Ma says we’re going to Chicago with three of her friends. There are about a dozen witches in the New York City coven, but apparently the ones from Brooklyn always travel together. Will they all be as old as Ma? I’m kind of hoping at least one of the other witches will have a young apprentice like me.

  Ma taps on the bathroom door with her cane and tells me to hurry up. I grab my knapsack from my bedroom and find only Ma and Mama waiting for me at the front door.

  “Where are your friends?” I ask.

  “They’ll meet us at the usual rendezvous spot,” Ma replies.

  “So…if we’re not flying, I guess that means we’re taking the train. What time do we need to be at Penn Station?” I ask.

  “We’re not leaving from Penn Station.”

  I try again. “Grand Central?”

  “Nope.”

  Ma just nods at Mama instead of saying goodbye and goes out to the hall to wait for the elevator. Mama smothers me with too many kisses and a too-long, too-tight hug. I promise—for the hundredth time—to listen to Ma and call home every night before bed. Then it’s my turn to remind Mama to stay inside as much as possible and chew on the chopped-up silver root Ma gave her if she starts to feel drowsy. I hold up Dad’s phone and take a selfie with my mom. I text it to her right away so she can look at it whenever she misses me.

  Ma grows impatient and hollers, “Hurry up, boy!”

  I hustle out the door before Mama can hug me again and slip inside the elevator. Ma pulls back her cane, and the doors slide shut on Mama’s tearstained face.

  “You been away from home before?” Ma asks.

  “Once—for summer camp. But…that was before my dad died.”

  “You and your mama are real close. I can tell,” Ma says softly.

  I nod and look down at the selfie I just took on my dad’s phone. I’ll only be gone for a few days. I tell myself that Mama will be fine—and I’ll be fine, too.

  I put the phone in my back pocket and focus on the matter at hand. “Are we taking a bus from Port Authority?”

  Ma sighs, but she looks more amused than annoyed. “Boy, will you quit fussing ’bout how we’re getting to Chicago? We’re not taking a plane, train, or automobile. But the UR should get us there in no time.”

  “The…er?”

  “I’m not answering one more question,” Ma says as we exit the elevator. “Just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. All will be revealed in time.”

  Part of being a good apprentice is following orders, so I do as I’m told and follow Ma up the block. Everything I need for the trip fit inside my knapsack, so I offer to pull Ma’s small suitcase, since my hands are free. When we pass the subway station and enter Prospect Park, I don’t say a word. It looks like we’re heading for the Boathouse, but we can’t sail to Chicago…can we?

  I swallow all my questions, and when Ma stops next to an old-fashioned lamppost, I stand beside her and gaze up at the flickering flame. I didn’t know they had gas lamps in the park, but this secluded spot does make an ideal rendezvous point. Either we’re early or the other witches are late, because Ma and I are the only ones around. I wait to see what will happen, keeping Rule #1 at the front of my mind.

  Ma opens her purse and pulls out her pocket watch. She checks the time and frowns.

  “I expect that young gal to be late, but not Mrs. B. And your grandfather’s usually on time.”

  I gasp. “Trub’s coming with us?”

  “That’s the plan,” Ma replies, chuckling as I practically leap with joy. “We’ll give them a few more minutes and then head downstairs to the platform.”

  I nod at Ma and wonder if now’s a good time to tell her about the egg in my pocket. But Ma seems kind of distracted, and now that Trub will be joining us, I can wait and tell my grandfather instead. To pass the time, I silently try to piece together the clues Ma has given me so far. Trains leave from a platform, but we already passed the subway, and Ma said we’re not leaving from New York’s two main train stations. We’re standing on a path that’s paved with hexagonal stones. Lullwater Bridge isn’t far from here, which means we’re close to the lake, but boats leave from a dock, not a platform. I’m also not sure how we could go downstairs from here without going underground, but since I can’t ask any more questions, I’ll have to wait until Ma offers an explanation.

  After a couple more minutes pass, Ma sighs irritably and slips her pocket watch into her purse. “Come on, boy. I don’t know what’s keeping them, but we can’t leave Dutch waiting down there in the dark.”

