Been Callin' Yo Name at My Altar
Summary: You are Smoke and Stack's older sister. You've always protected them. Why would now be any different? Remmick x Reader.
AN: Remmick shows up later in the story.
Warnings: miscarriage, mentions of domestic abuse, swearing. slurs (n-word), mentions of sex, depiction of murder, blood, killing of klansmen. It is tagged Stack x Reader and Smoke x Reader because they’re siblings not because it's romantic. No Incest here. NOT BETAREAD, NOT PROOFED.
Cinnamon oil smelled like fire. You pour the smallest amount into the bottle of lotion on your kitchen counter, then add some camomile to ease the burn of it. If not for your mother-in-law's burning gaze, you’d have added arsenic instead.
When you turn, you meet her mean cat-eyes glaring over her wide fan. Miss Lorna always thought you too little for her son – too beneath her good, educated boy. You were the daughter of sharecroppers and the sister to criminals; and sold tinctures and home remedies to feed your younger siblings back when they were in your care. You were all wrong and too much; ill-fitted and ill-suited.
Yet, Daniel had loved you. He had cared for you. He was the perfect husband at first. The first year together had been bliss; then his Daddy died and his Mama came to live with you two. Then he got mean. Real mean. All that molasses became sour fruit.
By then, Elias and Elijah had gone to Chicago and were making a life for themselves. It would’ve been greedy to reach out, to ask them for help. They deserved a life of ease. You – you didn’t what you deserved, if you deserved anything but the burn of a fist against your skin.
“I’m going down to the shop and pay the staff, gonna check over the bookkeeping.” Daniel announces as he enters the kitchen, smelling of cinnamon and camomile. He smiles at his mother and glances at you. In quick strides, he’s by his mother’s side and kisses her cheek.
Miss Lorna, the old bitch, preens. Fluttering her lashes like some stupid school girl. “I’m sure there won’t be no error. Miss June is a bright lil girl and I hired her myself. She comes from good stock. Her father was a good man.”
You go stiff then cork the lotion bottle before tidying up the counter. Daniel probably won’t say anything to you – you counted on it. You turn, taking the bag with his lunch and thermos, putting it on the counter closest to them before going to the furthest part of the kitchen. The house that they’d so proudly displayed was old, probably belonged to some mulatto bastard they’d all crawled out of. The kitchen about as big as the house you’d grown up in. The house for all its beauty and bigness, most of the time felt smaller than that old house. Even with your father’s evil ways and heavy hands, you still had your baby brothers to lift you up. Still had little Sammie that imbued you joy of life. Here you had no one.
A hand rests on your shoulder, making you gasp in surprise. You look to see Daniel bearing down on you, like a Lord from an elevated throne. The eyes of evil he’d inherited from his mother glaring down at you.
“Make an extra bowl for me, sweetness.” He says, licking his teeth and kissing your mouth. All slobbering and tongue; like you weren’t apart of the kiss. “I might be there mighty late.”
You nod and go ahead, knowing it won’t be for him. Knowing Miss June will eat of your hand. You hope she tastes your hatred. You hope she sees what her future might be; trapped, suffocating, dying.
He takes the bowl and tips his hat; the thundering of his new car rolling off the plot so fast you might have had whiplash if you were looking. Rather, you were looking at the view behind his mother, whose gaze was on you – sticky and thick, like she could read your mind.
“You gon’ wash me, or I have to shit myself again, girl?” She snarls, spitting on the ground.
The hibiscus trees sway in the wind. The lemon trees, planted by you in that first year of love, grown tall and bloom bright blossoms. You wonder if you could see Clarksdale from that window, beyond that high green.
Your day dreaming is stopped by the wet splat of a spit on your front toes. You shiver; rage trembling. Your eyes narrow at her manic expression – you turn, step back and grip the handles of wheelchair. Hearing her giggles; like she won.
The downstairs bathroom had a large clawfoot tub; golden feet and a luxurious step-in. You wipe her off, rinsing the faeces and piss, before setting her into the warm soapy water. Miss Lorna closes her eyes and relaxes. She would take ten minutes to relax; often ordering you out of the room. Now was no different.
