I’m grateful that Storm is a hybrid as I approach the driveway at a gods-awful time of morning. The whisper-quiet EV part of the engine comes in clutch when I need to not be noticed or caught. Normally, I park in the garage, but that’s not a good look right now, considering I’m not supposed to be out of the house after suffering a concussion and all sorts of other bodily injuries.
I purposely disengaged the alarm before I left the house, praying that Unk or Nana didn’t check on me while I was gone. The moment I slip in the back door and notice the main level is dark, I exhale with relief, then tiptoe upstairs to my room so I can rest as best as possible. My body is still sore and hurting, despite my need to converse with Gamba and make some sense of what’s happening to me.
Instead of heading straight to my bed, I’m firing up my laptop, and Google is, hopefully, gonna be my friend for a few minutes. I’m trying to find as many keyword combinations as I can to figure out where I want to research, but the only thing that keeps coming up is Lycan and lycanthrope myths and legends. The problem with that is that’s not what I saw in the mirror earlier tonight.
What in the world am I becoming?
I continue my deep-dive until exhaustion finally takes over, whether I want to stop or not. The deeper I go, the more I want to find out, and the more I need to understand so I don’t feel so scared. I resign myself to the fact that if I don’t get some rest, I’m not gonna be any good to anyone tomorrow, least of all myself, and there’s a lot of questions I have to ask and answer.
I peel myself away from my desk and slog to my bed so I can stretch out and get as much sleep as my mind will allow. Easier said than done, especially when the lasting images I see before I close my eyes are glowing orbs staring back at me, and I hear a voice in the dark assuring me that everything is gonna be all right.
As much as I want to believe that, I don’t know if I can right now.
…
Zahra has never been in my room before. Still, I can’t think of a better place I’d rather have her this morning, even though she doesn’t realize I know she’s here.
My room isn’t immaculate—there are clothes on the floor, but they’re the ones I wore last night, and maybe a couple of other shirts. My L-shaped desk sits in the far right corner, where she notices papers spread out among the books on the desktop. My laptop screen displays a Google search that I forgot about—I was researching lycanthropes before I crashed out.
Above the short end of the desk sits a bookshelf that is built into the wall. She pads over to be nosy, wondering what books I have on the shelves. From Black Sands comic books to, of course, the Miles Morales arc in the Spider-Man comics, Black Panther comics, and she sees the Ironheart comics, too. Then she moves over to the hardcover books, reading the spines that catch her attention. Percy Jackson. The Witcher. The Lord of the Rings. Children of Blood and Bone and Children of Virtue and Vengeance by Tomi Adeyemi. Beasts of Prey and Beasts of Ruin by Ayanna Gray. There are even nonfiction books I’ve collected over the last few years. Letters to a Young Brother by Hill Harper. The Mamba Mentality: How I Play by Kobe Bryant. To top it off, there’s a hardcover copy of Native Son by Richard Wright, Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates, and A Collection of Poems of Langston Hughes, among other titles.
Because it’s a good thing to be young, gifted, and intelligent.
On my closet door is a full-size poster of Chadwick Boseman as T’Challa. The poster only shows his head and shoulders, split down the middle, with one side showing his head encased in the Black Panther mask and the other side showing his face. Underneath the striking image are the familiar claws that made up the necklace always worn by the warrior king.
That’s not what has her clutching her chest, though.
Sitting in its own corner away from everything, propped up on a stand against the wall, is a remote-controlled F-22 Raptor jet, painted in all black with purple and gold accents throughout the fuselage and wings. Considering it’s nearly five feet long and the wingspan looks around four feet long, and I have space to keep this beast in my room, it’s safe to say that, outside of Storm, this is my pride and joy.
I know her STEM-girl heart is fluttering. I have to find some time to teach her how to fly it.
She steps over my Timbs, still marveling over all the reminders of Wakanda—including the life-size Panther mask on my nightstand. She rolls the desk chair along with her, settling at the side of my queen-size bed, watching me as I sleep. At least, she thinks I’m asleep. I can’t help peeking the entire time she’s been moving around, closing my eyes when she turns in my direction.
I overheard a convo between her and Unk where she basically said she’s coming by to see about me. My newly heightened hearing has its benefits.
