TEN
Guy’s nose was crushed. His eyes purple and swollen shut. His mouth gaped open, his chest heaving and rattling as he struggled for breath. “I have to get him to the hospital,” Jilo cried out, though her rational mind had already examined him in minute detail, had already done the calculations. Guy, this part of her mind stated plainly, was in his death throes. It was too late for hospitals. His lungs were filling with fluid. His abdomen had swollen, and he was most likely bleeding internally.
“He don’t need no hospital, girl,” Maguire said as the truck that had brought Guy tore off, spraying sandy soil over Guy’s supine form. “What he needs is what your friend the Beekeeper has to share with him. You take her magic into you, girl. She’ll give you what you need to fix that boy up.”
“Magic?” she felt the word roll off her tongue, a bitter pill she could neither spit out nor bring herself to swallow. “Are you mad? Why have you done this?” Another thought hit her, causing her heart to feel like it would explode from her chest. “Where is my son? You haven’t hurt him.” Her last words came out as a statement, a warning. No matter who this man was in the world, no matter what he owned or how much influence he held, she would take him apart, bit by bit, with her bare hands if he’d hurt her baby.
Maguire strode toward her, grinning down at her. He stuck out a foot and rested it against Guy’s side, using it to roll his battered body back and forth. “Not yet,” he said, then pulled back his leg and delivered a hard kick to Guy’s ribs. Jilo heard something snap. She leaped on top of Guy, using her own body to shield him from further harm. “But,” he continued, “if this fellow don’t mean enough to you for you to welcome the Beekeeper, we’ll start in on that little pansy friend of yours next. And if that don’t work, I’ll go fetch that knife of yours and start carving me up some of your little one’s tender dark meat.” Cupping his hand around his mouth, he looked up and called. “Bring ’em around, Thomas, so she can get a good look at them.”
Willy came around from the far side of the house, clutching Robinson for dear life. A young fellow, a near carbon copy of Maguire, followed behind them, training a revolver on Willy’s back.
“Jilo,” Willy cried. “Those men ran Mr. Poole’s car off the road. Mr. Poole, I think he’s dead. His head was bleeding, and he wouldn’t move. Not even when I shook him.”
The terror in the child’s eyes crushed her. Robinson began wailing, reaching out for her. She wanted to cry out, too. Howl. Tinker dead. Guy as good as. What chance did she and her boys have?
“Shut that thing up,” Maguire shouted, and the younger man reached forward and gave Willy a rough shove between the shoulder blades, causing him to lunge forward and almost stumble. “And while you’re at it, shut your own trap, too, boy.”
“It’s gonna be okay, baby,” Jilo called out, though she wasn’t sure if she meant the words for Robinson or Willy. Both of them, she realized. No help was coming. Jilo would have to do whatever it took to protect those she loved. “What do you want from me?” She looked up at Maguire, shaken to the core. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you want. I’ll do it. Please just leave us be.”
“I done told you what I want,” he squatted down next to her. “I’ve even gone to the trouble of summoning her. Now all you got to do is take her in.”
“I don’t understand what that means,” Jilo shook her head.
Maguire lifted up from his haunches and bent over her. Grabbing her wrist, he yanked her off Guy, the force of his effort lifting her several inches off the ground. He dropped her down onto her own two feet. “It’s always the same with you Wills women. Your grandmother. Her mother. Even her mother before that. The Beekeeper, she follows you around, attaching herself to you, though I’ll be damned if I can figure out why. She pours her magic out at your feet, and all you do is turn your noses up at it. You, my girl, you’re gonna accept her gift, and then you’re going to do me a little service.”
He spat on the ground, right next to Jilo’s foot. “I need her help. This body, should’ve known it was a weak one. Forty-two years old, and already it’s failing. Cancer.” He said the word as though it were an insult to his stature, to his manhood, even, as if it were a disease meant for those who were weaker, perhaps even less well-placed in society. “You and my son Thomas, here. You two are going to stop it from eating me alive. You two are going to help heal me. And as an incentive, if you move fast enough, you might just have enough time to fix what’s ailing him”—he nodded over at Guy—“too.”
After crossing the yard to his son, Maguire relieved the boy of the pistol. “Go on, you know what to do. Get started, and be quick about it.” As Thomas took off around the side of the house, Maguire wagged the pistol at Willy. “Come on, boy,” he said, “you look like you might be pretty fast. Why don’t you drop that little ape you’re holding and see if you can sprint out of here? I’ll even make it sporting. I’ll count to ten.” Willy looked first at him, then at Jilo, his eyes round with horror. He clutched Robinson even tighter, placing one hand behind the little one’s head, doing his best to shelter the boy from all that was going on around them. Jilo blessed the day Willy had followed Binah to her door. She was going to take care of him, take care of them both. She cast a glance in Guy’s direction. The truth was finally clear to her now, in this horrible moment—she would never share a life with this man, but she couldn’t let him die. Not like this. Not if she could help it. Especially since for once it looked like Guy was blameless; this mad buckra had only used him to get at her. If it were true this Beekeeper could heal Guy, Jilo would take care of him, too. She didn’t care what it might cost her.
