Caged View (15 page)

“MeShack?” Joanne yelled from his bedroom.
“Is everything okay?”

“Go back to sleep, Jane,” he replied.

I exhaled, forcing myself not to correct him
on her name.

He stepped forward. “Okay. I’m being an
asshole, but could you get fresh air from your fire escape? I want
you close just in case that guy is hanging around the
building.”

Frowning, I thought about it for a few
seconds. I could light some candles, make a huge cup of tea, and
sip it out there, but Joanne was awake. They’d probably have sex
again, and the serenity of my fire escape would just transform into
a self-loathing cage of depression. At least downstairs, I would be
free from the noise.

“No. Bernie the guard probably started his
shift. I’ll hang out with him, clear my head, and be back.” I
snatched open the door before he could offer an opinion, stepped
into the hall, slammed the door behind me, and froze.

A note was taped to the door with black
letters and red splotches.
Please say that’s not blood.

“
I SEE YOU TOO!
” it read.

I held my breath and looked down the
hallway, but only saw my Air Witch neighbor bringing in groceries.
I snatched it off the door.

“Lanore. The storm stopped.” My neighbor
flashed a toothless grin as grocery bags floated behind her. She
did a zig zag motion with her hand. The groceries obeyed, lined up,
and flew into her apartment. “You better grab some food before more
rain comes.”

“Have you seen anybody weird around the
halls tonight?” I asked.

“No. But Bernie started guarding if you’re
worried.” She took a sip from her copper flask and stumbled into
her apartment.

“Thanks, Mrs. Flora.”

As her door closed, I let out a long
breath.

The streets would be busy. Hookers and
dealers hung near my building. I would be relatively safe. I could
just stand outside for a few minutes with Bernie. Not that the
hundred-year-old Were-lion could do much, but at least he could get
MeShack if anybody tried to attack me.

I read the note again.

“
I SEE YOU TOO!
”

Outside of my apartment building, hookers
covered in orange lingerie strolled the streets, calling out to
passing cars. A cool breeze blew through my dreadlocks. It smelled
fresh and clean, as if the earlier storm had washed away all of the
neighborhood’s impurities. The habitat ceiling’s beams came on
after the storm, bathing the caged city in a threatening light.

I sat on the cracked concrete steps, half
listening to Bernie tell me for the hundredth time about fighting
in the Supe-Human Wars. The killer’s note sat in my pocket,
weighing me down.

Is it just a threat to be silent? Or a
declaration that I would be the next victim?

Seconds later, I spied Zulu stomping my way.
The security lights shone on his X brand. His blond dreadlocks hung
beyond his broad shoulders, slapping around his elbows. He wore no
shirt, just indigo jeans that hung low and framed perfect abdominal
muscles. Multicolored cords were sewn into his ivory skin in a
swirly pattern that stopped at his wrists. It had to have been
pretty painful when he’d gotten it done. With each furious stomp,
his muscles bulged under the cords.

Fuck. He is pissed.
I stood up, told
Bernie I would be back, and headed toward Zulu.

“What are you doing here?” I held my hands
out to my sides.

“You forgot about our date,” Zulu growled,
his voice deep with a dominant edge. It was why Supernaturals, or
Supes as they were most often referred to, stopped and listened
when he spoke at MFE rallies.

“Zulu, it wasn’t a date.”

He narrowed his eyes. Usually they were a
blend of dark blue and gold, reminding me of the dawn’s sun as it
peeked through the habitat’s ceiling. Tonight, his eyes were
midnight black. His gaze was like the sharp edge of a sword pulled
out for battle.

I took a step back and cleared my throat.
“We were just going to talk about what happened.”

He raised his blond eyebrows. “You mean when
I had you on my desk, dress lifted, shirt ripped, and your lips on
mine?”

“Fine. When we kissed.” I bit my lip.

“Why did you stop me and run away? Why
aren’t you coming to the meetings or returning my calls?”

“I can’t do this tonight.” I crossed my arms
over my chest.

“No, mon. This is your fifth cancel.” He got
in front of me, leaning down so that our eyes met. “You’ve been
avoiding me for three weeks. You promised me tonight; and besides,
me made us dinner.”

I resisted the urge to correct his use of
me
. It was Rebel dialect. They called it Lib Lib. It had
taken him years to learn the crazy speech patterns and communicate
with the Rebels. The fact that he’d so easily slipped into Lib Lib
told me that he was upset.

“Zulu, trust me. Tonight I’ve been through
so much. I can’t . . . wait a minute.” I looked up at him. “You
cooked?”

“Duck and some cheese potato thing that my
sister said would impress you. Me . . .” He stopped for a few
seconds as if he’d realized that he was speaking in the dialect,
and then cleared his throat. “If you had a rough night, then tell
me about it on the way to my condo. I’ll help you solve whatever it
is—but no more cancellations.”

“It’s midnight.” I pointed at my purple
Captain Habitat watch. Angry lines formed around his X brand. He
glanced at my watch and then back at me.

“Hey, Blondie,” a Vamp hooker called to Zulu
from across the street. “Come here. Mama want to give you something
for a tiny fee.”

Zulu ignored the hooker. He gently grabbed
my hand, kissed it, and whispered, “Like it or not, that night
started something inside of me. You have two choices. We talk in
your apartment or my condo.”

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I raked my
fingers through my hair. There was no way we would talk in my
apartment. Letting MeShack and Zulu meet would be a disaster. On
the other hand, would it really be that bad to leave with Zulu for
a few hours? I needed to go to sleep, but I doubted I could keep
the image of the machete and spraying blood out of my mind.

“I can only be out for an hour,” I said. “I
have class in the morning.”

“Fine.” He turned around and walked away. “I
parked my bike around the corner so you wouldn’t see it and run
away like you did after the kiss.”