“You know,” I say, opening my eyes, “when I imagined you being in my bedroom for the first time, this wasn’t what I had in mind.”
She jumps, rolling the chair a few inches away from the bed. “By Nyati, you scared the hell out of me, boy.”
I chuckle as I sit up in bed, but she doesn’t find it all that funny. “I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to throw you off, but now I’m trying to figure out why you’re staring at me like I’ve grown a third eye or something.”
“There’s a reason for that, baby.” She pulls up the camera on her phone and places it in my hands. “Tell me what you see, because I’m literally trying to understand what I’m looking at when I see you.”
It takes a few moments for it to register, but as my eyes widen with the revelation, she begins to freak out a bit with me. I drop her phone in my lap, leaning back to check other spots on my body. “Wait a damn minute, how in the—?”
“How in the world did you manage to heal almost overnight from bruises and cuts that would have taken weeks to heal?” she finishes the question for me, hesitating to touch my skin. “What’s the last thing you remember from last night? Did Nana do something to you before you went to sleep?”
I try to think, and I can’t really remember anything, which frustrates me. I shake my head a few times, and the voice—Gamba—shows up out of the blue.
“Go on, take her hand. Take it,” he says.
I turn my attention back to Zahra.
“I-I’m not sure how to explain any of it right now. I remember coming home, and then Nana gave me something to drink to help me sleep. From there, everything feels like a dream, but it doesn’t. I don’t know if I’m making sense right now.”
“Yeah, you’re right, it doesn’t make sense. How are you feeling? Are you hurting at all?” She leans toward me and feels my forehead. “I’m still trying to understand how you don’t have any bruises or injuries from last night. I wish there was a way for you to know what happened. I mean, I watched you die—twice—and it’s like you didn’t go through any of it.”
“There might be a way,” I reply, taking her hands as Gamba told me. “Close your eyes and let me inside.”
Zahra hesitates as she takes my hands. “Yasir, I—”
“Trust me, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know. I trust you.”
Once we’re comfortable, I start chanting, using the words and incantations Gamba explains to me, repeating the words as I hear them. Si oken re. Si oken re. I don’t have a clue what it means, but in moments, I’m inside her mind with her, sitting in a recliner in a theater room—that’s the best way I can explain it. On the screen are the events from last night, almost literally from her perspective, like we’re running a role-player game. She’s next to me, watching along while she hears herself giving the voiceover, explaining everything that’s happening.
I don’t remember saying if my phone works or not, but I give Kendyl my phone and race to the back of the boat. Since the engine isn’t running, I have a chance to not get caught up in the current. I pray he cleared the hull, but there’s no way of telling what condition he might be in if and when we get to him.
Not seeing his body at least float to the surface scares me the most.
I take my boots off and tie my hair back, with only one thing on my mind. I ignore Kyle’s screams for me not to jump off the boat, diving in feet first and swimming in the opposite direction, away from the boat. I shorten my strokes, working with the current and using it to help conserve as much energy as possible. I stop every few seconds, hoping I can see anything resembling his body above the water line.
“Yasir! Baby, where are you?” I keep swimming in the direction I think the current might carry him. I fear he’s unconscious, which would be all bad, especially if we don’t hear him screaming for help or anything. “Come on, baby, tell me where you are.”
I dive underwater, realizing that it would be foolish, since I don’t have a flashlight or anything to see through the darkness. I have to try something; I can’t let him die out here.
I rise to the surface to catch my breath, hearing someone splashing toward me. I wipe my eyes, hoping it’s Yasir trying to swim toward me. I float in one spot as the splashing comes closer, and I start to yell out again, but I feel a strong pair of hands grab around my waist, holding me still.
“I should choke you, scaring us like that, girl,” Kyle growls as we continue to bob above the water. “What the hell were you thinking? I know you can swim, but we can’t possibly find him in dark water.”
“We have to try, dammit.” I’m trembling as the cold water begins to affect me, but I refuse to leave. “Help me, please. I’ll never forgive myself if we don’t try.”
Kyle nods, keeping his arm around mine as we swim farther away from the boat. “Ian’s keeping the boat in place until someone can get to us. We need to get to him quick. He could still drown even if he’s unconscious.”
