She heard Imani’s girlish chuckle. The around-the-way-Bronx-girl twang she added to almost everything she said. The things she whispered in Linda’s ear as they lay together in Linda’s bed when Papi worked the night shift. Words that blended in Linda’s consciousness, a messy swirl she fully embraced…You’re like a gym rat, you getting so big and hard… Gunz like Serena… Better sashay in them drawers… Are you sure about going into the academy?… Want some? Then say it in Spanish, bitch…
With the words came images, sights, sounds. How Imani twirled and danced and did neck rolls whenever the videos “Pretty Girl Rock” and “Work It” played on106 & Park. How when she was all serious and moody, she’d pick up the guitar she’d learned how to play at ten years old and sing husky and solemn.
Linda placed her cheek on Imani’s hands, kissed her knuckles. She tried her best to ignore the boniness. To remember her girl as someone who was thicker bodied and vibrant. Who loved to run her fingers through Linda’s curls. Who one day decided she wanted to be as close to her girlfriend as humanly possible once she understood how Linda’s empathy worked.
Soon after, Linda destroyed her mind.
“I’m sorry.” Words Linda whispered every visit. “So sorry. I miss you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
FONSI
After waving goodbye to Linda, Fonsi made his way through Penn Station. The noise from construction crews grated his nerves. They were still fixing the escalator that had been possessed by a spirit during the Equinox and sent travelers plunging to their doom. And he was still reeling from what he’d learned from Linda about how her abilities worked. It was the first time he’d ever met a Guardián empath, a rarity in his order, just like his cousin was a rarity with her manipulator gift. And just like his cousin, Linda seemed ambivalent about her power. Which was fascinating.
Am I destined to be an advisor to super-powerful women… who for some reason don’t want to actually USE their power?Fonsi mused. He’d reviewed everything he could about empaths in El Gran Libro Negro. Not a lot of intel, but some Guardián scholars thought that the orisha Elegua had bestowed the gift of mystical empathy upon those who were strong enough to hold the memories and emotions of others. It was a crossroads gift, meant to help humanity better understand their place in the world and make clearheaded decisions. Fonsi could practically see the lineshe’d read repeatedly days ago in El Gran Libro floating in his head…an empath’s power, if used with insight and training, is limited primarily by their strength and imagination. To Fonsi’s comic-book-loving brain, that made them sound like some sorta psychic Green Lantern.
“She’s a tight one,” Estelle had told him when he said he was going to DC at Linda’s request. “Don’t take anything too personally if she’s not warm and fuzzy.” Fonsi agreed. He could see how hot Linda got when responding to his questions, like she was on the verge of cussing his ass out. He thought it best not to press matters further. You didn’t survive and thrive as a business owner in the South Bronx without becoming adept at risk assessment. Linda was a former cop and PI, trained in hand-to-hand combat, might even be carrying a firearm.Andshe could mess with thoughts and emotions. No need to piss the woman off.
He received a text.Can you take a look at this?From the source of his preoccupation. Linda then sent a photo of an amulet. There was a face incorporated into what appeared to be a sun. A close-up of an image from a bowl on Mr. Samuelson’s nightstand, which she sent as a second picture for context. The amulet’s face was beautiful. Its eyes were closed, mouth open, as if in ecstasy.
Something about the face looked familiar, as if Fonsi had seen it before, maybe when perusing El Gran Libro. He immediately deemed it a ward to keep away evil spirits, what everyone had gotten into practically overnight. Maybe even associate pastors who were living in the closet.
There was someone he really wanted to speak to. He video called Matteo, brought his dude up on the screen.
“Hey, hon-eey,” Matteo said and kissed the screen twice.
“Hey. I know you’re about to start teaching class, but I just wanted… I just felt like seeing your face. Um, can I come over tonight? I gotta open the shop soon. But I’ll be done by seven, the usual.”
“Yes, yes, come, of course. You never have to ask, Fons. I’ll be home by six. I’ll make dinner, do a salada de palmitos with frango. I’ll douche, we have sex. Ah, students are arriving. Besos, love you.”
Matteo’s face vanished from the screen and Fonsi felt an abrupt emptiness. He made his way through the gray tunnel that would take him to the 2 train amid throngs of morning commuters. The evening couldn’t arrive fast enough. After the tensions of the past twenty-four hours, he just wanted to be in his boo’s arms.
And then he abruptly wondered,Who does Linda have?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EVELYN
On the fourth day of her vacation, just minutes after learning from the news that more people had joined the ranks of the Afflicted, a representative from Mtume’s human resources department sent a message to Evelyn’s personal email that the company would no longer need her services. That she would be allowed into the office on Monday from nine to noon to pick up her personal belongings. She typed back on her phone’s keypad:Burn them if you like, and please don’t contact me again. She stood in her kitchen alcove, furious at how they’d let her go, at how she’d been treated the entire time at the company. She let new realities sink in and lost track of time until Trevor texted, asking if he could come over that night.
Evelyn smiled.
Absolutely. Exactly what her soul needed.
Trevor arrived at his usual 7 p.m., and Evelyn’s jaw dropped when she opened the door.
“Trev, you were walking around out on the street like that?! Weren’t you cold?”
He grinned, pecked Evelyn on her lips, and stepped into her home in what she could only describe as a short white minidress with a thick goldensash around his waist. On his head, a thin bronze helmet tipped to the side, almost like a newsboy cap. On his right shoulder, a small man purse that hung to his hips. On his feet, golden high-top Nikes with large wings sprouting from their ankle collars. He held a garment bag against his shoulder, his other hand carrying a large shopping bag that he placed by the door.
“Greetings, distinguished lady. Or should I say, scintillating goddess of Mount Olympus.”
Goddess… Olympus…And that’s when Evelyn got it. Trevor wasn’t technically sporting a dress (though the ideawasa turn-on). He was in a tunic. Some sort of mini chiton, if she remembered the terminology correctly. What the ancient Greeks used to wear.
“Trev, you’re crazy. The wings… they’re connected to, uh… there’s this god, right? Super fast, like the Flash? What they use for flower delivery branding.”
He took a bow. “Yeah, Hermes, messenger for the gods, escorts souls to the underworld. I don’t know, just finished watching this mythology anime series. It was all right, I had notes, but the show definitely got me thinking. I talked to my pal Jackie, a producer over at the station. She’s a part-time wedding planner and serious cosplayer, so special events are her thing. She helped me get the outfit together. You did it up with our Harlem Renaissance night, I thought I needed to step up and do something special. I know… stupid and corny, right?”
