Authors: Elaine Lowe
“Weren’t no hooch dat laid you low, chil’. You had a magic comin’ out of you. A heap of good
moco
. I knows de diff’rence, I seen both sides of de powers.”
Sophia had no idea how to answer that. She wasn’t sure herself what in creation had happened, other than she was wide open. She was never so grateful that Mr. Evans the building manager took his job seriously, as she was sure she could have felt every rat in the building. Her head pounded with awareness of hundred of people, birds, even potted plants decorating window sills. Taking a deep breath, she made a futile attempt to pull a comforting blanket of fog over whatever part of her mind had awakened. Although she found it a little easier to think clearly, she couldn’t completely shut out the world and attempt to convince herself she was just an average girl trying to get by in the big city.
“Whatever might have happened, Mary, I really have not the least notion. Nor do I really care what might have happened. All I know is that Daron wanted her safe. So here she is, safe.” Irene jiggled her child impatiently as he continued to drink lustily. She was obviously eager to be gone from Sophia’s tiny little studio. “May we leave now?”
Sophia pushed herself on to her elbows. She could not stop the urge to snap anymore. “In a rush to get back to your lover boy then? Is he in a habit of rescuing strange women in the park? He plays the sheik and you are his harem?”
Unflappable Irene’s eyes blazed up to a vicious inferno. “Yes. That is exactly what a floozy flapper like you would think, isn’t it. Looking for your own Valentino to be your pimp, are you?”
Mary wouldn’t stand for it. “Chillun! Hush up an’ listen here,” she managed to fix both of the younger women with a commanding stare. “Dere ain’t no reason ta be evil ta de other. Dere be enough evils in dis world.” She nodded toward Sophia, “Dis gal gots ’self a question, an’ I figure dat you, Miz Irene, be the best person ta do da answerin’.
Oshun
done act to bring dis chil’ to us on a holy day. Spring Dawn did de same for you once, don’t be forgettin’.”
For a moment, gone was the imperious bitch. Sophia recognized in Irene a woman who’d been through hell and back. On her face, it was possible to see and feel unfathomable sorrow mixed with the aftertaste of relief. Irene brought a hand up to stroke the child in her arms, more to comfort herself than the babe. When her strength had returned, she whispered her story in a voice devoid of any emotion other than the intent to shock. “I suppose Mr. West does make a habit of rescuing women. He did rescue me. A year ago, I was pregnant with my lover’s child. My husband had left me, my lover had left me and I was the laughingstock of Fifth Avenue. Irene Whiteford, upper class whore.” She chuckled, a bitter sound. “I’d indulged in a fit of romantic drivel and stood at the steps of Belvedere Castle, working up the nerve to throw myself into the pond below.” She looked up suddenly, wanting to catch the look of horror on Sophia’s face at her confession.
Irene was disappointed. Sophia had been close to a similar action too many times to judge another harshly for the same impulse.
Bemused, Irene turned her face back to contemplation of her child. “I had made up my mind to jump. If the fall didn’t break my neck then the cold water would have taken care of any unpleasantness. It was not yet dawn and I had no desire to see another sunrise. I was scrambling up on to the wall, when an arm jerked me back.
“I screamed but it was lost in the vastness of the park. Only Daron heard. He said to me only, ‘Wait.’ After another five minutes of absolute silence, his iron grip hadn’t let up. The others came, surrounding us and looking off to the east. I was terrified.
“But all they were waiting for was the sun to rise. The first dawn of spring. I had never seen a sight more beautiful than that golden light rising over the city.” She paused again, closing her eyes. “While I was still awestruck, Mary here came up to my side. I’d have never spoken to a black woman before if I could help it but she spoke to me. She said…”
Mary broke in at this point, placing a hand on Irene’s shoulder with a soft smile upon her wizened face. “Dat dere be too wond’rous not ta give a chil’. It be too wond’rous not ta give yuhself. Whatever de troubles be, de life does seem bettuh when such beauty be.”
