The Good House Part 28

"No."

Sean's eyes grew to three times their normal size. "You havegot to let me come watch."

Corey grinned. That was what he'd hoped Sean would say. "h.e.l.l, yeah," Corey said, and he and Sean slapped palms and shook hands across the table. Corey hadn't enjoyed the idea of walking to The Spot by himself in the middle of the night, but Gramma Marie's spells were specific about time and place, and he wanted to do it right. Within reason, anyway.

"Is it cool if I spend the night at your place tonight? Otherwise, I'll have to sneak out. You know how that goes," Corey said. He had an elevenP.M. curfew, one more of Mom's dictates.

"No problem. My dad won't care, as long as I'm not out past one," Sean said. "This is gonnarock! What kind of spell are you doing? Nothing with negative energy, right?"

The way Sean said that, it was as if he already had respect for it, which was good. Corey had skimmed through parts of Gramma Marie's ma.n.u.script, but he'd read enough to know that she didn't think magic was a game. She thought magic had gotten her in trouble, and if she were here, she wouldn't want him to try even the most harmless spell until he'd taken a hundred precautions. But he'd already decided not to do anything dangerous. Corey was glad Sean felt the same way about it, so they wouldn't have to argue later.

"One of the easiest ones is called The Lost," Corey said. "It's a spell to bring back something you lost."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure. Probably nothing too big. Pick something small."

"I get to pick something, too?"

"Yeah, we'll both pick something. That way, we're in this together."

"I got goose b.u.mps when you said that," Sean said, his face suddenly serious, contemplative. Then, his smile came back. "This isawesome . The lost spells of a voodoo priestess!"

Corey waved his hand, warning Sean to lower his voice. Three girls from the pickup had already gone inside to the counter to order, but three boys were standing outside the door, probably talking about the girls who had come with them. The bigger one looked familiar to Corey, and he and his two friends were staring toward their table already.

Corey spoke softly. "Pick something you knowfor sure you lost, so if it turns up later, you'll know it was magic. Something you haven't seen in years."

"What are you going to pick?" Sean said.

Corey hesitated. How many of his family secrets did he want to tell?

"There's a ring of my mom's I lost when I was in fifth grade. I want to get that back for her." That was true, but Corey wasn't ready to tell Sean the rest yet. Gramma Marie had written in her papers that the ring's symbols would help him do thereal magic, much more than the spells she'd described. If he'd known in fifth grade what he knew now, he d.a.m.n sure wouldn't have given that ring to Sherita. There were generations of tradition attached to that ring.

"How does this work? You don't have to sacrifice a goat or anything, do you?" Sean said.

"Hey, man, don't laugh, but yeah, you're supposed to use a chicken. I'm using some chicken blood from the supermarket. It's a compromise."

"Will that work?"

"I don't know, but I'm not ready to start cutting off chicken heads. She has alot in there about blood-the meaning of the sacrifice, how blood is the life force of the world. It's deep. I can see the point, for real, but I'd rather not go that route. I might want to be a vet, you know? How am I supposed to go around killing animals?"

Sean went silent. He shook the ice at the bottom of his cup, then took off the lid and flung the ice down his throat. He chewed for a while, crunching, then spat most of it out. "You know what? I think I'm chickening out,hombre."

s.h.i.t. Suddenly, that sounded like common sense.

Corey had waited this long because he wanted to be careful. No doubt, if Dad hadn't shown up, Corey would have tried a spell right away. But Dad's arrival made everything else less important, and he had barely given the papers a thought for those first couple of days. The three of them were acting like a family, doing things together, falling back into rhythms he'd nearly forgotten. Mom was laughing again. For a while, that had been magic enough for him.

But his curiosity was back. He had changed his mind about experimenting with the spells three dozen times. He wanted to see magic so badly he could barely stand it, but Gramma Marie's papers sounded like a legal doc.u.ment, with every other sentence a caution.Complete all cleansing rituals before trying to implement any lesser formulas, she wrote, orbeware of grave danger to the untrained hand. What was he supposed to do, listen to the parts he liked and ignore the parts he didn't? He read most books that way, but this felt different, like he should slow down and take his time. Gramma Marie said she'd already messed up the magic herself. And she was an expert.

