A Chorus Rises Read online

  “I love my baby coffee bean,” I coo, stroking the steering wheel. It’s been too long.

  “Tavia, back me up,” Courtney turns in his seat, making a show of it like there’s barely enough room.

  “Your cousin and I have a tenuous cease-fire going.”

  “Smart girl,” I say.

  “Otherwise I’d tell you my sister said it looks like a dehydrated turd.”

  My eyes shoot to Tavia in the rearview mirror. “Jealousy is really ugly.”

  “Effie’s words.”

  “Vivid and accurate,” Courtney concludes. “I’ll allow it.”

  “I’ll allow you both to take the bus,” I reply, but unfortunately we’re almost to the senior center where we’re meeting Ms. Donna.

  I get nervous as soon as I step out of the car, as though the asphalt parking lot and extensive network of accessibility ramps leading to the front and side doors should be intimidating. Or as though the plethora of elderly who frequent the place—and if the signage beside the double doors is any indication, are preparing for a talent show—is something to fear.

  Ridiculous or not, by the time we’re inside, and an overly sweet smell mixes with what I can only imagine are overcooked green beans past their expiration, there are butterflies in my stomach. Or I’m queasy because these smells really do not complement. It’s awful. I try not to scrunch my face, because there’s a smattering of old folks sitting at tables throughout the room, or milling around near the kitchen entrance. I hope someone throws those green beans out.

  Good gawd.

  “This way,” Tavia says as though she doesn’t have a sense of smell, and leads us through the open space toward a hallway.

  “You’re holding your breath, right?” Courtney says to me quietly.

  “I am near death right now,” I say, which isn’t good, because we have to choke back laughter.

  “If you ever go to Aunt Toni’s house for dinner, eat first. Everything she puts on the table smells like this.”

  I snort so loud Tavia glances back at us.

  Her face still irks.

  There’s a light, airy kind of music coming down the hallway, and when Tavia turns into one of the small rooms with an open door, there sits Ms. Donna. She’s got a music stand, and is playing a flute, her lips almost pursed, her breath escaping through the slightest part. Her hands look too delicate even for the slight instrument, but the sound is whimsical and lovely.

  “Look at all these visitors,” she says, with a smile, when she’s finished whatever melody she was playing.

  “That was beautiful, Ms. Donna,” Tavia tells her.

  “Thank you, baby.” Ms. Donna says it like she already knows. “Practice every day, and you stay sharp. You can’t get lazy.”

  The three of us nod like we’ll take up the flute immediately after leaving today.

  “You wanted to see me?” The woman’s eyes fall on me, and there’s nothing frail or fragile about her gaze. I remember it, and the way she said what she meant and meant what she said. And the way she still cared that I was okay.

  “Can I close this door?” I ask, and the others sit. “Thank you for letting me come.”

  “I knew it had to be important, for you to ask. You don’t seem the type to beg for second chances.”

  “It is. Important.” I try not to look at Tavia, and gesture for Courtney to give me the folder he’s got in his backpack. “I found out there’s a group of people who think they’re on my side. They started a site on the internet, after LOVE—our Eloko app—got revamped.”

  “Justice for Naema?”

  “Just—” I motion for Tavia to hold on, because I don’t want to get turned around in front of Ms. Donna. “Yes. I’ll get to that.”

  Ms. Donna doesn’t roll her finger in the air or hurry me along, she just keeps her gaze steady. It feels the way the Ancestors sound. Like confidence. Trust.

  “I’m embarrassed that I didn’t immediately get that something was wrong with them. But it turns out their defensiveness about me isn’t so much for me, as it is against … us.” I look at Tavia, which didn’t used to be hard, but it was never a pastime. “It’s just an excuse to hate Tavia. And sirens. Or anyone who could be a siren. And they’ve started accusing people. In Portland.”

  I open the folder with the pictures Courtney printed, and hand them to Ms. Donna.

  “They’re doxing women, and girls. Claiming they’re sirens.”

  “What does that mean, doxing?” Ms. Donna asks, as she slowly goes through the pictures.