Sophia could feel the burst of gratitude and life within Irene at these repeated words. In their own way, the words were almost like a prayer. With a soft sigh, Irene finished her tale. “So, here I am, a year later. I’ve none of my old
friends
, nor a husband or a lover. But I have Michael,” she stroked the blond child, “and I have family.” She looked up at Mary and covered the wrinkled calloused hand with her own soft pale one. Then Irene turned her eyes on Sophia, a fierce lioness protecting her own. “Daron is worth ten of any other man. I hope you realize that. And he wants you.”
Mary chuckled, then eased herself down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yes oh yes! Iffin we had us some mustard an’ hot sauce, you’d been done ate up, de way he’s alookin’ at you.”
Irene sniffed again, her mantle of icy calm donned once again. “If you think to hurt him, be prepared for the consequences. That is all I shall say.”
Sophia decided that discretion was the better part of valor and remained silent. The aching existence of a thousand beings pummeling her brain, she collapsed back down on to the bed and allowed Mary to tuck in the blankets. The off-key lullaby that Irene sang to her baby sent Sophia off to sleep as well, trying to preserve the shreds of her sanity.
She drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the morning. But there was no sure sign of the presence of her odd assortment of guardian angels. By the time it was close to noon and her stomach grumbled, she found food had been placed on the raggedy bookshelf she’d rescued to be her nightstand. She ate the sweet roll and soft cheese greedily and drank down the water that had been set out. It had taken a great heap of energy out of her to use her “gifts” as Grams had shown her when she was a child. After having pretty well shut them off as best she could for the better part of eight years, using them again on full throttle made her ravenous.
Standing up on shaky legs she shuffled over to the wash basin, pouring icy cold water from the clay pitcher into her hands. She splashed her face and the shock did its job, focusing her marauding thoughts on the sensation of her own being. Stripping to her birthday suit, she stood eyes closed with bare feet on the concrete floor, breathing in and out and hearing Grams whispering in her ear.
Remember child, never lose yourself when you are giving your Gift to others. If you go and do that, why then who’d be there to help them after that, I’d like to know? Breathe deeply and feel every inch of your skin, from your toes to your nose. There be your boundary, your borders. No one can cross but those you let into your heart. You’ll always be safe there, my little one. Queen and Empress of your own domain.
The tears came, washing away all the petty hurts she’d known of late. It had been eight years since Jimmy had gone off to war and died of influenza. It had been seven years since Grams had passed away, leaving her alone with a power her father didn’t understand and her mother despised as the Devil’s work. She found her way to the wonderful numbing anonymity of the Big Apple mere months after Grams had been laid to rest. She’d been here for years but she could still hear Grams’ voice as though it was yesterday. Whatever that man, Mr. Daron West, had done to her, it had reopened every raw wound she had.
She opened her eyes and stared at her body in the cracked cheval mirror she’d acquired from Mrs. Landis on the third floor. The mirror revealed an average woman, who perhaps could use the burning intensity of her powers to whittle away the pounds she’d packed on since living in the city on Automat food and whatever came to hand to chase down the booze. It was fashionable to be skinny and flat but Sophia could thank both her mother and her Grams for giving her a generous bust that she had to tape down to look anywhere near decent in a modern dress. And her hips, well, there was just no way to cover those up except for dancing fast enough or getting drunk enough that everything became a blur.
Average brown eyes, average brown hair. Average height, average smile
.
Average
.
She hadn’t thought there was much wrong with average, until she’d been stared at by green eyes deep enough to swallow her
. Maybe he’d just been high on dope. Maybe he was mentally unstable.
But unless she’d invented Irene and Mary’s little visit out of the recesses of her overactive imagination, it hadn’t sounded like he was the type to indulge in the more risqué habits of the city, or that he was missing any marbles.
