Linda stared at the photo, realized that there was a slight resemblance between Imani and Monica. She needed to focus on Imani’s face just for a moment, to steady herself, be reminded of what was important. Imani is what kept her going. Everything she did, for her girl. Then Linda got to the floor and sat down on the mat at the foot of her bed.
She began to meditate. A sea of voices swam in her consciousness. She quieted them down. She did this before bed when she’d had a difficultday, just to be safe. Her teenage years, so many sleepless nights when she didn’t know how to control herself, to control the whispers that swam willy-nilly in her head.
Linda took in her altar dedicated to the orisha Elegua. A mat lay on the floor with an unwrapped cigar, coins from around the world, three bowls of rice and beans, three bowls of assorted chocolates, three bottles of rum, and a doll in a red and black dress. The candles that flanked each corner of the mat were unlit. Above the altar hung portraits of the orisha in his three guises. Elegua as a smiling child with a red cap, his eyes bright and mischievous. Elegua as a lean, shirtless man with feline eyes and red and black beads draped over his chest. Elegua as a cackling elder with a long gray beard and missing front tooth, sitting cross-legged in red pants.
Linda wasn’t a santero, even with her gift of empathy, but she’d long deduced that Elegua’s guises were a metaphor for choice. Who would people choose to be when it came to how they dealt with the world, when they were at the crossroads? A petulant child? A clear-eyed adult? A self-satisfied senior?
She rose from the floor, then showered, brushed her teeth, being as gentle as possible with her busted lip, and crept into bed. Despite her fatigue, she wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. Something was irritating her, how for a moment she’d second-guessed herself. Linda knew within seconds of meeting Jeremiah she’d stumbled onto something supernatural. She was a pro at taking someone in when they were up close, remembering key elements, refusing to use her empathy to get easy answers. In less than five seconds, she could recall faces, hairstyles, general attire. Give her fifteen seconds, she could discern fabrics, labels, subtle features. The mole under a droopy left eye. An upper molar stained yellow from cigarettes. The gold band with a diamond inlay on someone’s pinky. With Jeremiah and his unearthly appearance, she just hadn’t wanted to believe.
Linda ran through the facts, what she did in any case. He was clearly inpain, in despair, seemed to be in a state of decay. His skin blistered, peeling. Or rather, like he was burning up from the inside. Linda shuddered. She’d been in close contact, had touched him. Should she be concerned?
She thought about Samuelson’s eyes, how they reminded her of the bloodred sky above New York during the ghost invasion. How the heavens seemed to be on fire.
And that was it. The answer. She was aggravated because, despite her weeks of rationalizations and equivocations and self-soothing, she knew all along that the same thing that happened to New York could happen to DC. She knew better than to be walking around so lax, knew it in her gut. If she had been more communicative with other members of her order, other Guardianes, maybe they might’ve seen this coming.
In a strange way, she blamed herself.
Linda stared hard at the ceiling.I’m going to fix this, she thought. A pledge that came without warning, that nonetheless felt right, true. She would figure out what had happened to Jeremiah Samuelson.
CHAPTER FIVE
EVELYN
About a month after the ghostly attacks that left parts of New York devastated, police apprehended a man yesterday evening in the Dupont Circle area described as having glowing red eyes…”
Evelyn switched off her earbuds. She didn’t have the bandwidth. There had been rumors circulating earlier at Mtume that people were posting images on their phones of a man with a bizarre, otherworldly appearance, but she hadn’t wanted to believe, just chalked it up to someone using AI to produce stupid effects.
She pressed her hands into her pockets as she approached Nueva Investigations for the second time that night. The clack of her heels on concrete echoed into evening. The sweet aroma from a cluster of lilac trees nestled in a garden across the street wasn’t doing much to settle her nerves. Evelyn took out her phone, looked at the screen: 6:59 p.m. She’d arrived fifteen minutes early and walked around the block two times before returning to the building. Something about Linda’s demeanor told her she shouldn’t deviate from the agreed-upon schedule, that she should arrive at seven on the dot as instructed.