  “It means they’re sharing personal information,” Courtney answers. “Like home and work addresses and phone numbers. Things people can use to contact or watch them. Or worse.”

  “They’re claiming more sirens are coming to Portland, because of Tavia. And that I’m at risk. That sirens are out to get me, and that they have to protect me.”

  “And you don’t know these people?” Ms. Donna asks, her voice as steady as before, without a waver or break. Whatever I expected her response to be, total calm wasn’t it, I guess. It’s almost depressing, how prepared she seems to hear something this grotesque. Like it isn’t the first time, or like she’s been expecting it. Like she always has to expect it.

  “I don’t. I wouldn’t have known the site existed, but they posted a link to it on my LOVE account.”

  “So these girls are in their sights,” the old woman says. She sighs then, and shakes her head.

  “I know you can’t tell me if they really are sirens. I don’t think it matters. I just thought you needed to know.”

  “I’ll let the network know,” she begins, “and we’ll watch out for them, whether they are or not. Doesn’t matter.”

  “They’re blaming Tavia for what happened to me,” I tell her. “That’s what Justice for Naema means. And I’m afraid there’s a woman, another Eloko, making it worse.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I told her what happened. She knows Tavia and I”—I look at Tavia—“don’t get along. That’s all I was trying to say. It was just supposed to be about us. But that’s not the story she wants to tell. She didn’t start the forum, but. She’s using it, so people will think sirens have it out for Eloko, period.” When Ms. Donna’s eyes meet mine, I hurriedly say, “I’m not gonna work with her. But. She’s trying to break the story anyway, and I’m worried about who might get hurt because of it.”

  The old woman doesn’t say anything for what feels like an eternity, and I remember choir competitions. Standing in front of a panel of judges when I’ve just performed a solo and I’m waiting to see how I ranked.

  “I think they’re building ranks,” I blurt out, when I remember. “Like they’re giving each other points or credit for the things they do. I know that sounds ridiculous, but. They have an incentive to one-up each other. That’s what’s got me worried.”

  “That tracks,” Tavia answers, and now it’s her giving a muted, knowing response to something terrible. Like she’s learned a lot in this past year, too. “It’s called ‘gamification,’ and believe me, I’ve had to get familiar. You can radicalize young white guys online pretty easily, as long as you make what you’re asking them to do sound like a video game.”

  Courtney cusses under his breath, and then his eyes leap to Ms. Donna, apologetically. She doesn’t seem offended, just serious.

  “I see you girls, and I know how different you are,” Ms. Donna says. “I know you’re two individuals with your own personalities and ideas and thoughts, and I know that sometimes opposites don’t attract.” Her dark eyes are still so bright, and when she trains them on me, I can’t help but listen. “But they don’t see you. They don’t see two high school girls with hormones and emotions and tiffs. They don’t see a personal disagreement between you two because what’s looking at you is an institution that’s got designs on all of us.”

  I’m the only one standing, and it feels like the whole world can see me shifting my weight from one foot to the other. In her seat, Tav
ia’s hands are clamped together in her lap, her bamboo bangles clicking against one another, so I know she feels as foolish as I do.

  “You said this lady’s an Eloko, too? The one stirring the pot?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s a movie producer named Leona Fowl.”

  “She doesn’t care what the Ancestors have to say, I guess,” Ms. Donna says, and folds her arms across her lap, her silver flute between them.

  “I don’t think everyone hears them,” I tell her. “Portland makes it hard to hear them, and I’m guessing it’s pretty similar where she’s from. If we surround ourselves with too many outside voices, we don’t have room for the ones inside.”

  I don’t know why I look at Courtney. Maybe because I’m thinking of Great-Gram Lorraine and what she told me, that Eloko power isn’t in speaking; we’re supposed to listen. Anyway, my cousin smiles.