You run upstairs to your own room and wash with warm water. You hurriedly grab the two bags you’d tucked away a fortnight ago; all your papers, the money you saved and stolen from your husband, everything you needed to run. Walking out the house, you could hear Lorna calling for you – but you couldn’t find it in you to give a fuck. That bitch and her son could burn for all you cared. You were getting the fuck out of there and heading to Louisiana; you had been writing Annie, on and off. She had people there who could keep you for a bit, hide you until the tides passed on your pregnancy and you could give the baby to people who could love it right.
But you had to get home first.
Five miles down the road, at the back of an old barn sits the car you’d bought from your mother’s pawned wedding ring. Mr Miller – the owner of this property kept it for you, keeping it running for the past year.
“Though, I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to show off. Rich as your husband is, he must be proud to have such an industrious wife. Why, coming down here and buying a car for your husband’s birthday is a mighty fine thing to do.”
“All through the grace of God, sir.”
He’s nowhere to be seen when you limp your way to his property. Between the oak trees, you rest your bags so he doesn’t notice, doesn’t assume, and try to be upright and calm. Even if you can hear your heartbeat in your ear. Hands shaking like a hummingbird. The barn doors are open and at the back, beneath dusty tarp, your escape sits. Freedom is iron and gas; freedom is four-seater with and open hatch.
When you set off; you swear you can see Clarksdale and hear the rumble of your brothers in the distance; their unanswered letters burning in your chest. I’m coming, you thought, hoping somehow they could hear, I’m coming home.
Shrouded in the dark of midnight, Annie’s home was no less welcoming than it had been six years ago when you left. The car you had taken was in a creek, four miles back, sinking to the base. Your feet sore as you creep close, bags heavy and stomach weighty.
The porch light is lit; its indigo blue beaconing you.
Before you raise your hand to knock; the door swings open and you smile. Annie is as beautiful as you remember her. All shining in the grace of her gift, all regal like a Queen of a distant land.
“They tell you I was coming?” you can’t help but joke, though your voice is out of use from years of silence.
Annie shakes her head, laughs, cries, but reaches for you – holding you tight like you might disappear. Your bags fall and you start crying too; crying for that baby in your stomach, crying for that ache in your heart, crying for everything and nothing at all.
It’s easy to fall back into Clarksdale.
You find yourself in town, in your uncle’s church, tending to your cousins. Sammie was a man now. All youthful and light, with a voice that was magic. You find yourself in Annie’s kitchen. Among her roots and bones, the altars of ancestors.
“You even know who you praying to?” you taunt one night when you’re feeling exceptionally vicious and hateful; when that seed is growing extra big in your belly. The two of you are eating at her little table, candle light got the whole house glowing. “Not like we even know our ancestors.”
Annie cuts her eyes at you; “Praying? That what you think I be doing? I am talking to my ancestors, girl. We communing. It’s a conversation. It’s love here. They ain’t better than me, they guiding me, showing me.”
“How you know it’s them?” something desperate rides your voice. “How you know who to listen to?”
“You been hearing voices, Sug?” Sug, short for Sugar, cause you were always sweet to them – a nickname that stuck like gum to the back of your soul.
You tilt your head. “All my life. I ain’t crazy. They don’t tell me to strip naked and run into the Mississippi or nothing. But I remember the night I married Daniel – they’d been screaming at me, crying. How you know who to listen to?”
Annie looks at you like she’s only just seeing you. Like this is the first time you ever sat across from her at a table. It unnerves you. You regret saying anything, it was stupid. Hearing your ancestors. Where your ancestors been for the past six years while your husband and his Mama made you they slave? Fuck them dead people.
“Listen to them all at first.” Annie murmurs, dipping her spoon into the soup you’d made. “Take it in and focus. You know who your guide is.”
That was some bullshit. You didn’t tell her that though. “Think I’m going to head out before the week is out. Don’t want him to start looking for me – if he even do.”
“He ain’t looking.” Annie says in a way that’s not unkind, simply honest. It stings. Somehow. You can’t imagine who you aren’t glad. You feel some kind of way that the man you took care of, loved, wouldn’t be looking for you.
He didn’t love you. He loved what you did for him. Loved your power. Your pussy.
You clear your throat. Knocking that voice out; since you left Daniel, the words became clear as a whistle. Like whoever was speaking was right next to you.