But, s.h.i.t. Just one little spell. Nothing to hurt anyone or make somebody love you out of the blue, or to try to take anything from anybody. This was a spell to make something come back. A spell to get Mom's ring, which was G.o.d-knows-where by now. A spell to undo one mistake.

He would do the cleansing ceremonies later, he told himself. He didn't have time now. Gramma Marie's cleansing rituals were repet.i.tive, and the lists of necessary ingredients endless. When was he going to have time to collect cedar, sage, rosemary, and lavender? How the h.e.l.l could he find a parchment, holy water, and goats' horns? He didn't want to be avodou priest, he just wanted to see magic. One little thing.

"No problem if you don't come," Corey told Sean. "I'll just hang with you tonight, then I'll go make a major fool of myself, chasing after bulls.h.i.t in the woods."

"You really think it's bull?" Sean sounded surprised.

Corey shook his head, flicking his finger at an escaped piece of sausage on his paper plate. As usual, Sean could see straight through him. "Nah," he said. "Ritual magic is practiced all over the world. Why not, right?"

"Yeah, that's my point. Just be careful fooling with it."

Corey heard laughter, and he saw the three girls from the pickup walking back outside from the counter through the gla.s.s door, cracking up over their pizza box. One, a fresh-faced girl with ringlets of curly blond hair, was laughing so hard her face was bright red. Corey couldn't look away, engrossed by the sight of her. All the girls Sean knew were out of town for the summer or had just graduated from high school, moving on to bigger places, he'd said, so girls were scarce this summer. These girls were older, probably seniors, and they were definitely cute.

As soon as Corey heard the voice, he realized he must have forgotten where the h.e.l.l he was.

"Who thef.u.c.k are you staring at, n.i.g.g.e.r?"

What was he thinking? Here he was in Hicktown, and he hadn't thought about the girls being white, or his being black. He wasn't used to keeping that in his head all the time.

Corey didn't have to look around to see who had spoken, his voice killing the laughter. The boy wasn't big enough to be fat, but he wasn't more than a few bacon cheeseburgers off. This was the boy who'd been staring at him on Main Street the day he'd met Sean, the one in the rebel flag T-shirt. Closer to him, Corey noticed a deep cleft in his chin and a weird gray streak in his black hair, a faint checkmark over his temple. Corey recognized his broad-legged stance; he was a football player, or wanted to be one. He was six feet tall. And he had friends with him.

This could turn into an a.s.s-kicking fast.

"Hey, Bo, you don't have the right to talk to him like that," Sean said, before Corey could step on Sean's foot under the table and tell him to keep quiet.

"Shut up, f.a.ggot. Afraid I'm gonna hurt your black boyfriend's feelings?"

The two other boys, who weren't nearly as large but were large enough, chuckled. One of the girls smiled vacantly, too, but the other two were crowding near Bo, as if to restrain him. This wasn't the first time they'd seen him acting like a fool, Corey guessed. He wished he'd invited his father to lunch today. n.o.body would start any s.h.i.t with Tariq Hill nearby.

"Oh, Bo, drop it. n.o.body did anything to us. Leave them alone," one girl said.

"Bo, let's just grab the pizza and go," the other girl said, the blonde Corey had been staring at. She didn't look so pretty now, the way the side of her mouth was turned down, her eyes so tired. Corey hoped one of the boys would try to talk the big-mouth down too, but neither did.

f.u.c.k saving face, Corey decided. Dad had told him he'd be surprised how often he could keep out of a fight with a little respect, even if he didn't mean it. "Hey, man, if I insulted you or your friends in any way, I'm sorry," Corey said to the boy, looking him in the eye. "There's no need to call names. I didn't mean you or your friends any disrespect."