  “I’m not an Eloko; I’m not a siren, either,” Ms. Donna says. “But I’ve lived long enough to know something about both, about all of us, I guess. Your gifts aren’t for you. A voice isn’t power so you can keep it to yourself. And you aren’t born with wisdom so you can be popular. We had oracles once, too, but they’re gone now. Maybe because people stopped believing them, and maybe because they stopped telling.” Her fingers move along the line of her flute, and she smiles a little, but she doesn’t get lost. She looks back at me, and then at Tavia, and at Courtney, too. “Listen to the Ancestors and use your voice because you have the privilege of them—but also so the next generation does, too. Being an individual shouldn’t mean you’re not part of something. I know you know that.”

  I can only nod, but the Ancestors swirl up like a cyclone that lifts the uneasy knots in my stomach and untangles them inside my chest. I do know. Because they know. I didn’t have words of my own, but I shielded Tavia because it didn’t matter that I didn’t adore her as a person. I still don’t; I just wish I hadn’t made genuinely disliking her the most important thing.

  “You don’t have to get along.” Ms. Donna looks between Tavia and me. “But you have to be smart. And I know you can be. Because it sounds like the real trouble’s coming from this lady. I’ll get the network together on keeping these girls safe and letting their families know, but if somebody starts a national panic, we’re all in trouble. You hear me?”

  The wind swells inside me, and Tavia, Courtney, and I answer at once.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter XXIV

  Katu News Segment

  REPORTER (on scene, intersection of W Burnside & SW 3rd Street): Stickers on light posts and buildings and newspaper boxes are nothing new in Portland, but a new crop has appeared seemingly overnight—and a message that shouldn’t be troubling is proving alarming to some.

  Montage of sticker footage in the surrounding area.

  ANONYMOUS LOCAL RESIDENT (voiceover): I think the issue is that it’s a hashtag. That means there’s more online, right?

  REPORTER: The stickers read: Justice4Naema, and they seem to be in response to a recent movie depicting the Awakening, when local siren Tavia Philips released many Portlanders from a gorgon curse that had trapped them in stone. The stickers appear to reference local Eloko teen Naema Bradshaw. A recent Beckett High graduate, she livestreamed the terrifying Stoning episode that took place at last year’s junior prom, before herself being Stoned.

  Footage of internet search for #Justice4Naema and resulting hits.

  REPORTER (voiceover): When the hashtag is typed into a search engine, social media accounts, blog posts, and even online forums appear in the results. Many of these accounts allege that Bradshaw’s encounter was an intentional attack. Some even go so far as to blame Tavia Philips, a known participant in the event, and also the siren who later undid the curse.

  REPORTER (on scene): Most people seem satisfied to ignore the smattering of stickers, including the newest which read ElokoFirst. There doesn’t appear to be anything malicious in the message, particularly not in a town known for its Eloko adoration. At least a few residents, however, say it’s unsavory, with University of Portland professor Heather Vesper-Holmes among them.

  Brief footage of University of Portland campus, students milling.

  Footage of Professor Vesper-Holmes, at her office desk, working.

  REPORTER (voiceover): Professor Vesper-Holmes has spent the past year investigating and compiling known recorded history of Eloko, particularly in Portland. Professor Vesper-Holmes maintains that her work has drawn criticism for asking what she calls “difficult questions about Portland’s elite.”

  VESPER-HOLMES: Eloko are beloved, there’s no shortage of evidence to support that. But I had to go back decades and eventually broaden my scope beyond the city before I came into contact with Eloko who showcased what we would consider traditionally magical attributes.

  The mythos surrounding Ancestral Wisdom is true. Eloko were known to access and commune with the Ancestors, an entity that seems to be both personal to the specific Eloko’s family, as well as universal, in that it operates similarly across cultures and continents. It even seems possible for the Ancestors to link Eloko to each other in a sort of network, although I haven’t been able to find a present-day Eloko who experiences this.

  REPORTER (voiceover): Professor Vesper-Holmes’s study recently lost university backing and, with it, necessary financial support. While a representative of the university suggests that the move comes after an underwhelming review of her findings thus far, the professor blames the lack of community and academy support.

