Page 119 of Wings of Ebony
“I got you, Rue. Always.” He winks, and he, Jesse, and Kid head out the door.
“Everyone else, go ahead. Get moving, collecting evidence.” The door creaks open and people file out the living room.
“Uhhh, Rue.” Tasha pulls back the polyester fabric at the window. “I don’t think we have time to go look for Litto’s dawgs—”
My heart stops at her deadpan tone.
“The looters—they’re back.”
CHAPTER 34
WITH EVERYONE GONE, RECORDERSin hand, I peep for a better view of a group of men disappearing into a neighbor’s house. Bo posts up outside Ms. Leola’s house for a view of the block. This time I got backup.
I slip past Bo looking like he’s fast asleep out against Ms. Leola’s siding, the silver clutched in his fingers.
“Now,” I whisper, and his recorder flickers in the air then disappears.
I creep through Ms. Leola’s hedges toward the neighbor’s, on the heels of the men who snuck inside. Another thing I learned growing up ’round here:Watch your surroundings.Someone’s always watching.
The Row is in a state of repaired disarray. Some houses have cracked doors. Glass and broken furniture lie in piles outside of homes. I step over a prickly rose bush and peek in Ms. Davis’s front room window. Nothing. But I hear shouts, banging, then a crash. I’m up the stoop, peeking for a view through the hole in the door.
There’s Ms. Davis tied up, knees to her chest next to her granddaughter, Miesha. Their wide eyes dart my way.
I press a finger to my lips and mouth, “It’s gonna be okay.”
Miesha points and holds up the number three.
There are three inside.
I listen at the door first. Silence. The knob is cold in my palm. I twist and it opens with a quiet click. Ms. Davis’s hands are shaking, forehead sweating, and a tiny cut drips above her eye. She reaches her bound hands for a zipped-up pouch inches from her fingers.Her insulin.I tiptoe across the carpet and slide it to her.
“I’m going to get them,” I whisper and slip the ties off her hands.
Miesha points toward the hall.
“Go out the back,” I say to her. “Get her out of here.”
Miesha nods, helping her grandmother up.
Banging and commotion spills from the hall. The sound of things knocked over and breaking. They’re going to pay for this. In blood. I peek around the corner for a glimpse of the hall. Wooden picture frames filled with black and white photographs line the olive walls.
Metal clicks.
Shit, they have guns.
One’s standing there, on watch, with his back to me, the hint of a snake tattoo on his neck. I press against the wall, my heart an earthquake in my chest. If there’s only the one in the hall, the other two must be in one of the bedrooms. Another crash and the walls tremble, louder this time, like an entire chest of drawers shattered against a wall.
I dig inside for that twinge of heat—my magic—and picture it like a snake. A coil of light slithers from my fingertip, while I hide around the corner. It twists, stretching across the maroon carpet silently. The guy looks both ways completely unaware. The threadof energy is a thin rope inches from his feet. It tugs from my center, like a jagged thread ripping through me, snaking its way up his pant leg toward his neck.So close.If he moves, he’ll see it coming.
My shoe catches on the baseboard.Shit.He looks my way.
I jerk the rope and it slips around his neck before he can utter a scream. It coils tighter by the second and he drops the gun to claw at his neck. The metal hits the carpet with a muffledclang.So much for stealth. I ease around the corner and I can better see his face. It’s the guy from the car wreck, the same one on T’s Instagram. Anger burns through me and his face turns pink, his lips sputtering.
As it burns hotter, the rope squeezes.
The way he smiled, luring her to get inside…
Tighter.