I really don’t want to hear that part, but it only increases the urgency to locate him before it’s too late. We swim in as much of a straight line as the current will allow, shouting Yasir’s name in hopes that he hears us. The longer we stay in the water, the more I try not to panic.
Frustration takes over, and I’m scared that we won’t find him before more help shows up. I close my eyes to try to calm down and think, even for a few seconds. I start humming, although I don’t know why or understand why I’m doing it, but I just keep humming, trying different frequencies, hoping to find something for him to hear.
“Yo, what are you doing, Z?” Kyle must have felt me vibrating, but I can’t think about that now. I focus on finding the right pitch to reach Yasir. “Yo, Zahra, are you awake? Talk to me. Don’t blank out on me.”
I shut everything out, hearing a faint moaning in the distance. I can’t be sure that it’s Yasir, but I stroke in the direction of what I hear. His voice is faint and fading fast. “I can hear him, Ky. Follow the direction I’m swimming. We don’t have much time.”
“How in the hell are you—”
“Not now, Kyle, just trust me.”
We quicken the pace of the strokes, and I hear his groans getting louder as we get closer to him. The sounds stop as soon as we’re on top of where I heard his cries. “He’s right here. I swear I heard him in this spot.”
Kyle looks around, his eyes locking with mine in disbelief. “He’s not here, Z. What did you hear?”
In that moment, I hear my name being called, and it’s coming from directly under us. I don’t have time to explain. I just dive down and start reaching below me as I kick as far as I can go. In my mind, I scream for Yasir to reach for me, almost letting the air out of my lungs.
I feel fingers, but they aren’t grabbing mine, so I reach with both hands and grab his wrist, pulling with everything I have to get him to the surface. Another pair of hands snap around my ankles, and I know it’s Kyle trying to pull me up. He clutches my waist, kicking toward the surface, while I hold on to Yasir like my life depends on it.
We finally break through the water, blinded by floodlights coming from the shoreline. Kyle takes Yasir from my grip, pulling him to the shore toward the lights. I hear men yelling out at us to keep going in the direction we were heading, thanking the gods that we were able to find him.
We get him to the paramedics waiting for us, taking as much care as possible to lift him onto the stretcher. I reach for him, but the medics block me, assuring me that they’ll do everything they can to revive him.
As they continue working on Yasir, Kyle holds me tight, repeating that he’ll be okay and that he will come back.
“He’s not breathing. I couldn’t feel a pulse when we got to him.”
“He’s strong, Z. He’ll get through this. We have to believe he can.”
I jump when I hear the buzzing of the defibrillator against his body, gasping at the way he jolts, pushing down the fear in my heart. So many things were left unsaid between us, and the regret threatens to send me into a tailspin.
They ask us if we want to ride with him to the hospital, but I’ve already climbed into the ambulance before they even get the question out. Kyle follows me in, grabbing the blankets offered to us while they load him inside. I don’t realize the adrenaline had been keeping me warm the entire time, and when it subsides, my body feels ice cold, and I wrap the blanket tighter around me. My eyes never leave the scene unfolding in front of me. He never once opens his eyes during the entire ride. Not even a flicker or fluttering of his eyelids. I’d have been grateful for a grunt, anything to let me know he’s still with us—with me.
I hear one of the medics say that Yasir is “coding,” whatever the hell that means, but when the machine goes from rapid beats to one long signal, my heart stops. They charge up the defibrillator again, sending another jolt to restart his heart.
Nothing else matters until I know he’s alive.
I need him to come back to me.
We break the connection, and she blinks as she stares at me. “That…that felt like when you kissed me in your studio. How in the world are you able to do that?”
“I’m still as confused as you are. I was just— You know what, never mind.” I have so many of my own questions it’s making my head swim. How am I able to do half of what I’m doing? Where does Gamba fit in? “I’m hoping to get the chance to talk to Nana to see if she can help make things make sense.”
“I can offer a few ideas, but that might require explanations that you may or may not be ready for, grandson.” Nana creaks the door open, holding a coffee mug. She smiles, but I see the sadness in her eyes. Things might have gotten a little bit more complicated. “How much are you prepared to learn?”