Read Bad Luck Girl for Free Online Page B

over her needlework.
    I didn’t have to look hard for Jack. He was coming up the central aisle toward me. I opened my mouth, but he hooked his hand around my elbow and steered me into the little space by the public washroom.
    “I was talking to the conductor,” Jack whispered. “Tomorrow morning, we’re coming up through Texas and Arkansas.”
    Those were segregation states. I swallowed. If anybody saw the color of Papa’s skin, they’d make him move into the stripped-down Colored car, where he wouldn’t have a bed, or blankets, or water, or a fan for the heat. Just bare benches and open windows. He might even have to wait for another train if this one didn’t have a Colored car, and sure as sure, they wouldn’t let Mama go along to take care of him. I had a feeling Mama wasn’t going to stand for being separated from her husband, especially while he was so sick. But if we kicked up a fuss, we wouldn’t be allowed on any train at all. We could even be arrested, or worse, especially if Mama forgot herself and pointed out they were married. If there was one thing I knew about Jim Crow territory, it wasthat they did not like seeing a white woman anywhere near a black man.
    “And that’s not the only problem,” I muttered. This was the first time Jack and I had been alone since we got on the train, and with Papa getting so sick so fast, I hadn’t wanted to give Mama anything else to worry about. So I hadn’t told her about the fire critter, or its threats.
    But I told Jack right then, and his face tightened up. “Yeah, okay. That does not sound good.” He let out a long sigh. “But we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”
    We stood quiet for a long time, trying not to fall over as the train swayed around a bend in the track. The door at the end of the car opened, and the old porter came out, balancing a tray with a decanter and two glasses on his fingers. He bowed and smiled as he presented the tray to a pair of men playing cards. One of them took the bottle and glasses, and dropped a nickel down.
    I swallowed. “I’m gonna see what I can do for Papa,” I told Jack. “You go warn Mama we’ll have to stay in the room for the rest of the ride.”
    Jack nodded and headed back to the drawing room. The porter, in the meantime, had tucked his tray under his arm and was starting back up the aisle.
    “ ’Scuse me, Mr. Porter …,” I began as he drew even with me.
    He turned, beaming brightly and ducking his head so hewouldn’t be much taller than me. “Now, missy, you just call me George. What is it I can do for you?”
    I bit my lip. It took a minute’s hard struggle, but I was able to crack open my magic a little. Enough to sense this man’s name wasn’t George. That was just what the company told the porters to say. His name was Lincoln Jones. With that to hold on to, I could work an illusion on him, for a little while at least. Especially if I could sit down soon, because my knees were already shaking from the effort of keeping my magic open. I didn’t want to have to fool him, because Mr. Jones was just doing his job, and I was pretty sure he was a good man, but Papa had to be able to stay with us, and never mind what Jim Crow had to say about it.
    But as I stood there trying to shape the illusion in my head and in my power, Lincoln Jones laughed at me. “Don’t you worry, missy,” he said. “I see how your father’s so sick. No one will disturb you until you get where you’re going. That’s a promise.”
    “I … Thank you.”
    “Oh, don’t thank me. Word’s come down the line about you.”
    “What? How …?” My insides bunched up tight. But of all the things I could see about Mr. Jones, I didn’t see the least tiny bit of fairy light in his kind brown eyes.
    “Word’s from Daddy Joe hisself.” Mr. Jones winked. “The porters were to ease your way if you ever came on the rails. Some of us old-timers heard and we’ve made sure thoseas need to know do