The Weight of Blood (49)

Maddy scuttled away from him, one-handed. How did he know Kendrick was Black?

“No, Papa, I—”

“I’ll be damned if you go anywhere with some Negro!”

How did he know? she thought through her panic as she tried to regain control.

“Papa . . . can we please talk about this? Please!”

“Go to your closet.”

Trembling, Maddy shook her head. “No, Papa.”

He slapped her again and she screamed.

“Go to your closet now!”

Her eyeballs twitched. No, not yet. No. No. No.

Dark thoughts swirled around her, and the inside of her palm itched to strike back, but she resisted.

“No closet, Papa. Please. Just let me finish telling you about him. We can—”

He hit her again. “You dare defy me, child! ‘Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.’ Ephesians 6:1.” He pulled back to hit her again.

But an unrecognizable voice bellowed deep from her belly. “I said NO!”

Her hand shot out, stopping his raised arm midswing. The lights flared, radio hissing to a pitch. The candles on the table blazed toward the ceiling.

“Oohff,” Papa grunted, staring at his own arm, frozen stiff in the air like a tree limb. Papa’s wide eyes roamed as he yanked, and it remained unmoved. His mouth hung open. “Heavenly Father! Lord in heaven!”

Maddy stood, backing away, her hand still raised, each breath intentional, the threads wrapped around her fingers so tight they cut off circulation.

Papa panted, sweat building above his eyebrows as realization dawned on him. He turned to Maddy. The tall flames made the room a hot oven, their skin glowing orange. They stared at each other, unblinking.

“Witch,” he hissed.

“I’m not a witch, Papa,” she said calmly. “I can move things with my mind. Lots of people can. I’ve been reading about it. It’s a gift.”

It was the first time Maddy had spoken the truth aloud. With the weight of her secret off her chest, she finally felt free. She had been dying to tell someone, dying for someone to see her in all her glory.

“Witch,” he repeated, and attempted to yank his arm free, but it remained stuck in its L shape.

She swallowed. “I’ve had it for a while, Papa, and I just didn’t know how to control it. But I think I can now.”

But as she spoke, she glanced at the candles, the flames dangerously close to the ceiling, wax raining onto the white lace tablecloth, and realized she still had some work to do.

“Witch. Worshipper of Satan!” Papa spat, his face going red.

“No, Papa. I can show you. Then you’ll—”

“What evil have you cast upon my house?” he demanded, his voice full of pain.

“I’m not evil, Papa, please.”

“You pray! You get into your closet and you pray for forgiveness this instant!”

Maddy couldn’t understand how even in such a miraculous moment, even with his arm frozen in the air, how he could act as if he was still in charge. Then, the sad fact sank in: Nothing would cure him of his paranoia and hysteria. Because it had never been about protecting her, never about love. It was about control.

“Papa, please,” she begged, fighting tears. “I just want to talk to you.”

He lunged, his other arm swinging at her, but she remained too far out of reach.

“GET IN YOUR CLOSET!”

“NO! I’m not going in that fucking closet again! I’m going to that dance, and you’re not going to stop me. Try it and you’ll never have a left arm again!”

Her voice sounded foreign, like it didn’t belong to her, coming from someplace deep and dark, the most savage part of a soul. Her mother’s words rose to the forefront and shook her back to center.

This sickly power you hold without hands will eventually burn until you no longer can hide it.

Stunned, Papa stomped his foot, shaking in indignation. “Madison. I am your father!” He said it as if it was supposed to mean more than it did. The fact remained, no matter how amazing she could potentially be, he would always see her as less than nothing. The glimmer of hope was nothing more than a mirage on the horizon. He would never change.

But he was still her father, the only person loyal to her, even if that loyalty was soaked in poison. She slumped with numbing despair and lowered her hand. Papa gasped as his arm came down, hugging it tight to his chest, panting.

The candles eased back to a tiny flame. Black smoke swirled around the room.

Maddy nodded. “I won’t go in the closet, Papa. But I’ll go to bed without supper.”

She turned on her heels and went upstairs.

In the parking lot of the Marshall’s Hardware flagship store, Jules and Brady sat in the back seat of his Audi A4, sharing a bottle of vodka stolen from her parents’ bar. Not that they would notice. They were too busy canceling her graduation party to avoid explaining to all their friends why Jules wasn’t going to Texas A&M, spinning the story in a more positive direction—Jules was taking a gap year to travel through Europe, so she could be a more cultured, well-rounded student. Gap years were all the rage in more sophisticated cities like New York and Los Angeles.

“What are we doing here?” Brady asked with a smirk, shifting closer, walking his fingers up her neck. “Trying to relive some old memories?”