not.”
“Naw. Everybody likes a bit of mystery. So this year I’m it.”
“What about next year?” Gilda kept her breath shallow, trying not to take in too much.
I’ll be Lebanese!”
The room was filled first with Lydia’s laughter, then Gilda’s. Deep inside an image blossomed for her, a tiny glimpse of her past. Inside she held a precious moment of laughter between her and one of her sisters as they’d toiled among the rows of cotton. The reason for mirth had quickly faded then. In the expansive dining room with Lydia, Gilda recaptured that forgotten joy and savored it as fully as if her sisters were still alive and in the room beside her.
This was what Gilda found so entrancing in Lydia’s voice. It was rich with the happiness she’d had; very little sorrow or bitterness weighted her songs. The melodies Lydia sang each night might be mournful when delivered by someone else, but Lydia sang with the light of what was coming, not merely what had been done in the past.
They both stopped laughing, comfortable with the recognition of the feeling growing between them.
“And what’s your mystery, lady?” Lydia asked as if she already knew the answer.
Gilda pressed her hand to Lydia’s cheek lightly, letting herself enjoy the softness around Lydia’s smile. She didn’t want to pull away from the question, even though she knew she couldn’t answer. Lydia stepped in closer, the full length of her body pressing its aura of heat against Gilda.
The air wavered around them, intoxicated by mist and cinnamon.
Then the unnatural silence in the rest of the flat crashed around them.
No piano, voices, or glasses. The ominous silence was broken by a shout and the explosion of a gun.
“Stay here!” Gilda said in a low voice, and bolted through the door.
She moved quickly but without sound. When she entered the dining room, everybody was huddled on the floor, satin dresses and silk jackets askew. Through the parlor, she could see the front door forced open, almost off its hinges. The maid’s face was barely visible thorough a crack in the bathroom door and Gilda waved her back.
“Shit.” Gilda heard Morris.
“Everybody stay down,” Gilda shouted as she listened to the entire flat—the attackers seemed to have fled. She hurried to the bar. Behind it, Benny lay on the floor. Morris held his hand to the wound in Benny’s chest. His fair skin had paled as if the blood were draining from him as well.
“I told him we had to give them the joint. They been wanting in for months.” Tears filled Morris’s voice. “We got other stuff, we don’t need this shit.” Morris spoke as if his words could bind the wound.
“Quick, let me.” Gilda edged Morris out of the way and knelt beside Benny. “Get them out of here.” The floor around Benny was awash in his blood. The moments moved in rapid flashes for Gilda. She looked into his eyes as she tried to find his pulse. He was there and not there.
Morris’s apologetic voice was a low murmur as he helped people to their feet and kept the exit orderly. The woman in the maid’s apron came out of the bathroom and helped Morris find people’s coats.
As Benny’s blood cooled around her, Gilda thought of the little boy, Lester, arriving tomorrow at noon with his sister for a job. She could feel Lydia reaching out, begging her to make everything all right as if she knew Gilda was able to hear her. All the connections Benny had with those around him in this room had created a family, and in turn he aided others holding their families together. He was able to help give life in ways different from Gilda. She fought the urge to save Benny with the power only she possessed.
Blood should not be given as an unexpected gift. Bird’s admonition rang in her mind, Gilda knew of those who’d not chosen wisely, giving the gift of blood to those unable to manage the powers. She’d seen the results: deadly tyrants, intoxicated by their powers, unable to care about the havoc they created around them.
The explicit wish for the gift must be stated. How can you know who is capable of carrying such a burden? Gilda accepted all the reasons for letting Benny die. She turned to see Lydia standing at the bar looking down at them, her mouth open in horror.
“I know you can save him.”
Lydia’s eyes were full of that knowing. Gilda didn’t understand how that could be, and at