There was nothing special about her, except for the fact that she could feel the life’s blood running in every living thing. Every leaf, every cockroach, every geranium, every lapdog and every thug in this city she could sense if she let herself. It used to be that she’d have to concentrate to feel anything at all and now she had to concentrate not to feel everything in fifty miles. She closed her eyes again, broken for a moment.
Damn him!
He’d done something to her. He’d broken through some barrier she hadn’t wanted busted. At least not yet. Not for a good long while…maybe a lifetime or two.
The worst thing was, she should hate him. She should want to sic the police on the whole sorry crazy lot of sun worshippers, gathering in the park to greet the quarter day sun. But she couldn’t, not when his face still swam hazily before her eyes, looking at her like she meant something to him. Not when she wanted him so badly it blocked out all the stray feelings until she could do nothing put picture him taking her hard on the cold floor, her legs wrapped around his thighs and that glorious hair shielding her from anything but the smell and taste of him. She opened her eyes and saw the flush of desire pink on her skin, her nipples hard from cold and want all at the same time, her fingers playing with the skin of her hip, longing to dip in to play with herself in a sad imitation of what she craved.
Shaking her head at her own folly, she picked up a washcloth to bathe herself in the cold air and hurried to finally cover herself with stockings and bloomers and a warm comfortable wool dress. It was Sunday after all. She’d take a day of rest. No work today anyway and no parties until she got her head back on straight. And no more thinking about dark-haired magicians and their powers of seduction. If she saw him or any of his band again, she’d just simply run away. Manhattan was a damn big island and New York was the biggest city in the whole world. She was certain she could hide from him, even if she had to give up this apartment.
The problem was, she was somehow equally certain that if she put her mind to it, she’d always be able to find him.
Like a moth drawn to a flame.
Chapter Four
Sophia made it all the way to Thursday before she caught a spy. Somebody was checking up on her that was for certain. She’d felt a presence near her door, over her shoulder, even once on the way to work but she hadn’t mastered filtering her powers enough to recognize if it was the same person each time, or different ones. Still, Sophia couldn’t picture the haughty Irene or the elderly Mary being stealthy enough to manage to break into her apartment repeatedly and leave gifts of rolls or cookies. And neither of them was burly enough to chase off the idiot Capone kids who were trying to snatch her purse as she crossed Lafayette Street on her way to work Tuesday. Besides, that time, she’d got enough of a glimpse of red hair under a grimy cap. And an all-too-cocky smile. He’d known who she was. If she wasn’t badly mistaken he’d been one of the group that had greeted the dawn with Daron West.
The man seemed to inspire a fair bit of loyalty. It seemed that she had been adopted into the club without ever having signed up for admittance. Wasn’t there a secret handshake or set of magic words she’d need? And where was the man of the hour to take credit for rescuing the damsel in distress? Apparently, he cultivated the “mystery man” image to the greatest possible extent. Either that, or he just wasn’t interested.
By Thursday she was in a foul mood. She’d had a restless night haunted by visions of running through forests outside Newbury, Ohio, chasing Jimmy but never catching him. She’d felt him getting further and further away ’til she couldn’t feel him or anyone. Not even herself. She’d had that dream a million and one times, waking up afterward with eyes wide open to stare at the ceiling and try to remember the shape of Jimmy’s smile. This time had been different though. Jimmy had come out from behind a tree and given that bashful smile she’d loved. He’d been grown then, not just thirteen and ready to steal a kiss. He’d been grown and in his Army suit and he’d waved goodbye, dirty blond hair blowing in the breeze. This time, she woke up and didn’t feel empty. She felt fallow, like she was waiting for something to happen to her. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
So, she was running dreadfully late for work and she’d rushed around madly trying to find a decent pair of stockings. But she wasn’t so hassled that she couldn’t feel the presence at her door or the sound of a deft hand working the lock. Sophia jerked open the door and clapped her hand over a thin wrist. Sure enough, it wasn’t Irene or Mary, or even the redheaded fella. It was a girl.