Kelly should have listened to his brother. Nevery was his boy, his closest, older sib who'd never steered him crooked, had only taught him right from wrong, good from bad--more like their now-dead father than a brother.

He should have listened and gotten out of the life sooner, when Nev had first started warning him about the dangers.

But now it was too late, Kelly thought, his adumbrative gifts useless and squandered.

"I don't use, bro" had been Kelly's invariable response to any of his brother's well intentioned, I've-been-there-I-know-what-I'm-talking-about harangues.

Nevery would raise his eyebrows as if he were looking at an alien who'd just landed in their living room and would clench his hands at his sides as if he were readying to punch some sense into his younger brother's head. He'd finally take a deep breath and would release it on a long tired sigh.

"You sell. It's the same thing. Can't you see that?"

His brother understood the Wiccan Rede better than Kelly ever had because Kelly hadn't seen it then. Hadn't wanted to.

Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill; An' it harm none, do what ye will....

Words to live by, Kelly thought and wished he had as he now watched Ben pull Amire--his girl, his shorty--into his arms, stroking her hair and whispering in her ear.

Terms of comfort or affirmations of what a no-good-hood Kelly Butler had been?

Had been? But he still was. Wasn't he? He couldn't be--

"No Ben." Amire shook her head, adamant as she pulled from Ben to stare at the lifeless body sprawled across the bottom of the concrete steps. "He's not dead. He can't be."

Kelly watched the crowd of students, curious onlookers and a couple of toy cops--part of the campus security force, gunless but with trusty walkie-talkies at their sides and an abundance of mindless guts to match--as they hovered over the body. His body.

Oh shit. Oh, hell no. This isn't happening.

"We've got one victim down ... African-American male, early twenties ... wounds to the chest and abdomen..." Toy cop, barking into his radio, giving out vital statistics. His statistics. He was now an official number. A downed brother. If he wasn't dead already, Nev and his moms would kill him.

Kelly listened to the responding squawk. Squads dispatched. Ambulances on the way. Everything right out of a TV drama. His fifteen minutes of fame. And he wasn't liking it.

Kelly noticed Ben leading Amire several feet away where he gingerly helped her to a seat on the bottom step of the campus stairs. She was bleeding from a shoulder and a leg.

What the hell had happened to her? Had she been shot too? Who'd done it? A rival crew? His boys?

One of the toy cops lifted each of his eyelids in turn, touched four fingers to Kelly's neck then sadly shook his head.

Amire's wail pierced the air again.

Wait a minute, wait a minute. How come he hadn't felt that? And if he was standing up, a couple of feet away from Ben and Amire, how could he be on his back with his eyes closed several feet away? Something was up in a mean way and Kelly didn't like it one bit.

"Not Kelly ... not Kelly."

Ben rubbed Amire's back as she mumbled. He pulled her head down to his chest then slid off his belt, wrapped and tightened it around her thigh to stop the bleeding from her leg.

Bastard! Kelly screamed, wondered why no one seemed able to hear him except Amire, who jerked up her head. Kelly waited. She glanced in his direction as if she sensed him nearby, but only stared through him.

"He's not dead, Ben. I know he's not."

Word Ben. Listen to the sister.

Ben thumbed away her tears, pulled her head back to his chest. "I know you don't want to believe it. It's hard. But he is gone, Mire. He is."

Kelly waited for the "good riddance" but only heard it in his own mind.

"He wasn't like you think, Ben. He was ... he was special..."

He was listening to his own obituary, Kelly thought.

"I know, Amire. I understand."

And so now did Kelly. In a sudden flash of realization, before the last sentence had left Ben's mouth, he knew who had been behind today's shooting. Behind his own death.

Kelly saw red, gritted his teeth and balled his hands.

Ben must have felt his rage because he looked up, glanced in Kelly's direction, grimaced and convulsed as if to shake off his confusion or a sudden chill.

So many times in the past homeboy had been the supportive savior, always available to lend an ear to Amire after things had gone wrong between her and Kelly. Trusted confidant and Good Samaritan. Patient friend and sympathetic listener. Mr. Ben Quick the Hero.

Larcenous bastard! Kelly thought, regretting now that he had easily played into Ben's hands, providing him so many different opportunities to be Amire's knight in shining armor.

Kelly had waylaid Amire at her school today with vague and minute hopes of reconciliation. And since he had made such a total ass of himself the last time he'd seen her--had, in fact, stepped over that imaginary line all black women drew against men striking women--he hadn't expected that she'd even give him the time of day, much less silently stand by while he'd pleaded his case. But she had.

Kelly had talked his game and Amire had listened. He'd pleaded and she'd cried. He'd promised no more like offenses and she'd believed him. He'd asked for her forgiveness and she had given it with conditions. Like so many times before.

But this time Kelly had meant it and had been on his way to proving it when Ben had appeared at the top of the steps carrying an armload of books and looking ready to jump Kelly and play the hero yet again.

He'd gotten his chance when a car had sped by, spraying bullets from the back and front seats. Kelly had gone down under the first deluge. Ben had barreled down the stairs to drag Amire out of harm's way.

Everyone else in the vicinity--panic stricken students and faculty passers-by alike--had gone for self, screaming, running and ducking for cover.

Kelly now glanced at the bottle of Moet--a shattered part of his peace offering--champagne spidering from brown paper and glass, down the stairs and towards the street like a foamy surreal waterfall. Amire and Ben's abandoned books were scattered on the steps and on the sidewalk a few feet away, like a toddler's blocks kicked around by a schoolyard bully.

Kelly looked at Ben comforting Amire, finally lost it and stalked over to them, intending to peel homeboy off his girl and slam him to the concrete.

He reached for Ben, tried to get a grip but homeboy was as elusive as a shadow.

Oh no, oh no.

Kelly's legs buckled. He collapsed against a nearby pillar and slid down until he had plopped onto the ground, gasping for air and holding his side as if he had just finished running a marathon.

Several EMS units and NYPD squad cars screeched to a halt at crazy angles behind and surrounding the campus police cars.

Two attendants jumped from the back of an ambulance and loaded Kelly's body onto a stretcher before covering it from head to toe.

No.

Paramedics surrounded Ben and Amire. One looked after her leg and arm wounds as she sat zombie-like, staring at Kelly's lifeless body under the sheet as the two EMS guys lifted it onto the back of an ambulance.

The paramedics led Ben and Amire to another ambulance.

No!

Kelly felt a chill like ice pushed down the back of his shirt. He shuddered right before the Pull. Something pulling him away from the scene. He fought it, knew that if he gave in or tired, the last nail would go banging into his coffin.

Instinctively, he reached for his neck, searching for the comfort and strength of his lamen and was surprised when his fingers only met skin. He slid his hand down further to his chest, finally fisted the crystal pendant instead.

Would his pentacle have protected him today, better than his crystal? Kelly wondered, slipping away. Fast.

"He's not dead," Amire murmured as the ambulance doors closed and blocked her tear-stained face from his view.

You're wrong, he thought. I am.