Your plan to go to Louisiana doesn’t disappear, you do put it on hold for a bit. Even if you weren’t running from Daniel, you sure as fuck weren’t staying here in Clarksdale. Not with the Klan at every corner, lurking in a way they hadn’t back there. Clarksdale was strangling. The worse haunt of it all was your Daddy. His evil grin. His evil leer. You saw it in the gaze of a shadow, in the glare of a fire.
You see him in your reflection; turning over in you.
You my daughter, after all, ain’t ya?
If Annie sees your turmoil, she’s kind enough not to bring it up. She doesn’t even whisper it. Instead, she shows you her gardens and her notes, tells you what does what, welcomes you into a craft that has ran through her veins before her people made it over the Atlantic. You always considered her your sister anyway. But there’s something concrete in the smoke and mist she shows you, when you tie your first mojo bag – you feel something you hadn’t in years.
It hums under your skin. Honeybees buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, stinging that flesh and filling your blood with sweet venom. Oh, you were home in this. Your hip to her hip, your hands in that dirt, throwing them bones and singing them hymns of protection.
“You ain’t come to church in a while, Sug.” Your uncle says when you drop in one Sunday to visit Sammie. You’re in a nice, white dress that conceals your four-month stomach, with a broad rim hat. The gloves on your hand help you letting the bible slide from your hold.
“I just been taking it easy.”
Your Uncle narrows his eyes. “When your husband coming back for ya? Or you part ways?”
“My husband visited me last weekend. We didn’t get out much. On account of, well, you know.”
He had the nerve to blush. “You should get a room or something. Staying at that den of paganism will send you straight to hell.”
“I’m doing just fine, Unc. Annie don’t make worship the devil, even if I ask nicely.”
“You ain’t ever been funny, girl. Don’t start today.”
“I’ll see you next Sunday, Uncle.” You wave, kissing your teeth as you left the church. Sammie is waiting for you just outside, his guitar on his shoulder. He takes your bible and the two of you walk in silence.
“We disagreed is all.” Your Uncle did piss you off but it wasn’t your place to sew discontent amongst father and son. Your Uncle was a good man. Better than his brother.
Sammie looks at you and hums. Smarter than his age. “He and I disagree too.”
“Fathers and sons do that.”
“I don’t wanna be a preacher.”
“A preacher is a fine task to take on. It’s honest and solid.”
“It don’t do shit for nobody.”
“Sammie.” You admonish, though a laugh lays on your throat.
Sammie smirks, laughing. “I wanna play. Wanna make music for people’s joys and sadness. Wanna do the blues.”
You don’t say anything at first, opening your mouth to speak but a holler comes out, the loudest thing for miles. The pain searing from your stomach to your core. Streaming down, dampening your nice, white dress – is deep, rushing blood.
You scream and scream and scream.
But that doesn’t stop what’s happening; no God or ancestor could.
The cold, wet cloth glides over your forehead, patting the long gone fever away. This doctor looks at you with pity. He seems like he belongs in one of those hospitals that would spit at your feet if you even tried to get treatment there; you wonder who pays for his visits over the past month since you lost the baby.
When the doctor leaves, you sit up and sip the tea Annie had brought you hours ago – gone cold now, but no less useful. “Tell Mary she don’t have to pay for that no more. I don’t want her husband knowing she got roots this side. Her Momma done dead, she’ll have to come here soon. Don’t want any trouble.”
“You know as well as I do, ain’t no telling Mary what to do.”
You smirk, chuckling. “Ain’t that for fucking sure.”
Annie sits with you; humming as she stitched the neck shut on a doll.
“Who getting got?” you tease, eyes on the doll.
“It ain’t for nobody like that. A gift for a little girl.”
“I see.” You hum, closing your eyes. “Could use some wool thread for the hair. Make it pretty.”
“Got some scraps from a red dress I was gon’ add. Think she’ll like it.”
“What little girl wouldn’t.” you murmur, eyes feeling heavy.
A knock sounds at the door. Annie had taken to locking it these days, claimed you’d been sleepwalking since they brought you back from the doctor. You weren’t likely to believe it but didn’t say anything. Once Annie got a thought in her head, it was stuck there. Gum on a kite stick. She goes and answers it, her voice kind to the person on the other side. A friend, you decide it must be, not a customer.