Corey was proud of his bulls.h.i.t, but he must have said the wrong thing. Or said it the wrong way.

The gray-streaked boy took two lumbering steps to their table, fast. Corey rose to his feet, sure he was about to get jumped. Sean sat holding his empty plate, not moving. Sean wasn't going to be any help if anything really went down. Corey could tell that already.

"Are you trying to be a smart-a.s.s? You supposed to be better'n me?" Bo said, so close that Corey could smell his Old Spice. And beer. Bo's eyes were pile drivers, and Corey couldn't look him in the face. If he did, he knew he would either get p.i.s.sed or start laughing.

"I don't know what you're talking about, man," Corey said. His first week in Oakland, he'd almost gotten thumped outside a movie theater with this exact same conversation. People accused him of being a sn.o.b before he'd hardly said a word. Mom told him he should always use proper English, but it sure as h.e.l.l didn't do him much good.

"You trying to act like you ain't a n.i.g.g.e.r? You sound white, but a skinny n.i.g.g.e.r's all I see."

Corey backed up a step, fuming. He had just read about this same s.h.i.t in Gramma Marie's papers, about his great-grandfather being pulled from his bed in Louisiana in the middle of the night, killed by white men calling himn.i.g.g.e.r . His attackers might have castrated him and burned him and who knew what else kind of madness; Gramma Marie hadn't been able to make herself write it all down. This racist kid needed to learn what year it was, and Corey wished he could be the one to teach him. Motherf.u.c.ker . But there was a big difference between wishes and reality. He knew that.

"Let's go, Sean," Corey said, still keeping his eyes low. He prayed Sean could take a hint.

Sean didn't need to hear it twice. As soon as Corey spoke, Sean was on his feet, headed to untie the horses. There was nothing but woods a few yards behind the telephone pole, and Corey didn't like to think about the kind of hurting three guys could put on him if they were out of sight.

"Where you think you're going?" Bo said. "Did I say you could go anywhere?"

a.s.s-kissing wasn't going to work this time. This kid was a bully who didn't like black skin, plain and simple. Corey brought his gaze up to meet Bo's, remembering Dad's second lesson: Give 'em something to think twice about. Corey squared his shoulders, raising his chin up to the taller boy. He pushed away the plastic chair that separated him, like he was ready to throw down.

"I ain't scared of you," Corey said. "I don't soundblack enough for your ignorant redneck a.s.s? How about this?f.u.c.k you."

That time, he'd nailed it. He might not have impressed Sean that day they met, but this time Corey had sounded hard-core, his limbs loose, arms flinging, voice dropping. Suddenly, he'd sounded like the kind of thug who had a Nine hidden down the back of his pants, who could drop somebody without hardly thinking about it. He'd transformed himself into Super-n.i.g.g.e.r, the only kind of black person a kid from Sacajawea knew, the ones from rap videos, movies, and TV.You better watch who you f.u.c.king with, or I'ma put a cap in yo' a.s.s .

And he'd nailed it. He could see that by the way Bo blinked, the surprise that shifted over his face before he remembered his mask. When the other boys snickered this time, Corey was sure they were laughing at Bo.Look what you got yourself into now, man, the boys were thinking.

"Like you could do something," Bo said, but he didn't sound sure.

"Keep your boys out of it, chickens.h.i.t, and I'llshow you what I'm gonna do," Corey said, sounding so good he believed it himself.

s.h.i.t, he'd had three years of tae kwon do, and he'd placed third in a tournament once since he'd gotten his green belt. He wouldn't have picked an opponent Bo's size, but that didn't mean he couldn't take him. He could kick him hard in the gut and follow up with a spin-kick to the head. Corey could see it in his mind.

Chestnut whinnied behind him, popping Corey from his fantasy. With one hand grasping Sheba's freed reins, Sean was already mounting Chestnut, keeping his nervous eyes on Bo and his friends. Last chance for a first strike to shut this guy up, Corey thought.