  VESPER-HOLMES: Despite what happened last year and questions arising about one Eloko in particular, I think it’s obvious that nothing substantial is going to change about the social experience and situation of Eloko in Portland. And I keep having to remind people, that wasn’t my goal.

  REPORTER (voiceover): When asked what was, the professor seems unacademically convinced of her moral position.

  VESPER-HOLMES: The truth. I wanted to know why Eloko enjoy such observable privilege in society, and whether there’s a cost, to themselves or to anyone else. Because that’s what privilege tends to require.

  If I could summarize everything I’ve learned, not just from what I was studying, but from people’s reaction to what I was studying, I would say: everyone can calm down. I believe Eloko are magic. They don’t have a magic that can be wielded in the same way that others do, but they certainly have a magic that can be weaponized. That’s what those stickers look like to me. But I think it would take an Eloko saying that same thing to convince anyone in this town.

  Footage outside Professor Vesper-Holmes’s closed office door.

  Chapter XXV

  NAEMA

  I always knew I would have to be the bigger person. As if I’m not already a pantheon of grace and mercy, when the three of us leave the senior center and Tavia suggests we share this information with one other person, I not only acknowledge that she’s right, I let her come along.

  “You’re the last person I’d expect to wanna enlist Officer Blake’s help,” I tell her, glancing in the rearview mirror. Tavia’s looking to one side, and then, as though there’s a sprite flitting around that only she can see, she quickly checks the other way.

  ’Kay. Somebody’s nervous.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask, trading glances with Courtney.

  “It wasn’t in the movie because I didn’t tell anyone … but he knew I was a siren,” Tavia answers, nodding. “That time I asked for your help,” she says, like it was just the once. Like because that’s the only time she explicitly asked me, that it was the only time I helped her. And then she corrects herself. “The last time, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Her gaze leaps to meet mine in the mirror.

  “Priam told me. Recently. Literally last week.”

  She composes herself, but the anxiety is dripping off her. If her Magical Black Girl getup is meant to have some sort of empowering quality, it needs recharging. Tavia looks like a
regular teenager, worried she’s gonna miss curfew or something. But I’ve got an idea in mind for how we’re gonna shut Leona Fowl up, and it involves the new and empowered Tavia Philips. I need her confident and convincing. Which is the only reason I play nice.

  “Whatever happened to your gargoyle friend?”

  “The one from your livestream?” Courtney asks, super helpfully, and I keep my eyes forward, enlarging them where only he can see. Thankfully, Tavia just carries on.

  “Gargy’s good. We still fly some nights.”

  I accidentally hit the brake for a moment and we all jolt forward.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’d definitely like to hear more about how you get to fly around with a gargoyle named Gargy,” Courtney says, turning in his seat, and having remarkably less trouble doing so than when he was implying I drive a clown car.

  “It’s not that great,” Tavia says with a humble shrug.

  “You’re a very bad liar,” he tells her. For my part, I’m just watching the road. Try to cheer someone up, feel bad for them because they don’t have their own car, and then you find out they’ve got their own personal Stone Monster Sky Tour.

  “Is he your boyfriend or Effie’s?” I ask, through a sigh.

  “Effie’s. Definitely.” She almost sneers at the back of my head, but pulls it down just as quickly as it starts. “He comes to get me so I can see her.”

  “So is she still…” Courtney starts to ask and then loses his nerve.

  “A gorgon?” Tavia asks, her eyebrow cocked. But she seems amused, and anyway, she’s not looking around nervously anymore. “Yeah, that’s sorta for keeps, I think.”

  “And she isn’t coming back?” I don’t realize I’m gonna ask it until the words are already out. I read the license plate on the car in front of mine to keep from looking at my cousin or the girl I really never intended to talk to, let alone chauffeur around Portland. “I mean, to be with you. And like, for university.”

  She’s watching me in the mirror, but I don’t look at her and I don’t look down. Whatever she thinks she’s picking up on, I’m not interested. I asked what I asked; I’m trying to be civil, not best friends. This isn’t the part where I confess some vulnerability so she’ll see that underneath my tough exterior, I’m really soft and scared, and just like everyone else.