  The lamppost is next to a short tunnel. When we get halfway through it, Ma suddenly stops walking. She holds her cane up to the wooden planks that line the curved walls and taps several times.

  “My memory ain’t what it used to be,” Ma says with a frown. “Which one is it?”

  I would offer to help, but to do that, I’d have to ask at least one question. So instead, I wait for Ma to ask me for assistance. She keeps tapping the planks up high and down low with her cane until one in the middle of the wall makes a hollow sort of sound. Ma grins and pushes the tip of her cane straight into that particular beam. It slides inward several inches, and then the stone tiles near our feet start to move, too!

  I jump back and check both ends of the tunnel to see if anyone is headed our way. Thankfully, the coast is clear, and there’s no one else to witness the formation of a spiral staircase as the hexagonal paving stones sink into the earth to form steps.

  When the stones stop moving, Ma prods me with her cane. “Go on. What you waiting for?”

  I peer into the shadowy staircase and try to sound braver than I feel. “It’s kind of dark down there.” Then I remember that I’ve got my dad’s phone and pull it out of my pocket. “Good thing I have a light on my phone.”

  Ma nods, and I think I see a touch of pride tugging at the corner of her mouth. I lower the extended handle of her suitcase and pick it up. With the phone in my other hand, I slowly ease down the staircase, noticing how the temperature drops as we descend. I manage to light the steps in front of me, but when the staircase ends, we’re in a cavern so vast that my phone can’t push back the darkness.

  Ma turns her cane over and blows on its tip, and instantly it becomes a torch. She holds it above her head and searches the shadows. “You there, Dutch?”

  Suddenly, we hear a shriek from above, and a pink suitcase tumbles down the spiral staircase, narrowly missing Ma when it crashes to a halt at the bottom.

  “Reckless girl!” a woman exclaims irritably.

  “I’m sorry. It was an accident!”

  “It’s those ridiculous shoes you have on your feet. You should have worn something sensible.”

  “ ‘Sensible’ might be your style, Mrs. B., but it’s definitely not mine. These are my traveling boots. I never leave home without them.”

  Ma swings the light over to the staircase so we can see who’s bickering. The first thing I see is a pair of pointy-toed, high-heeled silver-and-white-snakeskin boots. The young woman wearing the boots struggles to navigate the small stone steps, but she finally manages to reach the ground. She sighs with satisfaction and smooths her colorful dress before reaching back to take the worn carpetbag from the hands of the older woman behind her.

  “Thank you, Quayesha,” the woman says. She has a Caribbean accent like Mama’s friend Afua.

  “No problem, Mrs. B. Now, where’s my suitcase?”

  I set it upright and pull up the extendable handle before wheeling it over to the young woman. She gives me a warm smile and says, “Why, thank you, kind sir. You must be Jaxon. I’m Quayesha.”

  She holds out her hand, and as we shake, at least a dozen silver hoops jangle around her wrist. Quayesha looks like the women I saw in downtown Brooklyn when Mama took me to DanceAfrica. The performances were mostly inside the Brooklyn Academy of Music, but the street outside was just as lively, with drummers and vendors selling food, art, jewelry, and clothes from all over the continent.

  “You look like Africa,” I tell her, and then blush as I stumble over my words. “I mean DanceAfrica—your dress reminds me of ones I saw at that festival. It’s really nice.”

  Quayesha lets go of my hand and holds up her skirt to curtsy. “Aren’t you charming! I can see why Ma brags about you so much. Maybe I should get an apprentice, too.”

  “Ha! You’d just make him hold your bags while you shopped for clothes,” Ma says.

  “Actually, I made this dress myself. It only looks like haute couture.” Quayesha winks at me, and I smile back at her.

  Not Ma. She just shakes her head as her eyes sweep over Quayesha’s not-so-practical travel outfit. The other woman stands next to Ma, her lips pushed out in a way that lets us know she also disapproves of the stylish young witch.