“Are you mocking me?” I trailed behind him,
rolling my eyes.

He laughed. The huge wings tattooed in
silver on his entire back moved. Sparkling gems formed the
feathers’ design. I’d spotted sapphires, amethyst, diamonds,
emeralds, rubies, and some gems I didn’t know the names of.

The wings were beautiful and took my breath
away every time I saw them.

Zulu stopped at his red bike, grabbed a
black helmet with white wings off the handle, gave it to me, and
then jumped on. Putting the helmet on my head, I climbed on,
wrapping my arms around his waist.

“You can hold on tighter,” he offered.

“Just drive.” I smiled and tightened my
grip. Heat radiated off him. I leaned my face on his back, secretly
enjoying the satin texture of his skin with the gems’ rough edges.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled his scent of sandalwood.

“What happened?” he asked without starting
the bike.

I reluctantly sat up, sighed, and told him
everything. By the time I’d finished, his body hardened under my
grip, and he still hadn’t started the bike.

“Let me see this letter,” Zulu said, with an
edge of violence in his voice. He remained with his back to me, but
I could see him clenching and unclenching his right hand around the
handle. I pulled the letter out and handed it to him. After a few
seconds, he said, “I’ll use all of MFE’s resources to help
you.”

He pushed a button and whispered some words
to start his bike. Turning around, I noticed gold sparks fly out of
the back pipe. I didn’t want the magic to touch my skin, so I
inched closer to Zulu.

“I have a connection with a habbie,” he
said. “I’ll report the body to him. And then see if he can give us
some information on what he found. He’ll give us anything if the
price is right.”

“We’re not going to exhaust all of the
organization’s resources,” I yelled over the sound of Zulu revving
the engine. We drove away from my building, and the noise
disappeared. A smooth humming sound came from the bike while the
wind whipped around my face.

“You’ll get all of our resources. That’s why
I created MFE, to help Mixbreeds.” Not making any effort to stop,
he drove us through a red light. I screamed as cars honked their
horns, and a group of Vamps in a truck cursed at us.

“Damn it! Red lights mean stop.” I cringed
as he cut off a delivery van and drove through another red light.
More cars honked. Closing my eyes, I hid behind his back and
yelled, “This is the last time I ride with you.”

“You said I only had you for an hour. I’m
trying to cut the driving time.”

“Fine! I’ll give you more time.” I kept my
eyes closed and heard more horns blare. “Just obey the damn traffic
laws and slow down.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The rush of wind lessened to a breeze. I
opened my eyes and peeked over his shoulder as we turned out of
Shango District. The habitat was divided into five districts. Each
district was named and themed after a popular Santeria god. I lived
in Shango’s flaming orange district. Zulu lived in Yemaya.

We entered the sapphire gates of Yemaya. A
life-size statue of the goddess stood near the entrance, carved
from spelled ice that could not melt. It shimmered in the
moonlight, giving the effect of wavering liquid. Blue and white
flowers lounged at her sandaled feet.

Even though it was in the middle of the
night, Supes kneeled in front of her, chanting. Their voices rose
above the jeweled gates. Teal silk robes covered them. Cowrie
shells, dyed in blue ink, draped around their necks. Gone was
Shango District’s smell of death and blood, poverty and depression.
The soothing scent of the sea hovered in the air and seized me,
stirring up memories of Orisha beach during the summer, salt on my
tongue, sand between my toes, and the calming waves of the ocean
pushing me forward.

I sighed.

“You’re lucky to live here,” I whispered.
Zulu’s body tensed under my arms.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he said as
we stopped at a light. “It’s a way for my mom to pay me off. To
make sure I don’t call her
Mommy
in front of her Pureblood
friends.”

“So then, what do you call her?” I asked,
watching a couple stroll by, hand in hand.

Each time the Pureblood laughed, her massive
diamond earrings sparkled like expensive champagne. I shook my
head. Her jewelry could fund both MeShack’s and my education and
provide us room and board for several years. I hated her for
flaunting her wealth and looked in another direction.

“I usually call my mom by her first name,”
Zulu replied.

“Which is?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Nice try, Lanore. If you want to know my
secrets, then tell me yours.”

I laughed.

Zulu maintained a reasonable speed as we
passed high-end restaurants painted in cobalt blue. An aroma of
slowly roasted meats and simmering delights tugged at my senses.
Crystal fountains glowed, producing playful shadows of fish. Luxury
condos with bricks the color of the ocean decorated the clean
streets. There was no litter—anywhere. Nothing to suggest Supes
walked on the sidewalks at all.

“I’m going to have two Rebels follow you
around until we catch this guy,” Zulu said, getting my
attention.

“No Rebels. Are you insane? My professors
already hate that I’m in their classes. And you want me to bring
two Rebels?” I shook my head. “Not happening. They can’t come with
me.”

The Rebels were a group of Shifters who
considered themselves revolutionaries. They hated Humans and
shunned most laws, wearing bright colors instead of the blacks and
whites that you saw Humans wear on TV. They remained in partial
animal form, which freaked out most Purebloods, even regular
Shifters.

Fur covered their faces. Animal ears stuck
out of their hair. Fangs were usually fully extended and protruded
out of their mouths. Whenever I was near them, my skin always felt
like hundreds of ants were crawling up my arms.

“I don’t know why you hate them. They’re
great for MFE,” Zulu said as we sped off, just as the light turned
green. “They listen to you and me, which is a miracle.”

“I don’t hate them. But if we continue to
involve them, they’ll ruin us.” A tiny pain began at my temples.
“And those freaks destroyed my peace demonstration.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t like
the peace thing either.”

“Peace demonstration,” I corrected. “And
like it or not, nonviolent actions are going to get us funding. And
funding is what will help MFE get results.”