But he didn't. Instead, he made a dash for Sheba, grabbing the saddle-tree, his left foot finding the stirrup in time to leverage him up high onto the saddle with one leap, his most successful mount so far. His nuts hurt like h.e.l.l when he sat, but he didn't care about that. It was time to sayadis to Pizza Jack's.

"Where you going? I thought you were gonna show me something," Bo said.

"Kiss my a.s.s, d.i.c.khead," Corey said, and he shot a gloating bird at Beaumont Cryer, leaning over in his saddle with his middle finger raised high. That one was for Philippe Toussaint, he thought, for the night his great-grandfather couldn't say it himself.

"You're crazy," Sean said beside him. "Let'smove ."

"That's a plan," Corey said, and he was tempted to finish with "Hi-ho, Silver, away" as he took the reins from Sean. That was how good he felt, like leaving a gunfight at a western saloon.

Except that he wasn't leaving.

Sheba moved, but she didn't follow Sean and Chestnut, who had pulled ahead to the dusty path beside the Four. Instead, Sheba swung her long neck from one side to the other, snorting. When she did start walking, she walked back toward the pole behind Pizza Jack's. She was circling.

Suddenly, the fun was gone again.

"Go,Sheba," Corey said, digging his heels into her sides. The horse lurched, but backward, not forward. Then, she circled again. Sean whistled for her from the road-the high-pitched whistle that usually got her running-but she ignored it.

Sheba was nervous. She knew trouble when she smelled it.

Corey heard laughter from the other kids, and he prayed a good laugh would cool Bo off.

"Kiss your a.s.s? Yeah, that's a good idea," Bo said. "You want me to kiss your a.s.s?"

Corey heard the door to the truck open, and he didn't like that sound. Getting beaten up was one thing, but people kept guns in their cars.

He tried to whip his head around to see what Bo was doing. When all three girls started their frantic chorus ofNo, Bo, come on, Corey felt his heart thunder. He saw the blond girl squeezed next to Bo on the truck's driver's side, trying to take something out of his hands, but he couldn't see what it was. The horse's turn pulled his eyes away. The other boys weren't laughing anymore.

"Hey, Bo,don't do that!" Sean yelled. No nonsense, no fooling. Scared s.h.i.tless.

Snakes of light flew from Bo's hand, toward Corey. He saw pink and yellow flames, delicate weaves sparking in the air, a sight that thoroughly confused him. But when he heard the popping and a deafening whistle beneath him, he realized what Bo had done: That sonofab.i.t.c.h had thrown some kind of fireworks under his horse.

The girls screamed, half-laughing as they ran back toward the building to get out of the spinning rocket's way. At first, Sheba's circling only became more frenzied, but when Corey felt a flare of heat near his right leg, Sheba began bucking.

The jarring motion startled Corey, yanking him so hard he was sure he would bite his tongue off as his teeth slammed together. He was able to hold on, clinging to the reins, but the back of Sheba's neck hit him in the face, crunching his nose and draping him in her mane."s.h.i.t-" he said.

Sheba crashed back down to all fours, and Corey shifted out of place in his saddle. He was slipping to the left side, so he struggled to lock his right leg in place, to stay astride. He had almost pulled himself upright again when Sheba bucked for the second time, jerking up her ma.s.sive haunches, knocking him so far off-balance he couldn't remember what balance was.

This time, Corey flew. He felt himself soar, freed.

Corey's flight ended in a dark patch of soil behind the last picnic table, and Sheba's huge front hoof landed with a haze of dust two inches from his nose. Corey's mind was a dull roar, but his instincts kicked in soon enough for him to pitch himself into a roll when he fell, his right shoulder hitting the ground hard. The roll wasn't smooth or pretty, but it helped him avoid hitting his elbow or knee, the kind of injury he wouldn't walk away from. The worst came at the end of the roll, on the concrete. He sc.r.a.ped his right arm badly, and his shoulder knocked over one of the plastic chairs.

A half-dozen faces stared while Corey lay still, waiting for the pain to kick in.

"Are you okay?" Sean said, standing over him.

