Unsympathetic Magic Read Free Page B

Street, was at the forefront of this controversy. The famous commercial avenue of Harlem is now home to a large number of national chain stores and corporate-owned businesses. Fewer and fewer black merchants and small Harlem businesses are able to pay the skyrocketing prices for commercial space there these days. Harlem had changed a great deal in recent years; and whether that was ultimately a blessing or a curse, it did at least mean that I didn’t feel anxious about being alone in this area after dark.
    A moment later, however, I realized that might be naive of me. As I passed a narrow alley between two apartment buildings, a sudden noise startled me. I jumped and gasped. This, in turn, startled the individual who was poking around the Dumpsters there. The person whirled to face me, moving with noticeable grace in the murky shadows.
    At the same moment that I saw he was a young African-American man, I also saw that he was armed! I made a choked noise and staggered backward, my eyes on his—his—his . . .
    “Sword?” I choked out, scared and stunned.
    He looked down at the long rapier in his hand, as if surprised to find he was pointing it at me.
    I backed up a little farther, wondering whether he was an underconfident mugger, an armed robber with equipment problems, or someone attempting an anachronistic gang initiation involving seventeenth-century weaponry.
    “I’m not looking for trouble,” I said, taking another step backward.
    “Chill,” he said, lowering the sword. Enough light from the streetlamps crept into the alley that I could see his tense posture relax as he released his breath. “This isn’t for you.”
    His voice sounded cultured, his consonants well articulated. Now that I felt safe taking my eyes off the sword, I saw that he was probably in his late teens, wearing dark pants and a dark tank top, and had close-cropped hair. He was too far into the shadows for me to see his features very well, but I got the impression of a well-proportioned fellow with good bone structure.
    “What are you doing? ” I said, now that I wasn’t afraid that he intended to run me through with his sword.
    “Hunting,” he said tersely.
    “Hunting?” I had a vision of rifle-toting guys in bright orange vests tromping through the woods in search of deer. “In Manhattan? ”
    “What are you doing?” He had evidently taken a good look at me by now. “This is a good neighborhood. We don’t want crack whores turning tricks around here.”
    “I’m not a crack whore,” I said without rancor, since his mistake was understandable. “I’m with the TV crew that’s filming on the next block.”
    “Filming? Oh. So that’s why that street’s blocked off.”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re an actress?”
    “Yes,” I said again.
    “Well, you shouldn’t walk around here alone at night, miss.”
    “Why? Do you think I might get attacked by a guy with a sword?”
    “There’s dangerous shit around here,” he said seriously.
    “I thought you just said this is a good neighborhood.”
    “I don’t have time to talk about it.” He sounded impatient now, as if I’d interrupted him in the middle of work. “But you should go back to your people. Right now.”
    “My people have gone for the best fried chicken in Harlem,” I said. “That’s where I’m going, too.”
    Despite the darkness, I could see that he was shaking his head. “It’s after midnight. Miss Maude’s is closed by now.”
    “Is that on One Hundred Twenty- fifth Street?” I asked, feeling my stomach give a disappointed rumble.
    “No. But it’s the best fried chicken in Harlem.”
    “I see. But that’s not where my friends are headed.”
    “Well, you’d better catch up to them,” he said, brushing past me. “And watch your back.”
    “Er, what sort of dangerous sh . . .” But the young man’s purposeful strides were already carrying him down the street in the direction from which I had just come. I watched him disappear into the night.