What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so woozy? “T-Tash—”
“Ma’am?” A firm hand grabs my arm and I pull away. Hard.
“Don’t touch me.”
“I’m here to help, ma’am.” His pale cheeks crack a smile, spreading his oversize mustache. “Listen, ma’am. Could you step over here and tell us what you saw?”
Cops. My neck stiffens. He pulls harder and I come, staggering.
“Have you been drinking, miss?” he asks.
“No!” Flames erupt from my fingertips. I shove them in my pocket. My wrists flash, from searing hot to ice cold a second later and back again. What’s wrong with me? My magic is out of control!
“Miss. Cooperate.” The cop shakes my arm, harder this time. I try to pull away, to say something, but I can’t think. I can hardly speak. Tasha. Where’s Tasha? And the guy in the car? I glance at the wreck and the driver’s side of the car Tasha was just in is smashed to pieces—the driver, nowhere to be found. I grip the officer’s arms, more to hold myself up than anything else. I have to make him understand.
“There was a guy.” The words are like chalk on my tongue. “Faded jeans. Tucked white button-up. H-he… knew somehow. Like he was trying to get her—” Sounds fade into a loud buzzing and everything’s black. My heaving breaths resound like a gong in my head.
Gong.
Gong.
Then a flood of color rushes at me as the world blinks back into focus. Something is wrong. I’ve done magic a hundred times since living in Ghizon. The only difference today was… I gape at my hands. Touching her did this? What else could explain it?
“You were saying?” The cop widens his stance, folding his arms.
“I—” Gong. Gong.
My knees wobble, but I lock them in place as a stranger’s raspy voice rings in my ear. “Lot of funny stories from the witnesses. Stuff you wouldn’t believe.” She points at me. “What’s the story with this one?”
Voices. Gong. Gong. So many voices.
I rake my fingers through my scalp. It stings like fire. “Listen to me!” I pull the officer’s sleeves to mine and his back straightens. Careful Don’t piss him off.
I squeeze my eyes shut and I can see the man from the car in my mind’s eye. His pale skin and crisp ironed shirt. He wore faded black jeans and hair pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes were light-colored and tats peeked from the collar of his shirt. And his car. The way he angled it in the intersection and stopped, a surly grin on his face when he looked my way.
“There was a man. A-a man in a car.” I point. “O-over there. He was right there! He lured my sister to his car and h-he knew somehow that something bad was going to happen. H-he—”
The cop turns to Miss Raspy Voice. “I don’t know. Around these parts, no telling what she’s on.” He turns to me. “There’s no man in the car over there, ma’am.”
He’s not listening. Why am I even trying?
“He was just there, I swear.” Water. I need water.
“Get her seen over there.” He points toward an ambulance. “Run her prints, too.” He lets me go and I stumble. I need to get out of here. Tasha’s perched on the edge of the ambulance talking to a blond paramedic with a clipboard. I will myself over, one foot in front of the other. The gash on her head isn’t gushing anymore. She’s sitting up, eyes open, talking, a cup in her hands. She spots me and her eyes say more than any words could.
She knows. Memory transference.
She knows everything.
I plow into her legs more roughly than I intend to and Blondie gives me a look.
“Sorry,” I manage. “I—this is my sister.”
Tasha nods and Blondie gestures for me to go ahead.
“T, are you okay?”
She nods. “All this time I thought you were dead. Gone. I don’t know.” Her finger traces the rim of her water cup. “I… you…”
I reach for her cup and she lets me take it. The water is cool going down my throat. I blink; her face is clearer, in focus. Not one hundred percent, but better.
She whispers. “The place you live… it’s—”
“I’m sorry to break this up,” Blondie says. “We need to get her back to be seen. She looks alright but we’ll want to run some tests. Are you able to ride with?”
“I-I can’t ride.” I tug at my sleeves, suddenly hyper aware of my secret. “I—I gotta go.”
Each word curves my sister’s lips farther downward.
I hug her, squeezing harder than life itself. “I’ll be back to check on you.”
“When?” Tears dangle on her lashes.
The hole in my chest shudders with pain. “Soon.” I don’t know if it’s true. I want it to be. I’ll do my damndest to make sure it is. “I—please, please just lay low.” I hold her face in my hands. “No strangers. Fam only.”
She nods and flicks away a tear.
“Moms raised a diamond.” I lace my fingers between hers.
She squeezes. “And diamonds don’t crack.”
The paramedic pulls her backward, breaking our grasp. Leaving her here like this isn’t how I imagined today going. As the doors close, she opens her palm and the heart pendant shines. She smirks, holding it to her heart as the doors click shut. A tinge of warmth fills the hole inside my heart. I knew she’d love it.
Around us, flocks of police officers flit back and forth around the crumpled metal car, checking on bystanders, jotting down notes, talking into their walkie-talkies. They saw me… what I did to save Tasha. Men, women, kids are staring from every corner of the block, pointing, talking, as the City Laws take notes.
“Miss, I’m going to need you to come with me to answer some questions.” The fingers cupped around my shoulder are firm. Almost painful. The warmth I just felt dissolves at the familiar sight. I’m face to face with the man’s telltale grayish pale skin; he almost looks like some white dude in need of a tan. But I know that complexion.
Patrol—from Ghizon.
Here.
In my world.
On my block.
“You’ll need to come with me. Now.” It’s not a request. My fingers twitch for my watch. Maybe I can flick it on fast enough to zap back “home.” Veins pulse at the corners of his eyes. I don’t know his face, but he’s Ghizoni. They’re all the same, with their pallid skin. I can’t see it, but he has a secret fused to his wrists—circles of onyx embedded in his flesh.
“I…”
“Sir, do you have clearance to be here?” The city cop pops a notebook closed.
A plastic smile splits the Ghizoni’s face as he greets the cop. “No problem, officer. Special unit investigating what happened here. Just a few questions for the young lady.”
“You got a badge?”
“Of course.” He turns toward me like he’s reaching into his back pocket. If looks could kill, start typing my eulogy now. “Shut up,” he mouths, waving one hand in front of the other. There, in the palm of his hand, where there was just air, a black leather rectangle adorned with a gold crest glints in the sun. I bite my tongue to keep from gasping.