I did not enjoy the near interrogation on just why I had no idea how to “properly” care for the stuff that grew out of my scalp.  I’d ended up having to say I’d been raised by white doctors, which explained how I talked, and that they’d had no knowledge of proper hair care nor did they seek it.  Which set all three stylists in the salon off on the topic of white people adopting black babies but not seeking out proper hair care and culture.  They weren’t wrong, exactly, though adoption sounded a lot better than “crafted in a damned test tube for research into insanity.”  They still said they had a lot of work to do.

                However, because I could read what they were thinking and hear what they were saying, I knew the twin sisters that ran the salon I had chosen spoke from concern and care rather than cruelty or irritation.  Head stylist and apparent manager Amie was more vocal than her sister Layla.  Their cousin Cleo, the third stylist present, was apparently mixed (but she was 100% human so I would have to look up what that meant later) but obviously knew how to care for her hair and wished I’d had the same opportunities to learn to care for mine as a child.  There was sorrow over someone being raised away from their people and paying the price.  There was irritation over my “adoptive parents” not bothering to teach me how to care for my hair or get me to someone who could.  How mad would they have been to know the reality of my childhood?  Haircare would be the least of their concern and fury. 

                I’d never had anything done to my hair aside from washing it with soap, and this admission was met with shock and a bit of horror over the lack of moisturizing.  First, they washed it out with a detox shampoo and conditioner, followed with something involving a hot air cannon, and then the real work started. I felt pulled in a dozen directions as they worked, fingers flying through the masses of my hair, taking the curls and weaving them into something that was mine to care for, not just another thing to tolerate.  It was a strange thing to have, something to care for rather than tolerate. 

                Three hours later when Zothie walked back in after taking a walk to escape the “girl talk,” his first reaction was, “Damn, cousin, you look great.  Excellent work, ladies.”

                I turned this way and that, looking at my hair in the mirror.  I’d never given it a lot of thought, just French braided the masses back and tried to keep it clean.  Now though, it was expressive, shifting as I moved my head. “I love it,” I said, joy obvious in my voice.  “It’s never looked like this before.  I don’t look like me.”

                “It looks beautiful,” Zothie added, standing behind me.  “I’m going to be beating away suitors with a machete.”

                “Sexist much?”

                Before we could go on, the bell above the shop door let out a jingle and a girl of about twelve came darting in.  Tears stained her face as she flung herself into the arms of Aime with a cry of, “Oh, Mama, it happened again.  They got Miss May’s baby.”

                “But she’s pregnant, how could they get her baby?”

                “She was in the park eating lunch,” the girl managed to get out.  “The bastards attacked her for taking a break from work to eat.”

                “We do not talk like that,” said Cleo firmly. 

                “They are bastards,” the girl countered.  “I saw it, they said they were arresting her for sitting at a table in a park and when she wanted to know the cause they forced her to the ground and kicked her belly.  She’s bleeding and they laughed and left her there after running her name.”

                The head stylist pulled her pre-teen daughter closer.  “They are bastards, that’s the right damn word.  Will it ever end?”

                “Is she still in the park,” I asked the girl.  She shot me a glance.

                “I don’t know you.”

                “We’ve just moved to the city,” I said, deciding that we were going to be here for a while on the fly.  “My cousin and I are going to start apartment hunting later on.  Maybe I can help Miss May.  Can you show me where she is?”

                “There’s no helping that much blood,” the girl said with a a haunted wisdom in her eyes.  “But I can take you to her.  The cops refused to call her an ambulance.”

                “Then let us go to her and see if she needs medical treatment,” I said, getting up.  “Cuz, pay the wonderful women and tip nicely.  We got work to do.”

                His voice whispered across my mind as he took care of paying.  “Getting tangled in the affairs of mortals can be tricksom.”

                “People should not live in fear because they aren’t the tint of that fucking cartoon ghost,” I shot back mentally.  “I like the energy here and these women are so nice.  If I can do a nice turn by one of their people, perhaps they will join us if we ever need it.”

