Blood To Blood (19 page)

The bathroom had a ginormous
window overlooking the ocean and a tub that was big enough for a small family.
Marble was everywhere, and candles were lighted, despite the time of day. I
inhaled the soothing aroma of burning sage and stepped into the double shower.
The soap—some sort of homemade herbal concoction—smelled amazing,
and I breathed in the relaxing scent. When I was done, I dried off and went
back into the dressing room.

Cici, Aurora, and Mom were
there, all in white sheath dresses that flowed down to just above their ankles.
They were all barefoot. Opera lilted through the suite via strategically placed
wireless speakers. Incense wafted through the air.

Mom first rubbed me down with
oils from pretty, colored glass bottles, then handed me my dress, a red bra,
and red panties. “The red undergarments represent the life force, the blood,”
she explained. “White is the new beginning that is your immortal life.”

“I'll do your makeup,” Aurora
said as she readied a pot of black for my eyes. Meanwhile, Cici started styling
my hair. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing.

“There is no need to panic,
Angel,” Aurora reassured. “This ritual will just be us. All of your immediate
family members. It is the first ceremony that will open the door for the Mahá.
It hasn't changed since Mom's Mahá. Except, perhaps, they did not have red
thongs back then.”

I heard the smile in her
voice and imagined Mom's glance. I giggled softly, or at least as much as I
could while she applied lip liner. Soon they were finished with their
administrations. I opened my eyes. Cici flipped a switch and the part of the
wall that was covered with black velvet rolled back to reveal a wall-length
mirror. The mirror was set in a simple, yet elegant, gold frame. At the top was
the head of Hathor, the Egyptian goddess of fertility and beauty. But it was my
reflection that startled me. I looked like an ancient Egyptian princess.

Mom tied a red sash around my
waist. Cici attached something that looked like a tiny garter belt to my right
upper arm. The belt sported a pouch, into which Aurora placed a small dagger.
“At the end of our ritual,” Cici said, “you’ll slit your wrist and allow seven
drops of blood into the goblet.”

“Why seven?”

“You are my seventh child,”
Mom said.

 She placed an amulet
around my neck. Hung on a thin gold chain, it was breathtaking in its detail.
It depicted a pyramid before a rising sun, a falcon with outstretched wings and
the head of a lion. There were ancient Nubian words inscribed on it. It was our
family seal. I read the words out loud. “Power. Protection. Loyalty. Forever.”

There were tears in Mom’s
eyes. She brought my head to her breast. “My child. You are a baby no more. And
I will never call you baby again. My body releases you. My baby is dead.”

She gently pushed me away
then and let out a long whooping wail, which was soon echoed by my sisters.
Their wails were the primal female howls of mourning, and evoked the sadness
felt by women when the youngest child dies. These emotions overcame me and I
wailed, too. My voice reverberated throughout the house.

Soon Cici and Aurora were
crying hysterically as Mom babbled in an unrecognizable language. I heard
others within the house respond; Dad, our male siblings, and the staff all
stopped what they were doing, and soon other women throughout the house were
wailing without knowing why. The walls began to vibrate with the despair in my
voice. I had to stop. I withdrew the sound waves, sucked them back into me gradually
until the room, the women, and the house returned to a normal vibration.

Mom exhaled long and hard,
and we all followed her lead. Our dresses were spotted with red tears. “It is
good,” Mom said. I noticed the drops on my own dress. She waved a finger and
the red lifted out of the fabric. “No blood on you. Not yet.”

“It's time,” Cici said.

The family congregated in the
great room. Dad and my brothers wore traditional, white Egyptian-Nubian kilts
that stopped just above the knee. Even the twins wore white. Bare-chested, they
all wore skullcaps, from which hung the eye of Horus in the middle of the
forehead, similar to the skullcaps worn by Mom and my sisters. They wore
heavier gold necklaces featuring our family seal. We all had the red armlets
and small daggers. A small alter draped in white bore a gold bowl, a single
white candle, and fresh white flowers.

Mom led me to Dad, who took
my hands in his. We stood facing each other before the Yah, which now also bore
our family seal. There was no one else in the house but us. I could hear the
musical hum of Dad's wall of protection surrounding the entire property. We
were all together as a family for the first time in my existence.

Dad was very calm, but his
baby had died, too. My eyes welled up again. “My dear,” he said, “you are
embarking on the road of forever. Know that your family is your life. Know that
we are one. We are bound together for eternity.”

He faced the Yah and extended
his hand to it. He spoke the ancient Nubian words inscribed on our seal.
“Power. Protection. Loyalty. Forever.”

My brothers extended their
hands toward the Yah and repeated the chant. They then formed a circle around
me and in a mighty voice chanted, “As one!” with their fists together over my
head.

Dad stayed in his spot, hand
extended to the Yah. Mom and my sisters entered the circle and joined my
brothers. Reaching their hands over my head, they spoke the Nubian words
together. “Power. Protection. Loyalty. Forever.” They stepped back and formed a
circle around my brothers and me.

“Daughter of light, drinker
of life,” Mom said in English. “We welcome you.”

“This house is protected,”
Dad said, also in English. “This family is the law. And so it is.” His magic
was so thick the air vibrated in the key of E. “Aamiyn,” he exclaimed in
Aramaic. An ice-blue stream of energy shot from his hand into the Yah, which
ignited as if on blue fire and began to glow steadily.

“Aamiyn!” we all repeated.

Dad pulled his knife and cut
his wrist. He let the blood flow into the bowl. Mom followed suit, and then my
siblings, in order of age. I was the last. When I was done, the bowl was passed
around in the same order. Everybody sipped and then the rest was used to anoint
my forehead and the Yah.

