Page 101 of Wings of Ebony
“I—I have to go.” I try to run off, but he holds on to my fingers.
“It is quicker on the edge of the island, the Ancestors’ burial ground.” He glances at my watch. “You are leaving, yes? Something’s wrong. I see it in your eyes.” He points. “The way you came is long. But on the very edge of the sea, where you saw me training, go there. Your transport signal will work.” His fingers still hold on to mine. His words are saying go, but his touch is saying something different altogether.
“Please don’t tell Aasim. Don’t tell anyone.”
He dips his chin in a slight bow, but I can see the disapproval in his stare. I mouth the words “Thank you,” savoring the last of his touch. My hand slips from his fingers and I run. Down the path through the trees, the edge of the island looms. I glance at the gold metal peeking from my pocket. “Hope this works.”
Choppy waves slap jagged rock as the dining area and surrounding huts grow smaller in the distance. I urge my feet faster, air ragged in my lungs. The sky is stormy, black with cracks of lightening in the distance. The cuffs clank against each other and I zip up my pocket so they’re tucked away safe.
Sharp gusts whip my clothes every which way, like hands pulling, tugging me back, begging me not to go. Salty air stings my eyes when I reach the Ancestors’ burial ground where Jhamal was training. My fingers hover over my watch.
What do I tell Bri?
Me: Ready my signal to Tasha’s NOW! URGENT!!
Bri:???
Me: No time!! NOW pls.
Bri: Fiveseconds… Rue, don’t go alone, please.
Four…
Three…
Bri: Rue?? Hello??
Two…
Aasim’s face flashes in my mind.
One…
Sorry, Dad. You’d try to stop me.
CHAPTER 31
THE BLOCK IS QUIET.
Too quiet.
A breeze whips by, unsettling a cluster of fallen leaves as I hurry past. Row after row of apartments are on either side, Ms. Leola’s door growing larger the closer I get. The moon hangs high in the sky. Somebody should be outside, chopping it up or rolling by.
People ’round the block at night are like eyes and ears. Always watching out. It’s like unsaid rules around here. It ain’t never quiet. Not like this.
Unless… folks saw something, gave them a reason to hole up inside.
Hair stands on my neck and I creep closer to Ms. Leola’s. This might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but what choice do I have? I’m counting on these cuffs answering if I need them. Counting on it like my life depends on it. Like all our lives depend on it.
The door handle on Ms. Leola’s is chilly and slightly ajar, creaking as I slip it open. I press an ear to it.
Silence.
It pricks my spine like needles. I slip inside and a haze of smokiness and the scent of bacon greet me. Something’s burning. Ms. Leola usually sleeps with the hall light on. But it’s pitch black.
Closer to the kitchen the burnt grease smell is growing. I peek my head in and cough. Charred strips of bacon are smoking on the stove. Fanning the haze, I flip the burner off and spot a note.
Going over to Bertha’s. Won’t be long.