                “Beliefs are a powerful thing,” he agreed and switched to speaking aloud.  “Thank you again, ladies.  I’m not much on hair myself but I’m sure Cassandra will want to come back if we find a place in the area.”

                “Any time,” the Amie the said.  “And if you need tips on caring for it, let me know.  Everyone deserves beautiful hair.”

                We walked out, following the girl and Zothie handed me a bag.  “That’s got your new phone and tablet in it.  If we get separated, my number’s in there.”

                “Thank you,” I said as I took the bag.  I pulled out a phone with a piece of fruit on it and slipped it into my pocket.  The tablet I carried in it’s bag.  I’d have to get a satchel or what were they called, purse at some point.  I looked ahead to the girl and called out, “My name’s Cassandra, by the way.  What’s yours?”

                “Orb,” she said with a roll of her eyes.  “Yes, I know it’s weird.  My mom reads way too much and liked the name.”

                “Like an Orb Weaver Spider,” Zothie asked.

                “Yeah, it’s a play off of being a weaver of fate or something,” she said with a wave of her hand.  “Mom won’t let me read the books I’m named from until I’m thirteen next year.”

                “I’m sure she just wishes to protect you,” he assured her.  “Good mothers do.”

                Mine didn’t, I thought with a pang.  She just died.  But maybe I could protect others….  The very idea was so unique in my experience it tripped me up for a moment.  Or was that the uneven sidewalks?  Did this city spend nothing on fixing walkways?

                The park was a modest with a few tables, a small jungle gym and a woman clutching her belly on the ground in the middle of it all.  Something overcame me and before I knew it, I was at the woman’s side, wondering where it was safe to touch her as she shook.

                The air smelled of crimson rust, the blood leaving her body staining the concrete beneath her.  A red mark of tragedy. 

                I knelt beside her and said gently, “My name is Cassandra and this is my cousin Zee, can we help you?”

                She looked up at me, tears in her pain filled eyes.  “I- I’m Tanya.  They hurt me… I’m losing my baby.”

                “That is awful, Tanya,” I said, laying a hand on her shoulder.  “I wish I knew how to help you.  Zee, call us an ambulance.”

                “Those bastards are always doing things like this,” she whispered, leaning into me. 

                I slipped an arm under her legs and stood, carrying her to one of the concrete tables with ease that made her tense at first.

                “Sorry, you shouldn’t be on the ground like that,” I said, though I had no idea why I thought so.  “Those fucking bastards left you there, but we won’t.”

                It took Zee a while to get a company willing to send us an ambulance after the 911 operator refused because the police had already said not to.  My blood boiled as I listened in on the conversation, while letting Tanya lean against me.  The EMT’s who loaded her up said they were taking her to Summit ER and I pulled up directions while Zee gave them a copy of his card to bill after hitting up Tanya’s insurance company.  It would a crying shame for her trauma to bankrupt her.

                4 hours later, I was sitting with my new friend as she got the news that she was indeed losing the baby and there was nothing she could do to save his life.  The obviously overworked intern who’d been working with her left us as she began to sob.  Her pain, her grief were palpable and I felt my tendrils shifting under the puffer vest at the sensation. 

                All around us, I felt the pain of loss, of fear, of worry.  I heard two other families rush into the ER looking for family members that had been injured by “keepers of the peace.”

               From what I had learned in my trawling of history, race riots, protests, nationwide declarations of this not being acceptable did nothing in the long term.  I’d had plenty of time to look through history as she rested on the bed, hands on her belly, praying to any god that would listen. 

                I felt pain in my own chest over the fact that I was not a god who could help her child.  Not even Gwen could.  It would have taken a healing god and none of Cthulhu’s daughters were healers.  And aside from Gwen’s fiancée Peter, I didn’t know anyone outside my own family.

