Page 87 of Wings of Ebony
“Free?” I had asked. I never knew Moms felt chained. Now, I guess I get what she meant.
“Yeah, like out here it’s just me and the stars. Nothing in between. I could just reach out and touch one if I wanted. Or be up there with them if I wanted.”
“Ma, dancing with the stars is a TV show, I don’t think you can actually do it.” I’d laughed so hard at my own joke, my ribs hurt.
She’d joined in. “You a mess. I just mean that when I look up at the night sky, there’s no distraction, no noise,” she’d said. “I feel like if I reach high enough I canactuallytouch them. Back at home… when things are busy, you know… and work… I just. It’s easier to see that the sky’s the limit out here. There’s nothing between you and the stars, you hear me? Nothing.” She had squeezed my hand. “You just reach. Whatever it is, you make—”
“—a way, I know, Ma.” I’d squeezed back.
I imagine Moms up there dancing with the twinkling specks overhead. And she could renegade and bop better than a DaBaby music video, so if she is dancing up there, she showing out f’sho.
The sound of lapping waves snatch me from my daydream. The farther the path goes, the denser the foliage. Trees rustle between my steps and I glance backward, but there’s no one there. The path curves between another patch of bendy, crooked trees with familiar red flowers.
I know this nest of tangled branches, that crimson bloom.
The dream.
CHAPTER 28
ISHOVE PAST THE BRANCHESand over several fallen ones, the sound of the ocean growing louder. The knot of branches from my dream is real. I’m trudging through it, my heart in my throat. The constant feeling someone’s watching cloaks my shoulders, but I keep walking toward the way the boy always leads me. Wisps of sounds like soft footsteps tickle my ear.
Crack.
“H-hello? Someone there?”
Silence.
The stone path turns to dirt and a layer of dead leaves. Trees close in around me, knitted tighter together, moonlight hiding behind wide, towering leaves.
I know this place.
I brush a finger across a black bark tree with deep red flowers.
Smooth to the touch, just like I thought it’d be.
A flicker of golden light flashes in the distance. I creep toward it, half curious, half terrified. The forest comes to an abrupt end up ahead. And there, on the literal edge of the mountain, is a ring of fire hissing like a snake around the perimeter of a pit.
And someone’s inside it.
I squint, half expecting to see the little boy, his tiny hands and moon-like eyes. I peer between tangled branches, coarse bark scraping my knees.
In the center of the flames, a guy much too old to be the little boy pivots and thrusts like he’s fighting an invisible enemy. He bounces back and forth on his feet, thighs like boulders clenching with each shift in stance. He moves like music, circling, slower at first, then faster. A staff made of orange wood—no, orangelight—sparks as he slashes and twirls.
I gasp. I’ve seen flames from fingers, transport spells, hovering dishes, but this—a weapon made from magic?
I gape at my hands.C-can I do that?
Behind me, murmuring voices whisper. Iknewsomeone else was out here. I peer backward, but darkness hugs my vision. The fire pit lights are dying out. But the guy? There’s no one in the center. I looked away for a split second. He wasjustthere. The hair on my back stands up. Am I’m seeing things? No, light, fire, or whatever it was, wasjustthere.
The fire ring is a rusty glow of embers. Maybe he left. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Someone clears their throat.
“Who’s there? Show yourself.”
“It’s not polite to spy on people.” The guy from the clearing steps from the shadows, his angular jaw pulsing. Black fabric wraps around his legs, his torso, and his folded arms. He’s a lot bigger in person, with thighs like drums and thick leather straps hugging his chest in an X. His deep-set dark eyes burn into mine and I ball my fists.
My magic might be broke, but these hands ain’t.
“Creeping up on someone in the dark is a way to get an ass beating,” I say.