  Aware that she’s being judged, Quayesha twirls to show off her dress from all angles. By the light of Ma’s torch, the gold waves on the waxy purple fabric shimmer as she spins. Her long dreadlocks whirl around her like the carousel swing ride at Luna Park. There are cowrie shells, small crystals, and copper rings woven into her long black hair. Spinning in the shadows, Quayesha looks magical—at least to me.

  She ends her fashion show by planting her hands on her hips like a model at the end of the runway. The tiny diamonds embedded in the tips of her long acrylic fingernails sparkle like stars. “Just say the word, Mrs. B., and I’ll make you a dress, too. We could do a total makeover—hair, clothes, accessories….”

  The older woman loudly sucks her teeth and pulls together her drab woolen cardigan. It matches her long, shapeless skirt, which looks like it could be gray or brown.

  Ma looks just as frumpy in her puffy orange coat, purple velour tracksuit, and black sneakers. She rolls her eyes at Quayesha and says, “Mrs. Benjamin isn’t interested in ‘haute couture,’ and neither am I.”

  Quayesha looks at the older women with pity. “But your clothes are so…ordinary.”

  “That’s because we are trying to blend in,” Mrs. Benjamin says in a stern voice. “You, on the other hand, seem determined to attract attention to yourself. A witch should walk through the world with humility and discretion.”

  Quayesha pouts and says, “I can be humble, discreet, and cute at the same time!”

  Mrs. Benjamin groans. “Give me strength….”

  Ma pulls out her pocket watch again. “Anybody hear from Dutch? It’s not like her to be this late.”

  It’s not like Trub, either. Mrs. Benjamin starts explaining to Ma her theory about Dutch’s warped perception of time.

  “The poor thing actually believes she can stop the hands of time. When I asked her how exactly, she started throwing out all sorts of impossible words—‘quantum’ this, and ‘polychronic’ that….”

  Ma doesn’t really seem interested, but she listens patiently as Mrs. Benjamin compares African and Western time. Quayesha turns to me and makes a funny face. I smother a giggle and make sure Ma doesn’t see me snickering.

  Quayesha leads me a few steps away from the others and says, “You’re awful quiet, Jax. Aren’t you excited about our trip to Chicago?”

  I nod enthusiastically and glance over at Ma. She’s busy debating Mrs. Benjamin, so I dare to tell Quayesha the truth. “Ma told me to stop asking questions.”

  She laughs, and her silver bangles ring like bells. “Well, that may be Ma’s rule, but you can ask me anything. How else are you supposed to learn the ropes?”

  I’m liking Quayesha more and more. “What’s the ‘er’?”

  “It’s an abbreviation—a quicker way to say Underground Railroad. U.R. UR.”

  I can’t believe it. “That’s how we’re getting to Chicago?” I exclaim.

  I guess the skepticism in my voice draws Ma’s attention, because she calls out, “You got a problem with that, boy?”

  I blink and press my lips together so I don’t speak before I think. But after a few seconds of silence, I just can’t keep my words inside, and they fly out of my mouth.

  “The Underground Railroad isn’t real!”

  Mrs. Benjamin gasps, and I realize I might be making Ma—my boss—look bad. So I try to explain myself and show how much I know. “I mean, it is real—or it was. But it wasn’t an actual railroad, and people didn’t really travel underground. They just called it that because it was supposed to be secret—an invisible way for folks to move from slave states in the South to free states in the North. But slavery ended a long time ago.”

  I thought that was a pretty good explanation, but everyone is staring at me like I’m not making any sense. I try to stay calm, but finally I blurt out: “We can’t get to Chicago that way!”

  “Well, that’s how we’re going,” Ma says firmly. “You can stay here in Brooklyn with your mama if that’s what you prefer.”

  Ma points over at the staircase, but I shake my head and say, “No, ma’am. I want to go with you.”

  Ma snaps her fingers, and the staircase unravels as the paving stones float back up to once again form the interlocking floor of the tunnel. I open my mouth to apologize, since it’s clear I’ve done something wrong, but Ma holds up her finger to silence me.

  “We three have been doing this a long time, Jax. You’ve only been at it for a couple of months. What’s Rule #1?”

