The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (22 page)

“Here." Tillemont tossed the gem to Verdiss, who snatched it up.

Verdiss stood a moment, and in that brief moment, Tillemont prayed he'd reached his son. Those red eyes glinted in thought, Verdiss's serpentine intelligence turning the gears in his head. He
hoped
. No, Tillemont failed again.
 

Verdiss caressed the gem like a lover. Then glared at Tillemont. “There is more to our existence than spending money and parading around as a white man, when, in fact, you are nothing more than a houseboy." His deformed lips pulled back into a malicious smile. He tucked the Dragon's Blood into a secret pocket as he gathered his black robe around him.
 

“I'm not a house slave
anymore
,” said Tillemont, tugging on his fine jacket. He forgave the irony of Verdiss's words. There was no reason to embarrass him. “Besides, what do you plan to do with that thing?”
 

“Capture the soul of a traitor." Verdiss stormed toward the door and flung it open. He glanced back as though he wanted one more glimpse of Tillemont.

He's going to say something
!
 

But Verdiss seemed to think better of it. “Your
compensation is on the doorstep.” He turned away. An aura of coldness descended upon him. “Next time we meet, my dear
father
, you will be eradicated with the rest of your kind.”
 

Tillemont was still a houseboy, Verdiss was right about that much. Gallivanting around in the skin of a white man, doesn't make you white. No, his soul was still that of a slave's. It shaped him, taught him, raised him, it
was
him. A lesson Tillemont still feared Verdiss wouldn't learn. More frightening, he had the feeling his son would try to prove his whiteness.
 

Verdiss stepped out into the chilled night air. Fall had reached New York. The moon lay hidden by deep, jet clouds. Pulling his robe around his thin body, Verdiss walked past his payment, still squirming, and faded into the darkness.

Tillemont exhaled once Verdiss disappeared. He headed for the door. His muscular body refreshed his spirit.
Not old anymore.
Even this late at night, he could stay up for a few more hours. Perhaps he'd find a woman or count his money again—he couldn't decide. Anything to force Verdiss from his thoughts. He shivered at the door letting the biting wind into the parlor.
 

“No manners." Tillemont poked his head outside and looked down the stairs.

“Well, aren't you handsome.” He scrutinized the young man's face. Mid-twenties, maybe early thirties, handsome enough. Bound by rope, a washcloth crammed in his mouth. Blood covered his pate. He tried to wriggle himself free of his constraints. “What is your name, child?” Tillemont removed the gag. “Yell and you'll never see your wife and daughter again, I promise you that." Reading Darden's mind proved easier than Verdiss's had.
 

“Darden Di'Cela." His voice cracked. “Please, I just want to go home.”

Tillemont was already dragging Darden into the house, pulling him by the rope. Still surprised by Nathaniel's strength. Tillemont shut the door behind him. Soon he'd invoke the proper loa, drawing on the
fenwa majik
.
 

“Don't you worry, child. You'll be home soon.”

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

Jeb stayed in the shadows of sunset, hiding in the pockets of darkness as black as ink. Stood in it for half an hour, letting it wash over him, soothe, caress him. The heightened urgency that hurried him through the streets to Uncle Jupiter's home was replaced with giddy apprehension when he reach West 54
th
Street. The sun vanished, swallowed by the night's fierce maw.
 

In the heart of West 54
th
, he stood at the stairs crawling up to the Dutch Colonial's porch. He studied the gambrel roof and overhanging eaves. The peach-colored house didn't look how he remembered it. But a house can change plenty in thirty years. Momma Shug brought him along when Ole Massa Johnson had business with Jupiter. Jeb didn't remember much else about the visit. Just the house. Fancy, too fancy for a black man in the South. But this was the North and even before the Emancipation Proclamation Jupiter was a freedman.
 

Jeb stood several minutes longer. If he left now the Klan would probably never know where Keturah and Bettina were hidden. How could they? That's if they followed him here. Jeb took great care in scouting out his route to Jupiter's. Too long maybe, but he'd be a fool not to. He didn't see anyone following him. Those ghost-like men could be anywhere though. Could he risk giving up their hideout just so he could see them? There'd been too many deaths because of him already. But it was too late, he already made that decision.