Through the door of the bedroom, your cousin comes in, guitar in hand.
“You finished your quarter early, Sammie?” you query, sitting up with a smile. You still saw Sammie as a round-faced baby you’d have on your hip while you sold mixtures in the square. He sits at the foot of the bed and leans back; an agedness upon his young face. Something in you ached at the sight. “How about a song? That one you been working on, sing it for me.”
“Ain’t you tired of it?” he asks with shy sweetness.
He plays and you lean back. Soaking it all in. Listening to the humming around him – the voices of those known and unknown; carrying the tune through every part of you. How lovely it is. How pure. When he finishes, you clap and holler.
“Look at you, boy! Sound damned good. Lord, you sound better than you do in church. Do you know that?”
He smiles, then grins. “I know. Been playing a few places.”
“Hedon.” You tease hands moving to cup your stomach before they fall against the soft flatness. You flinch but try to hide it. Sammie, somehow sees – the boy was far too bright than he let on.
“Smoke and Stack been writing me.”
“Oh?” You had written to your brothers once since arriving at Annie’s but they hadn’t responded. “What they say?”
Sammie looks around; not wanting Annie to hear what he had to say. “They ought to be here in two days time. Opening a juke joint.”
“Juke Joint, huh?” you murmur.
Lord, not them bad ass boys.
“I’m gonna be playing the opening night.” He beams.
“You gon’ do good wherever you go.” You compliment.
The two of you chat a bit more about his younger siblings and his father. How your doing, the weather, music and how your brothers coming home might change things. When you doze off, the sun dipping in the distance, Sammie leaves you to slumber.
In your dreams – green eyes taunt you, a river of blood drowns you and a baby cries. You awake in pitch black, Annie’s back to you as she snores peacefully. A piss holds you and you groan as you crawl over her. You grab your coat and slip on the first slippers you find, and head to the outhouse.
The crickets are creaking something ugly and the mosquitos whine in your ears. But the night breeze is cool and refreshing, batting fiercely against your skin. Lulling you.
When finished, you don’t feel the urge to get back in right away. Instead, you walk between the tall trees, feet beating on a desire path until you meet a log bathed in moonlight; waiting for you. Sitting on it, you hold yourself close and bow your head.
Tears stream down your face, a faucet running and your sobs echo in this private space. You hadn’t even wanted the baby, half-Daniel, a quarter Lorna, a quarter your Daddy – you couldn’t predict it. But you reasoned, it could have been a bit of you, Elias, Elijah or Sammie. It could have been good, despite all that. And now, you’d never know.
Better gone than to take the risk.
“Fuck off!” you shout, snout running down your nose. You wipe it off and holler, pressing your face into your knees as the tears rock you. Who were they to tell you how to break?
“You doin’ okay, little lady?” a drawling voice calls from the darkness.
Your head snaps up and you wipe you face hurriedly, standing with your hands balled into fists – ready to face whoever was out there. Through the thicket, a tall white man emerges, a banjo on his back as he smiles at you. You jolt, hands in front of you. Fuck, had you walked so far into Klan land?
“I…I don’t want any trouble, sir. I’ll be heading off now.” You say, eyes low but still able to watch him – and behind, in case he had any friends keen on surprising you. You take a step back, trembling with fear.
“Not looking for any, Miss. Just heard you crying and wanted to see that you was alright.”
“I’m alright.” You assure, stepping back further.
“My name’s Remmick. And you, Miss?”
“I’m Sug.” There was no way you’d be giving this man your actual name.
“Sug. Suga’.” He rolls the nickname over his tongue like he was tasting something, his face utterly pleased by the sound of it. “Ain’t that sweet. What got you crying?”
“None for you to worry about.”
“I don’t plan on worrying. Just wanna hear your voice some more.”
You stumble but right yourself. Was this man flirting with you? Though scared, you answer, the words tumbling out fast. Looking back; you’ll blame the moonlight, the tears, and maybe even that look he’s fixing you with. Like you was something special. “Lost my baby a month back. Feel like a failure of a woman. For losing it and not wanting it to start with.”
“Well, I’m sorry for your loss.” His voice is low, sympathetic. Remmick takes a step closer to you; his eyes lock you in place and you can’t move. “Makes you feel all kinds of sad and confused, don’t it? Little bit angry too.”