Evelyn scanned the front of the town house, noticed how plain and ordinary it was. The building’s sienna facade, faded. The white paint that covered the door and its frame was chipped. The mailbox, spotted, streaked with rust. Nueva Investigations needed a refresh. Which was interesting. Why did she remember the townhome as an enticing, shiny thing? She had done her research. Even though she only managed to find a couple of photos of Linda herself, the agency consistently earned high ratings on online platforms. Linda had even earned a couple of industry awards. From what Evelyn could discern, the business was a success, so why wasn’t she opting to take better care of her place? Were things tight, her overhead too high, considering how expensive the city had become?
She took a deep, deep breath and for the millionth time suppressed the urge to turn around and go home and listen to news about whatever fucked-up madness was happening to DC. She rang the buzzer, which she hadn’t noticed before. In seconds, Linda appeared at the door.
“Your lip,” Evelyn said instead of hello. The bottom right corner of Linda’s mouth was swollen. “Are you okay?”
Linda waved off the comment. “You should see the other guy. Come in.” She led Evelyn to a plain, dark wooden chair that flanked the cushy mustard couch she’d sat on during her first visit. The chair was surprisingly comfortable even though it had seen better days. Its varnish was peeling. The armrests wobbly, chipped.
Linda sat in another wooden chair directly across from Evelyn and placed her hands on her knees. Candles were lined up on a nearby table. Evelyn remained still but scanned the space with her eyes. Shadows danced on the ceiling, on the inner and outer arms of the couch. She smelled incense, the same scent she remembered from when she first entered the town house. She glanced over at the portraits on the wall, the images swallowed by darkness.
Why am I here?Evelyn wondered, after she was so ready to swear off anything remotely spooky. When she’d first set foot in the agency three days ago, she and Linda had barely spoken. After her weird visions, which she’d immediately chalked up to overexcitement, Evelyn had settled on the couch at her host’s insistence while Linda asked basic questions about her day. Evelyn thought the small talk might be a cover, that Linda was studying her, that she wanted to communicate something else. And then, after a quick smattering of innocuous questions… silence. A few more awkward moments passed with no words. Evelyn, not one to overstay her welcome, said in her girlish voice, “Guess I should go.”
“Of course,” Linda said as she rose and walked Evelyn to the door. “Of course. You’re welcome to come back this Thursday evening at seven if you’re available.” She slipped Evelyn a cream business card. “Reach out if you prefer to connect another time. If you want to go your own way, I understand. But know this, Ms. Kendricks, if you return… if youchooseto return… I can show you who you really are.”
In a daze, Evelyn had managed to get herself home, astonished at how strange her day had turned out, the walk from the agency to her place taking less than ten minutes. It was only when she placed her key in the front door lock, as she thought about the investigator’s parting words, that she realized she’d never told Linda her last name.
I can show you who you really are.
Those words had haunted Evelyn day in and out. Linda’s alto was lodged in her head, floating through her dreams at night, causing her to zone out when she crossed the street, distracting her at meetings. Evelyn thought she knew who she was, yet the job that had given her so much stability, that was her haven for years, had abruptly become a scary, anxiety-inducing place. Who was she, if she didn’t have Mtume?
Evelyn had felt compelled to return to the town house.
“Ms. Kendricks, are you ready to begin?”
“Uh, begin what, exactly?” Evelyn gripped her sterling silver daisy ring. The ridges of the small metal petals dug into her skin and created a sharp prickle. A routine she’d developed at Mtume, which helped to ease her nerves before big presentations. “I remember you said… you’re going to explain some things about myself. I wasn’t sure what you meant.”
“Ms. Kendricks, you were compelled to come here because you’re hurting. Because you were in a place where you needed help, care, compassion. Someone to be there for you. Plain as day from where I sat in my agency. And I could also sense plain as day you haven’t been honoring who you are. That you’ve been giving away your integrity, yourpower.” Linda paused. “You’ve been giving away your love.” This she said softly, gently. “It’s always about love.”
“And how would you know that?” Evelyn fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable as the words pierced her heart. What had just come out of Linda’s mouth, too damn true, too close to home. Something she wasn’t ready to discuss with a stranger who made a living from minding other folks’ business. “And how do you know my last name?”
