Page 108 of Wings of Ebony
I bite back the pain and dash for it.
He squeezes an eye shut, pointing. Magic shoots from his fingertip and slams into the cuff and it shatters into a cloud of golden dust.
“Nooooo!”The scream rips from me as my knees slam the asphalt. Golden ash falls like snow and tears burn my face.No, h-he c-can’t!I pound one bloody fist to the ground after the other. Sirens wail louder, but the sounds of looting and cries of East Row drown them out.
“Cuffs, destroyed.” The General dusts off his hands. “Chancellor’s orders.”
“You can’t!” I yell, again and again, louder and louder, until my throat is raw. Gilded ash flickers through the air, my failure taunting me.
He’s in my face. So close I can smell the sweat on his pasty skin. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that? If my men would’ve taken care of you a year ago like they were supposed to, the Chancellor wouldn’t be breathing down my neck now. But no, your bitch mother had to get in the way.” He smiles, satisfied with himself. “But I guess we took care of her.”
M-my mother?
H-he… he killed my mother?
I can’t think.
I don’t feel.
I only see red.
I fling a jab at his disgusting smirk, but streams of magic pummel into me, throwing me back before I can reach his face.
He stands over me, the commotion of chaos pounding in my head.
This is the end. H-he’s going to kill me.
He killed my mother and now he’s gonna finish me off.
He smirks. “Killing you wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as watching you suffer.” He blows me a kiss, turns on the spot, and disappears.
People shriek, crying, begging for the gang to stop.
My home is in pieces.
The gateway to my magic is shattered, gone—a heap of ash.
I feel nothing. I’m as good as dead.
CHAPTER 32
THE SIRENS CRY SOloud my head feels like it might implode. Smoke stings my nostrils, and the sound of gushing water rings in my ears. The fires are all gone, but the people stand around mourning broken treasures, stolen mementos, the terror of being hated and hunted.
Phones are out everywhere, but no news crews or cameras. If we’re going to document injustice, we gotta capture that shit ourselves. A cluster of people stand a few feet away on the basketball court, watching.
I sit on the ground, hugging my knees.
If I don’t move, maybe the world will stop spinning.
The hope for protecting my sister, my neighborhood, is in a million pieces on the ground. And I’m empty, like a gaping hole has been ripped open inside of me. Boots shuffle around me, tending to the chaos. An ambulance blares in the distance and police sirens howl.
It’s over. I’m useless.
People like me never win.
My knotted hair is tight between my fingers. I grip and tug, digging my nails into my scalp. It should hurt, but I’m numb. There’s no fix to dull the pain, and nowhere to hide my shame, so I cry out here in front of everyone, looking weak AF.
A man in a paramedic uniform’s words are a dull buzz in my ear. I shoo him away like a gnat. The weight on my chest says it’s useless to breathe. It rises and sinks, slower. I don’t care. I’m so stupid, so reckless. My eyes burn at the corners and I rock back and forth.