The younger Maguire returned, holding a sword, one of those Confederate officer’s sabers she’d often seen carried by men dressed in Confederate gray and Kelly green as they marched in the Saint Patrick’s Day parade. He stripped down to the waist, then stabbed the sharp point of the saber’s slightly curved blade into the earth. He began cutting lines in the soil, his movements quick and practiced. Jilo knelt beside Guy, first tracing her hand along his brutalized cheek, then placing a hand on his still-rasping chest. “I’ll fix this,” she whispered into his ear. “I’ll make it right.”
She rose and began to cross to Willy and Robinson. “Uh-uh,” Maguire said, shaking his head. “No sweet reunions till we’re done here.” He took aim at Willy’s head. Jilo nearly jumped away from the boys. “You had your chance,” he said, addressing Willy. “Don’t go getting any ideas now.”
Maguire’s gaze softened. “Ironic really”—with those two words his tone changed from threatening to wistful—“that I’m reduced to using this popgun to keep you in line.” He sighed. “There was a time when I could have set loose the very hounds of hell on you, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. But what can I tell you? I cut the wrong ties. Backed the wrong side leading up to the war. A man lives. He learns. And now, well, you’re the first step toward helping me regain all I’ve lost.” Only then did Maguire lower the pistol, though Jilo figured the gesture was more for his own comfort than for any other reason.
She couldn’t bear to see the tears running down Willy’s cheeks, so she looked away. Her eyes fell on Thomas’s handiwork, all the while thinking how his movements as he carved up the earth reminded her of the Beekeeper’s dancelike stroll. She stepped far enough back to take in the larger picture. The young man had cut the symbol for infinity into the earth. Each of the two loops was around three, maybe three and a half feet in diameter. He drew a circular band around it, then began making long strokes, slices that came together to form an eight-pointed star.
When the final point had been joined, Thomas stopped and looked up at his father with an expression that seemed to combine great pride and expectation. His efforts had left his broad shoulders and taut chest glistening with sweat.
“Good boy,” Maguire said, then pointed with his free hand at the young man. “That,” he said, addressing Jilo, “is a good, strong body. I saw to it this time. Made sure the boy was disciplined, not soft and coddled like this body was raised to be.” He spoke as if he thought any of his rantings should make any sense to her. “And he’s going to share some of that strength with his father,” Maguire said, though his intonation told Jilo the words were meant as encouragement for his son, rather than for her own ears. “He’s going to share some of that glowing health, and once he’s got his old man set right, the two of us are going to go out and take over the world, aren’t we, my boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas replied. “The whole damned world.”
Jilo remained silent, not daring to open her lips lest she begin screaming at Willy to run, to hold Robinson tight and run as swiftly as his long, strong legs could carry them.
“That’s my boy,” Maguire said, holding his free hand out to Thomas. “Bring me the saber, then take your place. Let’s get this finished.”
Thomas jogged to his father’s side, holding the sword out so that the elder Maguire could grasp its hilt. For a moment, Thomas turned his gaze on Jilo. The boy seemed so full of pride, so certain that this world was his birthright, his to carve and his to wound, his to rule or destroy, depending on his whim. He turned and strode into the inner circle, stationing himself in the left loop of the lopsided figure eight.
To Jilo’s surprise, Maguire held the saber out to her. “You’ll need this.” When she didn’t move, he shook the blade, angling its hilt toward her. “Good God, girl, come take it.”
She approached him with great care, fearful that at any moment he might swing the blade around and cut her down. Seeming to read her fears, he laid it down on the ground by his feet, then strode into the sign Thomas had cut into the wounded earth, entering the right loop of infinity. “Here, take this,” he said, holding the revolver out to Thomas. Once they had traded off the gun, Maguire reached out with his right hand and grasped his son’s left.
Jilo went to where the sword lay, looking down at its glinting blade. “What do I do with it?”
“Pick it up,” Maguire said, “and bring it to the edge of the sigil.” She hesitated. “The picture,” he gestured with his free hand to the design surrounding him.
A bit of anger broke through her wall of caution. “I know what a sigil is.”
“Then pick it up and get on with it. Come on, it’s a saber, not a rattlesnake.”