You blink. “A little bit.”
“I-I think its better I leave. You have a good night.” You say, turning through the path you came, and running. Through the voices in your head, whispering danger, your hear his own, sympathetic, seductive, and sinful.
Worse is the desire deep within your belly.
They give him a name; a category – a specie. This, they don’t whisper, this they shout. You go straight for Annie’s notes in the morning and make a plan.
Sammie thinks it will be a nice surprise for the twins, if when they pick him up from church, they see you too. You tell him it’s a stupid idea but you go with him regardless. A scratching part of your soul aching wants you to be there; to see these boys turn men.
You wait at the turn of the door; watching them hug and greet each other. Looking on like some creeper at your family. You tremble when you get to the door, Stack sees you first – cool dripping away to a grin, then Smoke, a smile, small and secret. They look like their fighting the urge to curse you out and lift you up. Luckily, the church prevents the former.
“Don’t you look pretty, Sug.” Stack starts, coming up those steps and hugging you tight. You kiss his cheek and rub his face; boyish and mischievous.
Smoke comes after, hugging you and kissing your cheek. “You look good, sis. Healthy. Happy. That husband of yours let go?”
You stiffen. “We got some catching up to do, Elijah.”
Elijah still acts like the world is on his shoulders. Still carrying more than he ought to. Back bent beneath the weigh of his own expectations. You kiss his other cheek and hold him tight. “Daniel was more like Daddy than I thought.”
He looks at you, really looks at you before he turns his gaze and curses. Elias swears louder, his face an ugly turn of rage. “We gon’ set you right. You hear me?”
“I’m gon’ see you tonight. See y’all tonight. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” You squeeze their hands. “I’m gon’ head into town and get some things then head back to Annie’s.”
“You staying at Annie’s?” Elias asks with a grin.
Elijah rolls his eyes. “Give me yo list, I can take you to Annie’s. No trouble.”
“Of course, it ain’t no trouble. Ah hope you take a long walk befo’ you see yo’ lil bro sin—oh nigga, you ain’t had to hit me that hard!”
You smirk, taking a pen and notebook from your bag to write the list of herbs you could only get from one of the Chinese grocers. Bo would probably have everything, he knew what you liked to add to your bags.
“The fuck is a gotu kola?” Elijah mutters, strolling back to the car. Elias hops in the back, while Elijah helps you into the front seat. The Mississippi day is humid, but the drive cools you. You listen to their conversation faintly but mostly find yourself dozing off. When the car stops, Elijah taps your shoulder, but you hear – through your sleepy haze – your other brother’s voice warning him off of waking you up.
It doesn’t work though, you sleep only for a moment before Elijah is back again.
He takes you to a truck, filled to the brim with no doubt bootleg gears and alcohol. You say nothing. You had failed as his protector, so what right did you have to ask him where these things came from. Death lingers all over him, all around Elias too. It was worse than when they left; this was deeper. If they were swimming in a pond before, now they were diving in a river wider and fiercer than the Mississippi. Your brothers are drenched in darkness and it was your fault; you had failed them.
“Not at first. Started when his Mama moved in with us. He got real mean then. Got meaner when he started fucking his staff.”
“Want me and Stack to take care of him?”
“You boys don’t gotta. I left. I’m free.”
“There’s that word.” Elijah mutters. “How come you ain’t write us back?”
“Didn’t want y’all to worry. It was my burden.”
“That’s stupid as hell. We family. All them years you took care of us. Took beatings for me. It was our job to look over you. I thought you forgotten us. Thought you was in that big house, happy as can be.”
“Good.” You say, narrowing your eyes against the glare of the sun. “That’s how it supposed to be. Y’all were mine to care for.”
“Yeah, well we grown now. ‘Bout time we took care of you.”
You laugh, patting his hand. “Ain’t no need. I just need y’all safe and alive. No more of this dirt.”
“Can’t say. We knee-deep. We got roots in this.”
“I been planting a lot. I can replant ya. Big sister is here now.”
Elijah shakes his head. Not believing you, but you were earnest. You spoke this promise to the ancestors, to the past and future. You’d do anything to ensure that. You had failed them once; it would not happen again. This, you put your soul on, this, you put everything on.
Be careful what you promise, girl.
