The witchs apprentice, p.8
The Witch's Apprentice, page 8
I promise Vik I’ll call him again tomorrow. Then I hang up, slip my phone back in my pocket, and head downstairs to join the others for dinner. I don’t pay much attention to the conversation taking place around me, but my ears perk up when I hear Ma ask Frank for a favor.
“You know the South Side better than most, Frank. Could you see if any factories have been acting funny lately?”
“Nothing funny about pollution,” Frank says. “We got more than our fair share of smokestacks on the South Side, but I’ll ask around for you, Ma.”
“I’d appreciate that, Frank. I already know who the culprit is, but I need proof.”
Frank nods and turns to compliment Miss Ellabelle on her food as she serves him a second helping of meat loaf. Miss E. is a lot more polite to Frank than she is to me, maybe because he isn’t an overnight guest.
When I’m finally able to get back to my room, I search all the pockets on my knapsack until I come up with a lone piece of gum. I can tell that it has been in my bag for a while because the foil wrapper is long gone. But when I place the stick of gum near the phoenix, it sniffs it excitedly before snapping off tiny bits with its golden beak.
When it has eaten about a third of the stick of gum, the phoenix curls up in its makeshift nest and goes back to sleep. I could stare at this feathery gem forever, but it’s time for me to turn in, too. I dash to the bathroom to brush my teeth, then put on my pajamas and crawl into bed. With the phoenix softly snoring beside me, I fall asleep right away. That night in my dreams I hear the man in the mirror say, “The wait is almost over, my son.”
8
When I wake up the next morning, I know right away that the phoenix isn’t sleeping in its towel nest. I know because as soon as I open my eyes, I see red. The phoenix is nestled on my pillow, its little body so close to my face that I feel its feathers tickling my nose as I breathe. I can even smell the faint trace of mint on its breath from the gum it had for dinner last night.
I know that I ought to tell Ma about the phoenix. But as I watch the tiny flame-colored bird sleep, I feel compelled to keep it to myself a little while longer. The dragons never belonged to me, so I didn’t feel all that attached to them. Kavita was the first person they saw, and maybe she felt then the same way I feel now. Protective. Possessive.
Even though I begged Ma for weeks to take me to the convention, I no longer have any real interest in going. All I want to do is spend time with my new feathery friend. It needs me—Ma doesn’t.
I hear the witches heading downstairs for breakfast, but when Ma knocks on my door, I quickly cover the phoenix, moan loudly, and tell her I have a stomachache. Ma pokes her head inside my room and studies me for a few seconds.
“I’ll bring you some dry toast,” she says finally.
“No!” I reply hastily. “I mean, I think maybe I better skip breakfast today and just stay in bed for a little longer.”
Ma watches me for several uncomfortable seconds before saying, “Suit yourself. I’ll tell Vonn to come by around noon again. If you’re feeling up for it, you can go out with him, but this time, he’s to bring you straight back here by five o’clock. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. Have fun at the convention.”
Ma grunts and pulls her head out of the room so she can close the door. I sigh with relief and lift the covers to admire the sleeping phoenix. We stay in bed for at least another hour—until I’m sure the witches have left for the convention. Then I get up and get dressed, carefully folding the phoenix into the front pocket of my hoodie once more. When I hear Miss Ellabelle’s vacuum, I hurry downstairs and try to sneak out unnoticed. But just as my hand grasps the knob of the front door, the vacuum stops and Miss Ellabelle hollers at me.
“Wait just a minute, young man. Where do you think you’re going?”
“Uh…I’m meeting Vonn,” I mumble, keeping my eyes on the floor. “He’s going to show me more of the city.”
She frowns and folds her arms across her chest. “Ma said you were to put something in your belly and wait for that young thug to pick you up at noon.” She points at the grandfather clock in the parlor. It’s not yet eleven o’clock.