Then it was over, and I was
literally flying back up the stairs with Cici. As we made our way back into the
closet, the sounds of staff filled the house again and the band started a sound
check. Cici led me to the dressing room dais. “Stand on this,” she said. She
then pointed to a forest green brocade gown, richly embroidered and shot
through with gold thread. “Your receiving gown. One of the most important
pieces of clothing for the Mahá.”

A knock at the door revealed
Mandarin Woman with her team. “We have her,” she said to Cici. “The rest of
your family is ready.”

Cici turned toward the door.
Wait!
I yelled in my head. It was all happening too fast. She hesitated at the door,
casual enough so no one would realize we were having a telepathic conversation.
I just wanted to say I love you. I'm so glad you’re my sister.

Her smile was brilliant as
she turned to face me.
I’ll never call you Bighead again.
“I'll see you
soon, little sister,” she said out loud.

And with that the style team
commenced to rapidly dress, makeup, and hair me until I didn't recognize
myself.

I
sat on a throne in the receiving hall, a
large multifunctional room off the waiting area. My gown, traditional and
royal, was breathtaking, and my hair was done in a complex up-do and topped by
a delicate gold crown. I felt as stiff as a board.

Guests filed neatly into a
formal procession as they greeted me from a line that seemed to stretch
forever. Many were familiar faces I recognized from Cici's Mahá pics, and many
were total strangers.

My grandparents were the
first, as was their right. Looking like they were in their early 30s, they
dumped a small mountain of presents at my feet before moving on. Then came
aunts, uncles, cousins, and more cousins. Cici's boyfriend Satchel flashed me a
friendly grin, then proceeded down the line. But no one leaned in to hug me or
shake my hand.

It's forbidden for anyone
outside the immediate family to touch a newborn before the ceremonies commence
. Cici explained.
That way no one gets
hurt, or into anything unexpected.

I remembered the way I
snarled at her when I'd first woken up and felt my face burn with shame.

Don't worry about it
.
You should have been there when I
woke up.

She placed that memory, from
her point of view, in my mind: she was flying over Beacon Hill, while below Dad
frantically cast invisibility spells to keep her from being seen and Mom set up
force fields to keep her from going too far. I stifled a laugh.

A guy with long hair that rose
on his head in a cone-shaped afro stood before me. He wore trendy gear, like
he'd just stepped out of a music video. In fact, the last time I saw him, he
was in a video. He was Little Wolf, one of the most popular rappers on the
charts. He grinned wickedly before bending to kiss my hand and dropping it
quickly, putting his hands up in a posture of surrender as my brothers
instantly surrounded him. The guests pretended they weren't staring, even as
the line grinded to a halt.

“What do you think you're
doing, Markus?” Mom's voice rang like a death knell.

“I mean no disrespect, Mrs.
Brown,” Little Wolf/Markus said with sincerity. “It's been a long time since I
saw Angel. That was the most special gift I could give her at the moment.”

Mom's glowing eyes looked
like she was going to continue her admonishment, but Dad put a hand on her arm.
“Keep it moving,” he said and gestured to my brothers to relax.

“Yes, sir.” Little
Wolf/Markus winked at me as he followed Dad’s order, and bowed to the rest of
my family before disappearing into the growing crowd.

You guys used to play
together when you were kids. He had his Mahá three years ago.
Cici placed an image in my mind of the
nerdy kid he used to be when he’d spent summers with us before we lost contact
with his family. Remembering how much fun we used to have playing together, I
couldn't believe he was the same too-hip-for-the-room rap idol who’d just had
the courage to kiss my hand.

After a few hours, I started
getting bored with the parade of well-dressed immortals, and my mind started to
wander.
Where are all these people going to sleep?

Not all guests sleep over.
Cici’s face was expressionless.
Many
choose to stay in nearby hotels, some teleport, or what have you. Mahá law
dictates we attend the rituals and ceremonies. What we do in between is our
choice.

Finally, the procession ended
and Mom and Dad stood up to address the crowd. “Welcome to the Mahá of Isis
Angelica Clarissa Brown Ami-seshet,” Mom said.

“We welcome you to our home.
You honor us with your presence,” Dad said.

As one, the crowd responded,
“We welcome your authority and you honor us with your trust.”

The band broke out with a
Frank Sinatra number and people started mingling. Folks hugged each other as if
they hadn't seen each other in centuries (as was likely the case with some of
them), while many stood off to the sides to observe. Waiters walked around with
trays laden with every edible, or potable, substance known to immortals, from
mini-pizzas, to blood, to raw meat, to beer, to plants.

Cici whisked me up the stairs
again. “Good grief, girl,” I exclaimed. “Don't tell me I have to change again?”

“You have to change again.
Now that you've seen what your guests are wearing, choose something as
different as possible. You'll be mingling with the visitors so it shouldn't be
too formal.”

“Just shoot me now and get it
over with. Oh, wait a minute, I can't die.” I sighed in resignation. After all,
picking out attractive outfits wasn't so bad. It was just the Mahá. I was
already sick of it and it was nowhere near done. “How many more rituals and
ceremonies are there, Cici?”

“There's the Abilities
Showcase, then the Character Gauge. And last, the Vampiric Reaction Test. Not
necessarily in that order.”

“Vampiric Reaction Test? What
on earth is that?” She eyed me. “Okay, I get it, you don't really know until
you're in it.”

“All I can tell you is these
ceremonies are old as the Mahá, but they've developed over time. They give
insight into not only who you are, but what you are capable of. There will be
times when you learn a thing or two about yourself. If anything, we’ll see for
sure just how 'different' you are.”

I picked out a pair of deep
purple leather pants and a tangerine-colored blouse. The pants flared out like
bell-bottoms. Green, snakeskin, pointy-toed, stiletto-heeled boots completed
the bohemian look. “Is that ‘different’ enough?” I asked.