  “Always be ready.”

  Ma nods. “Well, here’s Rule #2: Trust your elders. How old are you, boy?”

  Ma knows how old I am, so I guess this is for the benefit of everybody else. “I’ll be ten in October,” I say quietly.

  Mrs. Benjamin sucks her teeth. “October is months away! The correct answer is, you are nine years old.”

  Ma nods. “Listen, Jax. Every witch here is older than you. Every witch here has more experience than you. Your role—in Brooklyn and on this trip—is to assist, not to instruct. Think you can handle that?”

  My cheeks feel like they’re burning brighter than the torch Ma’s holding above her head. I manage to squeak out, “Yes, ma’am,” before my throat closes completely.

  Then I think about how Mama comes home angry sometimes because her coworker Jay insisted on explaining something she already understood. “It’s such a waste of time,” Mama told me, “but some men believe they know more than a woman ever could.” It happens so often, there’s even a name for it: mansplaining. Was I kidsplaining just now? If I was, that’s not cool, so I add, “Sorry, Ma. Sorry, everybody.”

  Mrs. Benjamin sniffs and says, “Personally, I have always felt that children should be seen and not heard.”

  Quayesha puts her arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick squeeze. She leans down and whispers, “Don’t sweat it, kid. I made a lot of mistakes, too, when I started my training.”

  That makes me feel a bit better, but I still decide to put a little space between me and Ma. I wheel her suitcase close to the edge of the circle of torchlight and sit down on it. I wonder what’s keeping Trub. I’d feel a lot better if my grandfather was here. Trub’s always got my back.

  I pull out my dad’s phone and check the time. Hopefully, Trub will get here sooner rather than later.

  4

  “Psssst! Kid—hey, kid!”

  I know that voice! I look around but can’t see anything moving in the shadows. “Nate?”

  “Behind you, kid.”

  I spin so fast, I almost topple off Ma’s suitcase. Nate the rat pokes his head out from behind a small boulder that’s embedded in the wall of the cavern. I beam at him and ask, “What’s up, Nate? Are you coming with us to Chicago?”

  “Can’t, kid. Too much going on around here. Gotta keep my ear to the ground.”

  Nate checks to ensure that the others are distracted before coming closer. “Listen, Trub asked me to pass along a message. He really wanted to take you to Chicago, but something came up.”

  My heart sinks. “He’s not coming?”

  Nate shakes his head. “He would if he could, kid, but Sis needs him.”

  “I need him, too.” That’s what I want to say, but there’s nothing Nate can do. Sis gets what Sis wants. I sigh and thank Nate for letting me know.

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” he says. “Can I offer you a piece of advice before you go?”

  “Sure—I need all the advice I can get. Seems like I keep saying and doing the wrong thing.”

  Nate checks again to make sure that the others can’t hear us. He waves me closer, so I lean in. “Word on the street is, you ain’t the only one getting outta town.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nobody’s seen Blue. I thought maybe he was laying low after Sis humiliated him last spring. But I think he’s skipped town—for good this time.”

  “Are you sure? Ma thinks Blue’s up to something at the old spice factory.”

  “Oh, he’s definitely up to no good—you can bet on that. But he’s not working alone anymore. He’s got some powerful allies, so watch yourself, kid.”

  “I will,” I assure him. “Thanks for the heads-up, Nate.”

  “Sure, kid. Now, about that egg you got in your pocket…”

  I gasp and glance over at the witches. It sounds like they’ve decided to call Dutch, but Quayesha’s the only one with a cell phone, and she can’t get a signal this far underground.

  “How’d you know?” I ask.

  Nate just laughs and brushes a bit of dirt off his shoulder. “There’s not much I don’t know, kid—especially when it comes to magic. Now, I get that you want to be a good friend to your boy Vik, but hiding a phoenix ain’t easy…and packing that kind of heat could attract the wrong sort of people, if you know what I mean.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. Vik gave me the egg so I could keep it safe. “Do you think Blue will try to steal it?” I ask anxiously.

 

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