When Elijah places the white flowers at the grave of his child, he pauses at the one beside her, looking back at you with question. You frown, keeping tears back. “Lost her a few months in, weeks back. Wasn’t meant to be.”
He nods. “I’m sorry…we…I’m sorry, Sug.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout that.” You say, looking back at the house then him. “Go see your lady. I’m gon’ take a swim and pick some herbs. I’ll be there tonight. Remember to keep one of those Irish beers for your big sister.”
Elijah gives you one last look before entering the house, nodding before he disappears. You stand there for a moment; staring at it in the sunlight, the glow of the day surrounding it like something divine. When you turn your back, a shiver runs down your spine. Some unknown feeling of dread that you pushed down for nerves. You pause before heading to the creek, making a turn for the truck. In the crevice, a second gun was tucked. You took it with you, tucking it into your skirt.
Gathering all the herbs you want take much longer than you’d like, the ones in Annie’s garden are easy to find and put aside. The ones amongst the forest take longer. The ancestor guide you though; when you almost pick a poison fungus you hear a chorus of shouts asking you if you were stupid. You cussed them right back, because hello, this was your head. Fuckers.
You empty the gun and fill it with your own bullets you’d haphazardly made. Though, they need not have looked pretty – you’d melted down all the jewellery Daniel had ever given you to make them after all. You would give it to Smoke as a gift when this was all over with.
It was twilight by the time you got to the creek. Three tone dying sky across the horizon; orange bleeding to purple, purple bleeding the black. You’d have to be quick to make it back to help the boys.
The creek was a few miles back, deep in the forest. No one really came down here this time of the day, you were confident you would have it to yourself. Between two sycamore trees, a hammock was slung. You dust the leaves off and begin to remove your clothes. The mojo bag Annie made for you swinging on your chest.
You had just stepped out of your underwear when you hear a familiar drawl.
“Should’ve known you’d come back to this shithole town.”
“Daniel.” You curse, feeling the gun beneath your folded clothes. You turn and see him standing beneath a cypress, his eyes ringed with darkness. Daniel was more worn than you’d ever seen him; looking horrid in the daylight. A man haunted. His fancy shoes were dusty and crunched on a twig as he got closer.
“Beautiful as ever, sweetness,” he sugars in the air, a smile on his handsome face.
You step back, gun behind your back as you backed into the creek. He couldn’t swim but you knew how patient he was; particularly when he wished to be cruel. Daniel would wait.
“What are you doing here, Daniel?” you croak.
“Does a man need a reason to see his wife?” he scoffs. “I came to take you home, sweetness. Your Uncle, he wrote me, told me how you lost the baby. Told me how you said I was letting you come here to give birth and heal. Never took you for a liar, sweetness. Stupid – but never a liar.”
“He should’ve minded his business.”
“You my business. Running off like that, leaving Mama to almost drown in that tub! But I can forgive you. I can find it in me to forgive you – if you come home, now.” He steps closer, long legs closing the gap fast but you draw the gun faster – his eyes widen as he stares at you, shocked.
You point the gun at his foot and fire.
“Fuck!” Daniel swears, falling back against the trunk of a tree; eyes burning into you. “You fucking bitch!”
“Why the fuck are you here? Don’t give me no bullshit about forgiving me you evil motherfucker.”
Daniel clutches his foot, looking up at you with so much hatred, five months ago you would have pissed yourself in fear. Instead you bare your teeth and fire off another shoot, right by his head. “Shit! Fuck! You crazy bitch. Damn, I just – June can’t have kids. Then I read one of them letters, if you could get one baby, I figured you could give me another.”
Disgust fills you. “Oh you are a sick motherfucker you know that.”
“You loved me though. Took all my shit and still sucked my dick.”
“I was terrified! I was so afraid you’d hurt me, you and that evil mother of yours! Twin demons.” You holler, shaking your head, you huff – pointing the gun at his head and firing a shoot between those eyes that had been haunting you for weeks. Now, he was lifeless at your feet. You throw your head back; mouth open as the howls of your ancestors echo, their individual cadences and songs spilling as they rejoiced in his death.
“Now, ain’t this something.”
You jolt, tripping over Daniel’s limp leg. Smiling, at the edge of the creek was Remmick. His gaze holding none of the false humanity of before; now, his eyes were that of feral creature. In the dark, he grins a row of white. This man has the look of hunger and you doubt that it has anything to do with your nakedness.