                As I held her in my arms, I spoke while fate paused to listen.  “I mourn with you, mother of the stolen.  My heart bleeds for you and every other person who is tortured by a system that hates them for the color of their skin.  We are going to change this.   We are going to return pain for pain and force the system to acknowledge it’s failings and be better.  And if it doesn’t, we’re going to tear it down and start anew.  For you and for every other mother who has lost a child.  For every sister, every child, every father, every brother, we will have vengeance.”

                “How,” she whispered, shaking in my arms.

                “I don’t know yet,” I said honestly.  “But I think we may need a lawyer.  May we retain one for you?”

                “Why do you care so much,” she asked, not for the first time.

                “I have known a lot of fucking pain in my life,” I said, answering her truthfully while my head ached.  There were so many voices in pain around me.  “I was warned that people outside where I grew up were different, that my skin would cause me pain.  But this, this is barbaric.  This is cruelty for no other reason than they can.  I grew up around people like that.  No one else should have to.”

                The intern and his supervising doctor came back in and told Tanya that she had to be transferred to another hospital for an emergency D&C, which from their thoughts sounded horrible.  Tanya shuddered against me as she agreed to be moved for the surgery that would remove her hope from her womb.

                “Do you want me to go with you,” I asked as they left to have their nurses arrange for transport.

                “I… I don’t know,” she whispered, voice so fragile it sounded like she would break.  “My baby boy is dead inside me and I just don’t fucking know anymore.”

                “Can we call your mom now,” I asked, looking at the clock.  It was nearly six PM.  “I bet she would want to be there for you.”

                “Sure,” she said and pulled out her phone as if on autopilot.  Her pain reanimated her as she explained the situation to the woman on the other side of the call.  I could hear the wail of furious grief over the phone when Tanya told her mother why she was losing the baby. 

                Things happened quickly after that.  Tanya’s mom arrived moments before the transport team did.  I asked them to call or text me when she was out of surgery and ready to talk.  Turns out Tanya’s mom was a paralegal and had already asked her boss to recommend legal aid.

                “Here’s my card, have them call me for billing,” Zothie said from behind me as we watched Tanya being loaded onto the ambulance.  They weren’t going to let her mother, Rachel, ride with her for some reason.  “No, please Mrs. May, we can afford to help and my cousin feels rather strongly about this, so we’re going to.”

                Rachel’s phone let out a chirp and she checked the message.  “My boss’ firm does family law, we helped a friend that’s a personal injury lawyer with his custody dispute a year ago.  The man’s brutal in the courtroom.”

                “Will he be kind to Tanya,” I asked, irritated at how young and worried my voice sounded. 

                “I’ll skin him myself if he ain’t,” Rachel growled.  “But yes, he was always nice to the staff and court clerks when he came in.  He has a high success rate as well.”

                “I want the names of the officers that did this,” I said as the ambulance took off, lights ablaze.  “From what I understand, the department won’t punish them.”

                “They’ll get paid administrative leave and then returned to duty,” Rachel agreed, her hands in fists.  “They killed my first grandbaby and nothing is likely to happen to them other than a brief reprimand.  The city will pay out on the lawsuit but the cops won’t.”

                “Just get me in a room with them,” I told her darkly.  “They’ll pay, I guarantee it.  No, I’m not going to kill them.”

                Rachel studied Zothie and I for the first time, from my freshly done hair and natural nails to his new suit and polished wingtips.  “What are you going to do?”

                “I’m going to bring your daughter’s nightmares to their minds,” I said with cruel honesty that matched my smile. 

                “We’re going to help them see what their actions have caused,” Zothie added.  “In a way that can’t be regulated by the law.”

                “I don’t want to know,” Rachel said, waving her hand as we walked her to her car.  “I know sometimes the Lord sends angels of vengeance, but I don’t want to know what you’re going to do.”

                “That’s probably for the best,” Zothie told her.  “Do give us a call once Tanya’s stable.”

                “Of course,” she said and got into her little Civic.

                I looked up at Zothie as we turned to head to the Jeep he’d brought here earlier.  “You know what I’m thinking?”

                “It’s time to take over the world?”

                “Let’s start with our city,” I amended.  “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”