“You think it’s how we’re dressed?” Blossom tugs at the low cut square neckline of her empire waist dress.
Abra snorts. “I’m pretty sure it’s because we’re Black—and free.”
She snorts. “Okay, okay. Try to blend in.”
He arches a brow. “You mean, blend in like we aren’t the only Black people?”
“Just act like you belong here, babe.”
“Act like we belong on a slave dock.” Abra glances around the port at the large vessels being loaded with chained Africans, and his hands tingle with the urge to bring the force of his Egyptian god down on the entire operation.
“Let’s just try to be cool.” Blossom hisses, although he doesn’t miss her giving the few people nearby who look at them strangely a lip curling scowl. “These people are trash.”
Abra lets his gaze slide over to her while keeping his focus on the traffickers who are starting to pay them more attention. If they draw too much attention, he’ll cast a cover, but a part of him wants someone to say something. “I thought we were playing it cool.”
“We are, but now that I think about it, would it really hurt to just blip these assholes into the middle of the ocean? Jut knock the whole continent of the map? Do we really need Europe?”
“Actually, I think it would change a lot.” The sarcasm doesn’t reflect his desire to do the same thing. “And as much as we would like to, not our job.”
She sighs. “I know. I really hate this whole let things take their course shit about being a reincarnate.”
“Yeah, me too, but you just have to remind yourself that if it wasn’t this atrocity, it would have been another. Fucking zombie apocalypse or something. You want to go back to the zombie apocalypse? Brain-thirsty demis walking around.”
“Fine,” Blossom relents, “but I’m giving every slave trader here an incurable, noncommunicable ass rash.”
She waves her hand and the nearest man reaches around to claw at his butt.
Abra chuckles then nudges her arm even as his heart aches at the scene before him. “You ready?”
“Yeah, I guess if it’s the best we can do. I’m ready.”
“It’s better than the best. I always said we were blessed to have made it through like we did. So let’s make sure that’s the case.”
Blossom nods, and they join hands, letting the love between them flow with their power. A misty fog, tinted red and wound with silvery tendrils, rushes through the port, weaving itself through the chains attaching man, woman, and, child. It settles in the spaces between the bonds and simmers bright.
“They’ll be resilient,” Abra says softly, his eyes burning red.
“And full of light, and love, and culture.” Blossom follows, her own gaze a sharp silver.
“It won’t break them.”
“And every life after the next will be better.”
They push out the blessing together, letting it fall over the captives like a guiding hand.
“And their captives will never ever know seasonings or be able to catch a beat—ever,” Blossom throws out quickly just as the blessing takes hold.
Abra cocks his head, his expression impassive. “Really?”
“What?” she shrugs. “I’m petty.”
Turning away, they keep their hands bound tight and march away in silence, letting the dock get further and further away. Letting the anguished cries grow more distant.
When they can no longer see the boats, Blossom groans, her tongue kissing the sides of her teeth.
“I know it’s fucked up,” Abra replies. “That we know what’s going to happen. That we have to let it.”
She sighs. “Yeah, but I still wish I could have turned them all to dust. How do we know that’s not exactly what was supposed to happen?”
“Because it didn’t.”
She knows he’s right, but she grumbles about it for a bit longer until Abra pauses, pulling her to a stop along the rocky edge of the coast.
“I could try and take your mind off of it.”
“I don’t know that anything could take my mind off of watching the genesis of the worst part of human history for people who look like us, but you can try.”
An hour later, they lay sweaty and naked on the rocks, the spray of the ocean leaving a salty film on their skin.
Neither of them has forgotten, but the tingles running through their bodies remind them that there is love in the world.
“Look.” Abra raises an arm, his long finger angled to the sky where a deep, full moon is revealing itself.
In the shrouding darkness, they feel the combined power of all the moon gods and goddesses of the land where they lie, together as they always should have been.