He folds his arms and taps a finger on his mouth. “Did you do this, Miss?”
“Step back, I don’t know what the fuck you are but you ain’t right.” You say gripping the gun and crawling back. “You gon’ get the fuck away from me.”
Remmick sniffs the air and in a moment, the drawl is dropped for something older, more natural on his wicked tongue. “Is that vervain? Oh, little lass been doing her research.”
“Yeah motherfucker, and garlic.” You murmur then taps the gun at the side of your head. “Got something in the chamber too.”
“But you ain’t here to kill me. Are ya?”
A silence drawls out between them. He looks pleased with himself. You want to aim for his chest. “I figure you must want something from me. Else you’d have killed me that night.”
“Smart and pretty, aren’t ya lass?”
“I want a deal.” You broker, holding up your mojo bag. “You gotta tell me what you want first.”
“That’s easy.” He leans in. “I want you. I want your stories, I want those voices in your head. And I’ll give you my stories. My histories. We gonna be help to each other – robbed to robbed, taken to taken. We share a mutual devil.”
“I’m staring at a devil – ain’t I?”
He hums. “Ain’t you killed one today? Ain’t one trying to kill your brothers in the morning – burn it all down. I’m sure one of your voice told ya that, lass. I can be the familiar devil. Your devil.”
“Get in the water.” You say, gun pointed.
He puts his hands up. You feel like he’s humouring you rather than taking your threat seriously. “Let a man undress first, can ‘e?”
“You can’t run. You hear me? I got vervain all around here and I been chanting since you came out. We’re stuck together till we see this through.”
“Lass,” he laughs, naked in a second. “That’s a treat.”
You flutter your gaze up and in the moment it takes you to look down again, he’s in the creek, doing backstroke amongst the herbs and mojo bags you’d tossed in. Your hand trembles but you step in, mojo bag still on your chest.
“Remmick,” you say his name and he stops, staring. Then he says yours. Your proper, actual name. You ought not be surprised he knows it – being a demon and all, vampire. “We enter a bargain to become companions and not Childe and Sire.”
He repeats, eyes on your own.
“That I will share my gift with you without prejudice.”
He repeats, standing now in the water, thighs touching your own. The gun is tightly squeezed between the two of you. “You, in turn, will slaughter the Klan for miles to come. You will leave all that I share blood with, all I care for – you will leave them alone.”
Remmick smiles; broad and full of sharp promise. Then he bows his head and kisses you, not like Daniel had, greedy and selfish. Remmick tastes your lips and mouth, cleans it out and finds home, he pulls back and you follow, kissing him too.
Sealing the deal. Selling your soul for the salvation of those you loved.
“I want to see them once before you kill me.” You say, feeling his tongue graze your neck. He kisses the skin, lips pillow soft until he meets your mouth again.
“I bind thee to this fate then. To keep this promise or perish under the morning star.”
Then he kisses you again, the gun limp in your hand as you wrap yourself around him and let him taste you. Remmick divides your legs nestling his hips between your thighs. You feel his hand go to your button, dipping into your centre to stroke fire there.
When you scream this time, its all you. All desire.
You hear the music before you see the joint.
It ain’t Sammie singing, but probably Delta Slim. You feel the life, the people pouring out at you, the bubbling echoes of your people crying to be apart of it. But you hadn’t the time. You had to see your brothers before you died.
“You can see them again, ya know.” Remmick whispers upon your neck. His hands rubbing the front of your dress, cupping your breasts with the impatience of a starved man. “All it takes is some control. Hell, you might want them to share in this – eternity.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you say without bite, trying not to enjoy the way his hands feel over the satin of the crimson dress. How your body was bare beneath and pressing against his own; his imprint a recent memory. “And don’t pop up until I say good-bye.”
“A deal is a deal, lass.” He says, nipping at your neck.
Cornbread dips his hat to you and smiles as you enters, “Twins been looking for ya Sug.”
“I see the party already started.” You tease, smiling. Taking a step in. Pride swells inside of your chest – look at what your boys had done. Tears prickle your eyes. “I’m gon’ go looking for them.”
