A Love Song for Ricki Wilde (78)
“Interesting theory,” said Ezra, “but I didn’t curse myself.”
“Well, just to be sure, let’s perform the Bond-Cutting Ceremony!” She reached into a clunky wooden chest and pulled out two black wooden blocks connected by a foot of twine tied to each. “Just cut the twine with this magic knife. It’s pure sterling silver, sprinkled with salt and garlic. As you cut, say this out loud: ‘I sever and release the bonds I placed upon myself.’”
Ezra’s eyes narrowed, and his posture went rigid. “I’ll say this one more time…”
“First of all,” interrupted Ricki, who was visibly pissed, “silver, salt, and garlic are vampire killers. Ezra’s not a vampire, got it? Secondly, the substances we think of as protection against vampires are actually just antibacterial. Salt and garlic protected against infections and illnesses that, centuries ago, we’d attribute to some spooky influence. I’d think a Wiccan would know that. And by the way, this is why Black people distrust health-care professionals. We’re not taken seriously.” She caught her breath. “So. Are you going to listen to him or not?”
Ezra sat there with full-on heart eyes and a modest hard-on. Did Little Richard Wilde just square up on a witch for him? Was he just figuratively little-spooned? He was in awe! No one had ever stood up for him like that. A woman had never been his knight in shining armor. He was used to being the rescuer.
It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
“I understand, hon. But I think we can agree that a Bond-Cutting Ceremony couldn’t hurt. Ezra, would you mind doing the honors? I filed a trademark on the Bond-Cutting Knife, by the way. Ricki, would you mind taking a pic for the Gram?”
With steadfast calm, Ezra took the knife from her. He cut the twine.
“There you go!” exclaimed Mistress Jojo. “Curse broken. How do you feel?”
Out of the corner of his mouth, Ezra muttered to Ricki, “Trigger warning.”
“Huh?”
And then, lightning fast, Ezra covered Ricki’s eyes with his left hand. With his right, he plunged the knife into his heart. After a few beats, he easily yanked it out. The blade was faintly tinged with blood, but in a few seconds, it swiftly evaporated into nothing. All that remained was a slight slit in his coat, over his heart.
With a pleasant smile, he handed the knife back to Jojo. “I’m good. You?”
Eyes open, Ricki looked at the knife, looked at Mistress Jojo, and looked at Ezra, and her hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh my God. Oh my God. OH MY GOD…”
On the fifth “oh my God,” Ricki snapped out of her shock. She grabbed Ezra’s arm and pulled him out of his chair. Before rushing out the door, she threw a twenty in the Wiccan’s lap and said, “Don’t worry, you won’t remember him in a month.”
Several blocks away from Mistress Jojo’s office, Ricki and Ezra descended into an E train station, enveloped in the warmth of the nearly empty platform.
Ricki stood in front of Ezra, shaking uncontrollably. And babbling. And pacing.
“Jesus Christ, Ezra. You really are immortal. A Perennial. Holy shit, this is real.”
“You said you believed me!”
“Did it hurt? Should I call 911?” Frantically, she patted her hands over the front of his coat and shouted into the uncrowded platform, “ANY DOCTORS IN THE HOUSE?”
Over on the nearest bench, an elderly, bespectacled gentleman glanced up from his New York Post. “My oldest niece is an orthopedic surgeon. But she lives in Des Moines.”
“All good, sir, thank you.” Leading Ricki farther down the platform, Ezra whispered, “I’m fine! I don’t feel pain like mortals. At most, it’s like a light scratch. And I heal right away.”
“Are you sure?”
“You could chop off my hand, and to me, it’d feel like a paper cut. Breathe, just breathe.”
They stopped walking, and he ran his hands over the tops of her arms, trying to warm her up and calm her down. She allowed herself to be soothed.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he assured her. “I was just tired of being questioned.”
“I know you’re tired.” She breathed out, and soon her shakes subsided. Her breath steadied. And then she peered up at him with brazen confidence.
“I have one more idea. Ever heard of Eva Mercy?”
CHAPTER 19
THE FORREST GUMP OF MUSIC
February 20, 2024
Della was extremely concerned about Ricki. Della thought her granddaughter had lost her mind, and had taken to discussing it with everyone she knew. On a covert phone call with Tuesday, she whispered, “That girl’s acting stranger than a soup sandwich.” Over breakfast with Naaz, she said, “That girl’s acting like she ain’t got but one oar in the water.” On another phone call, to her Links walking club, she announced, “That girl’s acting three pickles shy of a quart, if you get my meaning.”
Everyone got her meaning.
If the elder woman was freaking out a bit, it was understandable. Ricki had passed clean the hell out on her living room floor. And why? Because she’d shown her an antique pearl bracelet? It was odd. Plus, Della wasn’t convinced that Ricki was eating (or sleeping) properly, her eyes were starting to look faraway, and she often trailed off midsentence.