beat. Men in colorful suits sip moonshine, while women with painted faces sway their bodies, their fitted bodices and long, full skirts giving the joint its sexy. Laughter chimes and voices ring above the music.
I sit on a barstool. Shelves of liquor and the smeared brown of my reflection in the dirty mirror behind the bar face me. My mind circles back to my friend Loot. He’s not going to want to close when business has been so good. I have to figure something out…
But first, I need to gulp down some excitement. Like always, the place is slowly starting to fill up tonight. Loot’s got a good head for business. I grin. Makes me really glad I put some money in to help him open this spot. My family always gives back to the community with some of the money from our shows, so I gave some to Loot. An eighteen-year-old like me needs to have someplace fun to relax. Sucks that I’ve got to figure out a way to shut the joint down.
Several men suited up in black stroll in. Behind them is the last person I want to see—my twin sister, Jayla. All heads turn when she slinks into the room. Happens every time. Her heels click on the ceramic floor tiles. She moves a barstool close to mine and sits down. She blinks her big eyes that she got lined in gold and black, making her look like a queen from ancient Egypt or something. Her hair is different too. She’s got braids in a low bun. Guess she figured her glasses and afro puffs didn’t go with her outfit tonight, because she isn’t wearing them. Her dress looks like it belongs in this time, except I haven’t seen a lot of women from 1904 wear peacock-blue lace with a matching feather headpiece. And she smells like Dove soap, cocoa butter lotion, and twenty-first-century hair products.
“Can’t get no time alone,” I mutter.
She gently slaps the back of my head. “What’s up, Rock?”
Oh, like I’m the hardhead. “Told you to stay home.”
“What… my emancipation don’t fit your equation, bro?” Jayla giggles.
“Ma-a-an. Here you go…” I lower my voice. “You can’t quote lyrics to songs that ain’t been written yet.”
“That wasn’t an exact quote, all right?” A grin curls on her lips. “You think I’m gonna miss some fun?” Her head tilts, and she puts her hands on her hips. She gives me a look that saysNot happening. “What you trying to do here, Malcolm?”
“Change history.” I smile.
“Should’ve known.” She grabs my cup. I glance at the tattoos on her hand. She finishes my drink, probably just so I won’t. Jayla doesn’t like when I drink too much because she thinks I start talking too much. Her eyes roll, in that way they always do before she starts teasing somebody. “Well,” she adds, “I couldn’t let Mama die because something bloody happened to her sunshine, the a-a-amazing Malcolm Davenport.”
The wordamazingsounds a lot less impressive in her sarcastic tone. My sister only thinks I’m Mom’s favorite because our big brother Alex is gone.
Isabel Baldwin killed him.
They say time heals all wounds. That’s a lie. I’ve swum in oceans of time, and it hasn’t washed away the stain of grief or cooled my anger toward the Baldwins.
I smirk at my sister as she shifts on the barstool next to me. “’Bout time you respect my greatness,” I say, signaling Loot to come over, but he’s busy helping someone at the other end of the bar. I need some liquid courage tonight.
“You all right,” she teases. “For a rockhead.”
I can always count on her to keep me humble. Make me feel normal. That’s part of why I love her. She’s family, and I don’t have much left.
Dad’s dead, Pop-Pop’s weak from war wounds, and my brother Charles is more books than battle. But my twin sister, Jayla, is everything. My little sister, Imani, too. I got to protect them, to protect all my family. Like Alex would have.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing away old memories. The rain. Mama rocking as she hugged Alex’s corpse. Her going from tears to scary, silent anger. Mama never saying a thing, but everyone knew. I know. I’m her last male warrior.
I would give anything to heal Mama’s broken heart. That’s why I took my brother’s place, became the family’s new protector, even before Alex’s body got cold in the ground. But there wasn’t any way I was ready for that back then. I was just a little kid.
A warrior’s supposed to have heart. Mine was broken. I look down at my empty glass, fighting back the grief that still grinds me into bits when I think about my brother. We didn’t just bury Alex. We buried the best part of us.
All because of a feud we can’t escape. “I really need a drink,” I mutter, running a finger around the rim of the glass.
“Really, though…” Jayla tilts her head and looks at me like I’m five and she thinks I’m messing up. “What you need is to stay still, instead of running through time to stir up trouble.”
“Don’t you got something to do other than stalk me?”
“Yeah,” she says, “but I got to protect you from your obsession with righting past wrongs, so there’s no time to do it.”