As luck would have it you don’t have to look far. Above the crowd, you see the twins. Making your way through the crowd, you see Sammie dancing with Miss Pearline – a married woman, if you recall correctly – you’re tempted to scold but stop yourself. It ain’t your business, you decide.
Let the boy have some fun.
Annie is dealing with customers, smiling at them as they hand her wooden coins. You go straight to her and wait until she’s finished before you order. “Give me some of that Italian wine.”
“No Irish beer?” she asks.
“Nah, I don’t think I have the taste for it.”
When she places the drink in front of you, you stop her from turning away. “This should cover it.”
Annie looks down at where your hands meet and her mouth drops. “This is solid gold – where did you get this from?”
“It’s gon’ be enough to help for a few months. Good money.”
Annie holds it. “Old money. Real old and bloody.”
“You let me worry about that.”
“Where you get this from?”
“That ain’t nobody problem but mine. You hear me?” You warn with the sternness of age; Annie may be older than you in Hoodoo but she would respect you as her elder even if it was just five years.
Annie shakes her head. “You leaving again, aren’t you?”
“I left a letter on your bed. Some gifts at the foot of the stove.” You say low, leaning so no one else would hear. “I love you, girl. You my sister. You make my brother lots of babies – okay?”
She nods turning her face. You take it as a gift and turn away too, before you start crying. You slither through the crowd until you meet the twins, alone and arguing amongst each other. You clear your throat and Elias gives you a big smile, kissing your cheek and hugging you tight. “You looking good, Sug. How you like our place?”
“It’s amazing, Elias.” You squeeze his hand and kiss his fingers. You look at Elijah. “But I ain’t here to stay.”
“You fellas know you bought this from the klan?”
“That pot-bellied motherfucker. Yeah, we know.”
“Did you know he was coming back here to kill y’all? It what he does. Sells this to niggas then comes back to kill them then sell it again.”
It was Elijah who curses this time. “Motherfucker!”
You let go of Elias’ hand next and dig into your bosom. Taking two little bags out. “I’m taking care of it, though.”
“What you gon’ do?” Elias teases.
“Put a mojo bag on ‘em?” Elijah taunts.
You roll your eyes. “Put them on. Elijah, I know you have Annie’s but this…is an addition.”
“Whatever you say.” Elijah murmurs. He was always the more obedient.
Elias rolls his eyes and ties it too.
“I’m leaving.” You say and the boys pause.
“Going where?” Elijah says at the same time Elias says. “The hell you not.”
“I killed Daniel this afternoon. His people gonna look for him.” You lie. “I’ll write you boys and you better answer.”
Elias kisses your cheek and Elijah the other. “We just got you back and now you leaving us again.”
“Y’all got your ladies. Don’t need me no more.” You murmur. Tears falling free now. “I love y’all. Wish I had protected you more. Wish I had done a better job of keeping Daddy off ya.”
“Nah,” Elijah says, hugging you. “You did the best. You kept us alive.”
“Alive ain’t it. Living needs more than that.” You say. “I left some gifts at Annie’s for y’all and Mary.”
“Shit. You acting like you ain’t coming back.” Elias says, gripping you tighter.
A familiar song comes from below. You close your eyes and sway; Sammie’s playing that song now. And it’s sounding mighty pretty. You take both of theirs, and sway. “C’mon, dance with ya sister like when we was chil’ren.”
As Sammie plays, you hold your boys and dance, and sway. Moving to the music and feeling young and old at the same time. Knowing this was the last time you’d hold them like this, smell them, feel them. Your heart broke from it all. From the loveliness of holding them – one – last – time.
When you leave, you see Sammie and plant a hug on him, making him promise to go to Chicago and to name a song after you. He looks at you, his big cousin, like you hung the moon as you disappear into the night.
It’s almost dawn by the time you’ve slaughtered the last Klansman. The gun in your hand – stolen from the first set you’d killed, hung as you stare down at the bloated body of the one who’d planned to kill your brothers. Grand Dragon. He didn’t look very grand beneath your slipper, choking on his own blood.
“Don’t it feel good, powerful?”
You turn to Remmick, eyes the colour of your dress as his gaze lingers all over you. “Will it hurt when you make me one of you?”
“Can you make me forget it? Make me feel good, like you did last night?”
“Oh, darling. I plan to.”