Jeb sighed and climbed the stairs to the porch. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.
Hope she still recognizes me.
He ran his hand through his thick, matted hair, trying to straighten it out.
Wonder if it gotten any grayer
. The past couple of months seemed to stretch into eternity. For all he knew he looked like an haggard old man. Major Jones used to say too much killing changed a man, made him look like one of the dead.
And I've killed too many.
Jeb adjusted the saber at his side.
 

Someone edged the door open. In that instant between not knowing who it was and seeing her sent his nerves dancing. Keturah appeared from the darkness. Her lengthy hair wrapped in a scarf, accentuated the beauty of her pointed face. Eyes wide, she let the dirk in her hand clank to the floor. There was a moment of disbelief, followed by a crushing embrace as husband and wife threw themselves at each other, arms wrapped around one another.

Jeb didn't want to let go. A deep kiss. Keturah's lips tasted of the sweet tea she must've drank a moment ago. It sent shivers through his body—it felt like hope. Safety. Love
.
Enjoy it, you old fool. It could be your last chance
. Another long kiss and rush of sweet tea, Jeb was ready to fight Narce, Verdiss, and the whole damn Klan.
 

Keturah pulled away. “Is it ova yet? Please tell me it is!” Her eyes fixated on him, her hands holding his face. That soft touch thrilled Jeb's skin.

“No. It ain't,” said Jeb, caressing Keturah's hands with his hard, cracked fingers. “It'll be soon. I swear. How's Bettina doing? Have y'all had any trouble?” He looked past Keturah, her navy nightgown enveloping him in the wind. Darkness lurked inside.
Good. Nothing to draw anyone's attention.
 

“She is okay. Been worried bout yah, but I tell her yah a strong mon. A mon who love his wife and dawta and do anyting to be wit them. We both know yah a gud husband and fudder. Yah doin' wah needs be done.” Keturah wore a proud smile. She kissed Jeb's forehead. Warm, moist lips excited his skin. “How be Crispus?”

Jeb looked up at the night sky.
Wonder what time it is.
A metallic clink stole his thoughts. Hand on his sabre, he wheeled to find no one. The wind rolled a tin can out from the darkness. Jeb sighed.
Even the damn wind is hainting me.
He turned back to Keturah. “I got to go meet'em. He went to get a book. He should be back by now." Jeb tried to sound casual. No point in telling her where or why; she'd only worry. Hell,
he
was worried. Crispus and Fallon went off to retrieve the
Magus Liber
from whatever
voodoo
worker possessed Calderon. The boys had done all right, so he gave them the chance. Besides, he needed to see Keturah.
 

“Y'all come fa breakfast inna mornin.” Keturah's eyes begged for their old routine, eating together before Jeb went off to work the field or to town for supplies. “I mek grits, eggs, patties, cocoa bread, and them pancakes yah like.” She seemed to study him. What did she see? Grayer, matted hair, stubble, and fear in his eyes? Maybe Jones was right. Killing changed the way a man looked. But Keturah could always read his soul. If anyone could understand, it'd be her.

The smell of Buckwheat pancakes climbed into Jeb's nostrils. Temptation almost took hold of him. He scowled—it was a fleeting fantasy. “No, Keturah. It ain't safe here anymore. Take the money I gave y'all and find an inn. And stay there. Make sure Bettina ain't scared. Take Uncle Jupiter witchu. I'll find y'all soon, I swear." Jeb took another long, all-encompassing kiss. He whispered in Keturah's ear, “I got to go.” Another clink down the street forced Jeb away from her, his hand on his sword. He scanned the street.
No one.
They seemed too empty.
 

“What is it?” asked Keturah.