I know it’s not a good idea to pick a fight right now, but I don’t like that word. “Vonn’s not a thug,” I tell her. “He’s a…” There’s no point telling Miss Ellabelle that Vonn’s a Watcher, so I finish my sentence with something just as true: “Vonn’s my friend. And I know it’s early. I’m just running out to get something from the store,” I tell her, which is also true.
“What sort of thing?” she asks. Before I can think of a convincing lie for why I suddenly need gumballs, Miss Ellabelle rushes toward the door and grabs me by the arm. She hauls me into the dining room and orders me to sit down. “I won’t have it said that a guest of mine left this house without a proper meal.”
“That’s okay, Miss Ellabelle,” I assure her. “I’ll eat later on.” I put my hand on my belly and groan a little for effect. “My stomach doesn’t feel so good.”
“And I suppose you think my meat loaf is to blame!” she says huffily.
“No!” I insist. “It’s probably all the excitement. Plus, the UR was really jerky…and I had pizza yesterday. I’m lactose intolerant.”
“Then I’ve got just the thing,” she says with an unnerving grin.
Miss Ellabelle heads to the kitchen, and I consider making a dash for the door. But she might chase after me—or tell Ma that I snuck out on my own. So I stay put and await my punishment. That’s really the only way to describe what’s in the bowl she places in front of me a moment later.
“What is it?” I ask, dipping my spoon into the odorless gray slop.
“Gruel. Best thing for your sour stomach. Go on, eat up!”
I glance around the room for a potted plant or an open window where I could discreetly dump the steaming gruel, but Miss Ellabelle stands right next to me instead of returning to her vacuuming. After a while she starts tapping her toe on the hardwood floor, and I realize she won’t leave my side until every last drop of slop is consumed.
My stomach didn’t really hurt before this unexpected and unappetizing breakfast, but it definitely feels funky by the time I finish choking down Miss Ellabelle’s porridge. I burp and quickly say, “Excuse me,” but the chef takes my indigestion as a compliment.
“See? Gruel is guaranteed to bring up all the gas that’s got your belly in a knot.”
Somehow I manage to thank her as she clears away my bowl and spoon and heads back to the kitchen. I creep out to the foyer just as Vonn jogs up the front steps.
“Bye!” I yell before dashing out the door.
“Sup, Brooklyn?” Vonn asks, pulling me into a half hug as we shake hands. “You feeling any better?”
“Much worse, actually,” I tell him as we head for the street. “Miss Ellabelle made me eat a gallon of gruel.”
Vonn tips his head back and laughs. His gem-covered teeth flash in the sunlight. Today he is wearing all black—sneakers, jeans, hoodie, and shades. Diamond studs gleam in each earlobe, and on his neck is a tattoo I didn’t notice before: a single black feather.
“Ma wasn’t too happy that I left you on your own yesterday, but I knew you’d find your way back.”
I nod and decide not to tell Vonn how anxious I felt when he disappeared after showing me the Garden of the Phoenix. Instead, I take a deep breath and ask him what I really want to know: “Can you read minds?”
Vonn shakes his head and says, “Mind reading takes a different set of skills. Me, I just observe.”
“So…you probably noticed that I was acting kind of funny yesterday.”
Vonn shrugs. “We just met, so it’s hard for me to know what you’re like when everything’s cool. However, I couldn’t help but notice that you were carrying some precious cargo.”
“I knew you knew!” I cry. “But how—was it really that obvious? I did try to keep the egg hidden.”
“It takes real expertise to hide something that powerful.”
Vonn’s serious, but I can’t help laughing. “Powerful? It’s the tiniest bird I’ve ever seen.” I pull the phoenix from my pocket and hold it out for Vonn to see.
He doesn’t remove his dark sunglasses, but behind the black lenses, I see Vonn’s pupils light up as he examines the beautiful baby bird. He whistles and says, “Haven’t seen one of those in a very, very long time.”