She bent over and grasped the hilt, lifted the sword from the ground. It was heavier than she’d imagined it would be, but she could still raise it high enough to cut this monster down, to put an end to both him and his seed. She wondered if she could find it in herself to drive it through his heart, and she decided that yes, to protect her own, she could. She could do it without a qualm. And if even the slightest of opportunity arose, she would. A wave of sadness descended on her—because of this man, she now had murder in her heart, something she’d never expected to find there.
“That’s it,” Maguire said, his voice rising, waxing eager. “Bring it over.”
Jilo glanced at the boys and tried to give them a calm, reassuring smile. Willy’s face showed he didn’t buy the story she was trying to sell. He stood there, nearly vibrating with the urge to flee. To save himself. To save Robinson. But Jilo knew that if he gave into that urge, his heart would cause him to remember her and hesitate. Then he would be lost, and probably her Robinson, too. She shook her head, signaling for him to hold on for just a bit longer. To have faith in her, even if in this moment, she, herself, was without faith.
She carried the sword to what she assumed was the base of the sigil.
“Stop,” Maguire said. “That’s far enough. Whatever you do, do not enter the circle drawn around us.”
“All right,” Jilo responded. “What now?”
“We’re almost there,” Maguire said, “almost done. All you have to do is say that you accept the Beekeeper’s magic.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, then take the blade and run it across each of your palms. Gently. It’s very sharp, and we won’t need too much blood. Just a few drops. The cut is the opening through which her magic is gonna come into you. And the blood will seal the deal. You just make sure some of it gets on the lowest point of the star, there. Yep,” he said as her eyes fell to the ground, “that one there, right next to your foot. One hand on those two points where the lines intersect. That’s all I need from you. That’s it. You do that, and you can get on with patching up that fellow of yours. My son and I will get on out of here. You’ll never see hide nor hair of either of us again.”
In the distance she heard Guy cry out in agony, warning her that if she wanted to save her son’s father, the time for hesitation was over. She traced the blade across her left palm, wincing as the slightest pressure did indeed open a deep gash. Trembling, she repeated the action again with her right palm. I accept the power, she thought as she dropped the sword to the ground and knelt beside it. “I accept the power,” she spoke the same words aloud again, unsure whether she actually had to say them, or if thinking them was enough. She felt no change. No change at all.
“It has to come from your heart, girl,” Maguire called to her. “You have to want this in your heart. And you should, ’cause I promise you, if you don’t make this work, none of you are gonna walk away from this. I will take that sword and hack that boy of yours in half myself.”
I accept the power, Jilo thought, but this time the words were neither a statement of fact, nor a simple affirmation. They were a plea. A prayer to any force that could come and help her save the children, heal Guy, and free them all from these monsters. A sound like the buzzing of a thousand bees rose up around her.
An electromagnetic surge slammed her upper body to the ground. It took a few moments, but she managed to push up to her hands, gasping as she caught sight of them. A blue fire, like the hottest gas flame, covered them, yet she felt no pain. The fire, she realized, was not consuming her as she feared it might, but instead was emanating from her, racing out and tracing along the design carved into the earth, setting the whole thing alight. It spilled out from her, shooting out in both directions, clockwise and counterclockwise, traveling along the intersecting lines that made up the star, then setting fire to the circle at its center. As the liquid flames traced through the earth, she was filled with an odd sense that somehow she’d experienced this before. But no, she realized, she had never witnessed such an event. The energy flowing through her had given her that sense. The power. It remembered.
She felt the power’s memory of her nana, and her nana’s mama, too. And a terrified girl, much younger even than herself, cringing and crying as the power took her over, just as it was now filling Jilo. Through this girl’s eyes, she looked up at a face very much like Maguire’s. This girl, she realized, was her nana’s own grandmother. And then the image faded. Jilo wondered just how many more generations this nightmare might reach back.
The energy rose up and spilled into the infinity sign that both linked and separated the men. Then, without warning, Thomas began screaming, a tortured, agonized cry. Jilo looked up to see his twisted face—mouth open wide, eyes round and full of fear. He was shaking wildly, steadied only by his father’s hand. Jilo looked on, unable to break free of the energy that held her. “Run, Willy, run,” she began screaming. She hoped that he heard her, that he obeyed, but she couldn’t even turn her head, frozen in place by the power linking her to these two men.
The shaking that seemed ready to rip Thomas apart lessened, but then transmitted itself from son into father. Now Maguire was the one who was screaming, with even greater volume and at a higher pitch than the son had done. Thomas now nearly glowed with a look of satisfaction, seeming to take no small pleasure in his father’s agony. Jilo watched in amazement as Thomas raised the pistol his father had handed him and put a bullet between his father’s eyes.
