Read Online The Liminal People by Ayize Jama-everett - Free Book Online

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    â€œI called you because I think you can help find my daughter. I didn’t call you because I love you or I miss you or I need you or anything like that. If that’s your hope, and I contributed to that in any way, then I’m sorry . . . and let’s say good-bye now. I love my family. I love my daughter and I love my husband.” I’m taking the blows like a champ even though each one feels like a wooden stake through my vampiric heart. I feel like an ass for wanting her, pining away for over a decade. I’m feeling like even more of an ass for wanting to run away from the situation. “Prove that you were right.” The thing that lives inside me whispers every time I attempt to leave. It’s the only thing keeping me stuck to my seat.
    I chose my powers. I chose my life, the grime and grit of it. I chose to go where people hurt the most, in order to find the best ways to heal. It was in that choosing that I found Nordeen, and he’s shown me the shadows of the real rulers of the planet. Not politicians and businessmen but gods and powers most people don’t have the concepts, let alone the names, to explain. I can’t remember when I stopped thinking about money as evidence of my self-worth, but it was long before I met the boss. I’ve been removed from the common psychology of men for longer than I can recall. I may be a freak, but unlike you, Yasmine, I embraced my freakiness. And in doing so, in knowing what it meant to be a freak, I’ve turned myself into an invaluable resource to men and demigods alike. You chose a man who hopes to do once what I perform regularly. You rejected your fire only to now call on mine. And I came. Not because it’s the right thing to do. But to prove you wrong. To show you the value of a freak. To prove to you I was right.
    But this is only what I think. I couldn’t ever say such things to her.
    â€œI’m not a private investigator,” I say slowly so she’ll understand it’s not an attack.
    â€œBut you cut a healing swathe through some of the most diseased and forlorn parts of Africa.”
    â€œYou heard about that?”
    â€œI’m an international reporter of human-rights cases, Tag. How is some random man walking through Africa ignoring tribal, political, and territorial lines healing the sick not going to come across my radar? People hailed you as a messiah.” She pauses, and I know she’s got more. “Did you know you cured one woman of AIDS?”
    â€œYes.” She’s not Nordeen, so I enjoy my ability to lie. I didn’t know. It doesn’t matter. There’s awe in her voice. Eat your heart out, Fish’n’Chips.
    â€œIt’s the only documented case of faith healing of HIV on the books. There’s a two-million-euro live bounty out for your head based on her description alone. . . .”
    â€œWhat does this have to do with your daughter?”
    â€œShe’s . . .” Her voice is lower than it’s ever been. Not just since the gym, but since I’ve known her. I don’t know if she’s talking to herself or to me. “She’s like you.”
    â€œShe’s a healer?” Why am I so excited?
    â€œNo. She can move things . . . with her mind.”
    â€œTelekinetic?”
    â€œYes. But she also can hear thoughts . . . telepathic. That’s what it is.”
    I’m angry and don’t bother hiding it.
    â€œWhat?” she barks at me from too far of an emotional distance to expect to be heard. “What did I say? What did I do?”
    â€œCall on a freak to catch a freak?” She slaps me hard enough to break one of her fingers. Other customers react. I don’t.
    â€œMy daughter is not a freak!”
    â€œBut I am?” She has no words for me. Instead she drops a twenty-pound note on the table and walks out the door. I take a second to survey the restaurant, to see if anyone follows her. When no one