The baby phoenix yawns and seems to enjoy seeing its reflection in Vonn’s shades. Then it spots a vibrant tree, and the bird lifts itself off my palm to fly into its branches. The young maple tree is little more than a sapling, but its skinny trunk is crowned by leaves that have already turned an autumnal shade of neon orange. The phoenix must be confused, because it hops from branch to branch as if expecting to be warmed by flames.
I walk over and hold up my hand. “It’s probably warmer in my pocket,” I say. The tiny phoenix seems disappointed, and before long it hops onto my finger and lets me tuck it into my pocket once more.
“What are you going to do with it?” Vonn asks. When I don’t respond, he adds, “I assume you have some sort of plan.”
Plan? Other than keeping the phoenix a secret from Ma, I don’t have a plan at all. “If you had a baby phoenix, what would you do?” I ask.
“Well, I guess I’d try to figure out why it came to me.”
“That’s easy,” I tell Vonn. “It came to me because my friend Vik asked me to take care of it for him.”
“So it wasn’t always in your possession?”
I shake my head. “I’d only had it for one day before it hatched. Vik kept it in his sock drawer since last summer.”
“Then you were chosen,” Vonn says somberly.
I think about that for a moment. Is it possible the phoenix waited to be born until it was with me? Then the most delicious smell wafts down the block, and I lose my ability to concentrate. A short, elderly woman is up ahead with a red cooler. Her long black hair is streaked with silver and trails down her back in a single braid. The woman wheels the cooler along the sidewalk, and inside are tamales. I know because a girl around my age is a few paces ahead of the woman calling out to passersby: “Hot tamales! Best in Bronzeville!”
“Hungry?” Vonn asks.
“Actually, I need to get some gum to feed the phoenix,” I tell him.
He points to a store on the corner and waits outside while I go in to stock up on different gum shapes and flavors. When I come back out, I hear the girl across the street pleading with someone.
“Don’t—please! You have to pay! You have to!”
Three teenage boys are walking away from the food vendors with tamales in their hands. Two of them have already started peeling the banana leaves to devour the tasty filling inside. The girl sounds like she’s about to cry, and the old woman—her grandmother, I think—simply holds out her hand, wordlessly and rightfully expecting payment for her food.
“Thanks for lunch!” one blond boy calls over his shoulder before crossing the street.
His friends follow, and the one with skin as brown as mine sneers, “What are you gonna do—call the cops?”
When the girl dares to pursue them, the third boy, who is wearing a red baseball cap, reaches out a hand to give the girl a shove. She loses her balance and falls to the ground, which only makes the bullies laugh louder. I watch the scene unfold and feel a fire burning in my belly.
Before long they’re on our side of the street and nearly bump into me and Vonn as we stand outside the convenience store.
“I hate bullies,” I say to no one in particular.
Vonn leans down and whispers in my ear, “What you gonna do about it, Brooklyn?”
“What can I do?”
Vonn puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me away from the girl and her grandmother. He gently taps his finger against my chest and says, “Start with your intention, Jax, not your limitations. Think about what you want.”
I watch as the girl picks herself up off the ground and brushes the dirt off her clothes. I didn’t notice before that her left foot turns inward. She was quick to chase after the thieves, but now she moves slowly as she goes back over to her grandmother. If the girl is hurt, she’s hiding her pain. I know how that feels. She can’t protect herself from bullies, but she can protect her grandmother from knowing how much they hurt her.
I want to make them pay. I don’t say it out loud, but I know that Vonn is watching me. The bullies come out of the store holding beverages to go with their stolen tamales. I glare at them and wish I were bigger and stronger—someone they’d fear instead of just a scrawny kid they can push aside.
The phoenix is nestled in my pocket, and my hands are hanging at my side, but I feel fire warming the tips of my fingers. I curl my hands into fists, and that seems to concentrate the power I feel growing inside me. I stand there like that—my fists pressed against my legs—my eyes trained on the three boys until their laughter starts to sputter.
The tallest boy, the one in the red cap, clears his throat and then starts to cough. One of the others pats him on the back, but it doesn’t help.