The fire fell away, draining from the earth, releasing Jilo with such force, it knocked her backward. “That’s my girl,” Thomas said, but somehow Jilo knew the man addressing her was not the son, but the father, looking out through the son’s eyes. Her eyes jumped to the gun, but he dropped the revolver onto the ground. He drew near, reaching out to offer a hand to help her stand.
She shook her head and crawled backward to get away from him, stopping only when she realized that she did, in fact, need his help. “What do I do?” She pushed herself up and ran to where Guy lay. “What do I do?” she asked, kneeling beside him.
“Just lay your hands on him. Will the magic into him. Will the Beekeeper to heal him. Her magic is now a part of you.”
She fell to her knees, positioning both hands on Guy’s chest, calling to the Beekeeper, praying to God. She had moved beyond any certainty about how this world worked. If there was a chance there was a God, she sure as hell wasn’t too proud to plead for mercy—at least not on Guy’s behalf. She looked down at Guy, but his chest was no longer moving. She placed her finger against his neck. There was no pulse. “You help me,” she screamed, calling out to the power she felt flowing through her. The same strange blue fire flooded out from her, enveloping Guy, lifting him several inches off the ground. But he remained still, unbreathing.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she looked back to see the veiled one, the Beekeeper, standing behind her. “It’s too late for that one. He belongs to my boy now,” the Beekeeper said. “You want this one back, you’re gonna have to make a deal with the Red King.”
“Yes. Yes,” she cried without giving the consequences a single thought. “Anything. I agree. What do I do? Just tell me.”
“You’ll have to take his mark.”
“Okay, I agree. I’ll take his mark.”
“But it’s not as easy as all that,” a deeper voice spoke. The odd man wearing the top hat appeared before her. “I don’t give up those I’ve won without a substitute.”
“A life for a life, dearie,” the Beekeeper said. “A life for a life.”
Jilo’s eyes shot up to where Maguire—now in Thomas’s body—stood before her. “Yes,” she said, “I can honor that deal.” Maguire began backing away, shock and terror filling his eyes as it dawned on him for the first time how quickly, after hundreds of years, the balance of power could shift.
Jilo released Guy from the web of energy she had woven around him, his body drifting to the ground like a descending leaf. She raised her hands toward Maguire. The flames, a beautiful cerulean, began to change, purplish and indigo bruises rising up in them. As their color shifted to the deep blue of midnight, they grew sharp, forming themselves into tiny daggers, barbed candles that seemed to swallow the light around them rather than add to it. She was ready to strike, ready to consume this foolish monster with the fire, but a shot rang out. Maguire’s hand went up to his chest, then he slumped over onto the ground.
Her head jerked to the side. She was astounded to see Tinker standing there, Maguire’s own revolver in his hand. Tinker’s temple was bruised and swollen, but he was alive. And Maguire lay dead, the thirsty gray soil swallowing his life’s blood. “I heard what you said about that mark,” Tinker said, dropping the gun and drawing near the Red King. “I think it should be mine.”
“And so it is,” the Red King grasped Tinker’s wrist, encircling it with his thumb and middle finger. Jilo could smell the charring of flesh as the Red King burned his mark into Tinker’s skin, but Tinker didn’t flinch. He just stood there, focused on her, as if the mere sight of her was all he needed to carry him through the pain. She knew in that moment that it was not some silly infatuation this man held for her. He loved her. Plain and simple.
The Red King released Tinker, and Tinker crossed to where Guy’s body lay.
“How do I do this?” he asked the Red King.
“You only have to want it. Are you sure you do?”
“She wants it,” Tinker replied. “That’s enough.”
“Then it is done.”
The ground beneath their feet trembled. A flash of lightning fell from the sky, striking Guy’s body right in his solar plexus. Guy began coughing, moaning.
“Hurry, my daughter,” the Beekeeper’s voice sang out. “Repair the damage before he slips away again.” Jilo returned to Guy’s side, once again willing the cocoon of healing aqua light to form around him. “I will see you again. Soon,” the Beekeeper called, causing Jilo’s gaze to rise to the veiled face. Her image vibrated, blinking in and out, then in the next instant, both the Beekeeper and the Red King faded away.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she said, not to these unworldly creatures, but to Tinker, the words repeating themselves as she knelt beside Guy and laid her hands on him. This time the magic took hold, healing his ravaged features and realigning them into their usual handsome configuration. His eyes opened. Jilo leaned in and placed a kiss on his brow.
“I’ll get started on burying the bodies,” Tinker said, his voice flat, exhausted.
At the sound of Tinker’s words, Jilo looked up at him, for a moment forgetting the miracle happening before her. “There are four more in the kitchen.”
He nodded, drawing near, looking down at Guy. “See,” he said, his voice full of sadness. “There is magic in this world.”