He must have flown nearly a mile, Corey realized. Or two or three yards, anyway. He almost smiled, his adrenaline pulsing.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said, and sat up to show it. His left arm was afire from the b.l.o.o.d.y sc.r.a.pe from his wrist to his elbow, and his nose was sore, too, but it didn't feel broken. Sheba's hoof would have split his head wide open if she'd stepped on him. And if he'd fallen onto the concrete instead of the softer soil, he'd have broken bones. But all he'd gotten was b.u.mps and jolts. This would be a good story back home, even though he'd fallen. He'd fallenwell .

"You a.s.shole!"Sean screamed at Bo. "You don't traumatize a horse like that when somebody's riding! People get killed like that. You better hope she's not burned!"

"What are you gonna do, sissy?" Bo said, giving Sean a sharp shove that made Sean fall to the ground in a heap, practically on top of Corey. "Send your r.e.t.a.r.ded little sister after me? Or your n.i.g.g.e.r brother with the f.u.c.ked-up hair?"

The pizzeria manager and two men who had been eating inside heard the rocket's whistling and came out, staring curiously from the doorway. The manager didn't look happy, walking toward them in an ap.r.o.n while he pulled off his clear plastic gloves. Corey was glad to see adults. That meant this wouldn't get any more out of hand, most likely.

"Hey,"the manager boomed. "This ends right now, or the sheriff's here in a minute flat."

That threat was enough to make Bo's friends head back to the truck, but Corey had to lock his arms around Sean to keep him from lunging at Bo. Sean was so mad, he almost scrambled hard enough to free himself. His eyes were wild in a way Corey had never seen.

"Man, just chill," Corey said, laughing. "It's over."

He couldn't believe it. Corey had figured Sean would be one of those sheltered people who would go through his whole life never knowing what it would feel like to really want to hurt somebody. Corey remembered when he'd been one of those people, too.

They didn't talk about it, except to decide on their story: Sheba heard a car backfire, she reared up, Corey fell off and sc.r.a.ped his arm. No Beaumont Cryer. No racial slurs. No fireworks.

They both agreed lying would be easiest. Sean said his dad was cool about most things, but he wouldnot be cool about someone setting off a rocket under his $8,000 purebred gray Andalusian show horse. His father would want to call the police (and so would Corey's mother, he knew, and she'd probably call the NAACP to boot), and then they'd be in the middle of some modern-day Earps and Clantons s.h.i.t. The police might arrest Bo on some kind of lame criminal mischief charge, but he had brothers, Sean said. And cousins. There were Cryers all over Sacajawea County.

So, they didn't tell.

Corey went home and showed his parents his sc.r.a.pe, telling the lie he and Sean had agreed on. His mother got overexcited, talking about taking him to a doctor, but Dad rubbed antiseptic on the raw sc.r.a.pe and said,He'll be all right. Let him spend the night at his friend's house, probably because he was dying to have the house alone with Mom. And Mom gave in pretty fast, Corey noticed. Dad knew how to soften her. Maybe he was the only one who could.

Tonight was going to work out for everyone, Corey thought.

After Sheba had been bathed, combed, and fed, she seemed willing to put the scare behind her. Corey helped Sean groom her, gently pulling the rigid teeth of the horse brush through her mane after her bath. She cheerfully ate apples from his palm, rubbing him with her cold snout and rubbery wet lips. If this horse had taken a step the wrong way today, Corey realized, he would be dead now. This was definitely an animal you had to respect. "You did good today, girl," Corey said, rubbing his hands across the horse's st.u.r.dy, hulking shoulders.

But he and Sean didn't talk about it. For a lot of the night, they watched TV with Sean's brother and sister while Mr. Leahy repaired a weak wall on the horse-stall outside. When the kids and Mr. Leahy went to bed, Sean put on a video,The Matrix. Although it was one of Corey's three favorite movies, his eyes hardly moved from the blue-green glow of the clock on the VCR.

He was waiting for the clock to show 11P.M. Finally, it did.