“Nothing. But you have to go
now
.” Hurrying down the steps in fear he'd never make himself leave, Jeb set off for the warehouse.
I'll end this, even if I have to fight Crispus to destroy the staff.
 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

Keturah watched Jeb descend the porch steps. Her eyes followed him into the darkness. Each step Jeb made meant he was that much farther from her. That much more in danger. Keturah stepped into the house and shut the door. She leaned against it, tired, drained, unable to move. “Suck ih up gyal. Gwaan den.” She goaded herself into moving.
Kill mi dead.
No matter what Bettina needed to be safe.
 

Keturah bundled clothes from her bedroom in a knapsack: dresses, skirts, blouses, and flat shoes. She hurried to Bettina's room and edged the door open. Her small frame was still in the bed, the covers rising and falling with each breath. “I-yah kill any mon dat fucks wit mi ahn mine.” Keturah put her hand to the dirk hidden in her dress.

The sound of wood cracking trumpeted through the house. Keturah spun around from Bettina's room to see the front door split apart. Several men poured into the house. The first and largest of them wore fiery-brown muttonchops, and an egg for a head. A hideous man with stringy blond hair, and a short, smiling man followed him.

Keturah drew her dirk.
Who the fuck were these claats to come into
her
home, wake up her family!
“
No come to me wid them aagiment deh!” She doubted the white men understood, but they sure as hell seemed to understand her demand.
 

The commotion must've jolted Bettina awake. “Mama, what was that? Is someone breaking in?” She wailed in panic, as Keturah shoved her back into the room and locked the door.

A rush of sharp pain knocked Keturah to the floor. Her forehead was warm, wet and it burned. Somehow Jupiter was in between her and them, demanding who they were and barking at them to leave. An uproar hit the house. Crashes, booms, and fists striking flesh echoed through the hallway as Keturah struggled to understand what was happening.
 

Keep your daughter safe.
Keturah managed to pull
herself up, propped against the door. She struggled to force it open, but couldn't.
Go on, girl! Keep your girl safe or what kind of mother would you be.
Another crushing blow hit Keturah—the world spun, flipped on its side and crashed through the bedroom door. A groan escaped her lips as she clawed across the floor. “Bettina.” Keturah heard her own pained voice muffled by heavy footfalls entering the bedroom.
 

“Ha! Look at her.” The voice surrounded Keturah.

There! She spotted Bettina huddled underneath the bed. Keturah crawled toward her.

“Shit, this one here got's some grit,” came the voice again.

Bettina's eyes boiled red with tears, her skin splotchy from fear. So, Keturah hardened her face. Forget the dirk, she didn't need it. Nails and teeth were all she needed. Rolling onto her back, she found the egg-headed ogre looming over her, bent down, his eyes fastened on her.

“You his?” asked the ogre. He sounded surprised. For a moment, he pulled his eyes off Keturah. Glanced in Bettina's direction then at the two
claats
behind him.
 

Like in a dogfight, Keturah swung at the white ogre, intent to claw his eyes out. Then she'd lunge at him and sink her teeth into his neck. But he caught her by the wrist. Glaring at her, his lips pulled into a flirtatious smile. As Keturah struggled, he held onto her, leering. He studied each of her curves. She squirmed under that perverted stare. It crawled on her skin like a swamp mosquito.

As if realizing her disgust, the ogre screwed up his face. “Get up—I says get up.” He growled as he hauled her off the ground. “Yer acomin' with us."

“No! Bettina!” Keturah twisted her head to find her daughter, make certain she was safe, hoped she escaped. Finding her still under the bed, Keturah kicked, screamed, and flailed over the ogre's shoulder. Anything to keep these monsters away from her babe. But the two
claats
behind the ogre cackled at her as they restrained a beaten Jupiter.  
 

As the ogre turned toward the door, Bettina crawled out from underneath the bed and rushed him.

“No, gyal!” Keturah commanded her. Bettina beat her hands against the ogre's backside. He wheeled on Bettina and backhanded her. She reeled and crumbled to the ground in an eruption of tears. “Yah dutty bastard.” Keturah swung on him again, driven by the sight of Bettina huddled on the ground clutching her face.