“Ho…hot…HOT!” he gasps as his face turns pink.
He cries for water, and so his blond friend offers him his can of soda, but then the can explodes, spraying them all with brown cola. They start blaming each other as the choking boy races back into the store, desperate for a drink to calm the fire burning in his throat.
I watch them with a small smile on my face. I don’t want to hurt them, but right now they look ridiculous. “I guess those tamales were too hot to handle,” I say with a smirk.
“You did that,” Vonn says flatly. “You humiliated them.”
My smile broadens into a grin. “Yeah—I did!” I finally look up at Vonn and see that he isn’t smiling.
Vonn gives my shoulder a slight push, and we start walking again. “So…how’s it feel, Brooklyn?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, somewhat annoyed by Vonn’s question. If he would just smile, maybe I wouldn’t have this strange feeling in my belly (it’s not indigestion).
“You made them pay for what they did to that girl.”
“Yeah. I guess I did.”
“How do you think it makes her feel?” Vonn asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say testily.
“Guess there’s no way for you to know, since you never asked her what she wanted.” Vonn pauses a moment and then adds, “Right?”
I can tell Vonn’s disappointed in me, and somehow that makes me angry. If I was supposed to do something else, why didn’t he tell me? “I guess I messed up,” I say sullenly. “That’s the only thing I’m really good at.”
“You’re good at a lot of things,” Vonn says, “but using magic is new, and it’ll take a while for you to get the hang of it.”
I nod, humbled but also grateful that Vonn’s taking the time to explain all this to me.
“Tell me about your intention,” he says. “Remember when I asked what you wanted?”
I nod again, and Vonn continues.
“Did you want to help that girl or to make those boys pay for what they did to her?”
“Both?” I’m not sure what to say, because I’m not entirely sure what I was trying to achieve.
Vonn’s next question catches me off guard. “Who’s your favorite superhero?”
“Miles Morales,” I answer without hesitation.
“A’ight. Now think about the classic comic-book superhero. When Miles wants to save somebody, he just swoops in with his cape flying behind him and does what he thinks is right.”
I smile as I remember how long it took for Miles to learn how to act and dress like Spider-Man—his version of Spider-Man. I wonder if a Watcher like Vonn ever goes to the movies.
“Saving people is cool,” he says, “and so is leaping over tall buildings.”
That’s Superman, actually. He has a cape and Spider-Man doesn’t, but I don’t bother to correct Vonn. Instead, I focus on learning the lesson he’s trying to teach me.
“But if you want to serve someone, then you need to act like a waiter in a restaurant. You can’t just show up at someone’s table and give them what you want them to eat. You’re a waiter—you’re there to take their order. That’s how you make sure they get what they want.”
Vonn pauses to give me a minute to think about what he’s said. I stop walking and look over at the girl and her grandmother. “Can we cross the street?” I ask Vonn.
“It’s your move, Brooklyn. I’ll follow your lead.”
I check for traffic and then head to the other side of the street. As I near the food vendors, the girl lifts her head and says, “Do you want a tamal? Best in Bronzeville.”
Her voice has lost some of its confidence, but she smiles when I nod and reach into my bag for my wallet. I order four tamales, even though I’ve still got a belly full of gruel.
“Want a bag?” the girl asks.
I nod, and she puts them in a brown paper bag for me. “Anything else?”
I glance back at Vonn, clear my throat, and say, “I’d like to pay for the tamales those boys stole.”
For a moment, none of us says a word. I’m blushing, and so is the girl. I’m not sure her grandmother understands, because the girl turns to her and says something in a language I’ve never heard before.
“Please,” I say, holding out Mama’s crisp twenty-dollar bill. She said to save it for emergencies, but I think this is just as important.
The girl opens a zippered pouch tied around her grandmother’s waist and counts out my change. She hands it to me and says, “Maltyox. Thank you.”
I put the money back in my wallet and wonder if I have done enough. “What language is that? It doesn’t sound like Spanish—I’m learning that in school.”
