Secrets of the Arcane

Start writing here…The waning crescent looms over the corn field. Tall stalks dance against the wind, the cool gusts whistling a peaceful yet foreboding tune into the hazy darkness of the night. Accompanying the breeze was the sound of hushed panting and the soft patter of bare feet against the ground. Hastening with each step, he tries to press onward, but streams of blood from his forehead trickle into his eyes, blurring his sight.

After five minutes of non-stop running he reaches a fork in the field and stops for air. With his compromised vision, sore feet and hitched breath, he frantically turns his head to catch any aural signs of danger. But alas, the only thing that exists in this present moment are the man, the wind and the oppressive feeling of Death caressing his shoulders. Suddenly, there is a loud rustling amidst the corn that sends an unfamiliar chill down the man’s spine. Shivering, blood-stained tears make their way down his face as he wraps his arms around his naked torso. He pivots his body to the right and tries to make a run for it.

This is it. He thinks.

It’s now or never.

As the man continues down the path, the rustle grows louder and, seemingly closes in on him from all angles. Moments later, the man is completely encircled by shadowy figures. Exposing their sharp talons, they claw at the man and tear at his flesh. A blood curdling scream cuts through the night.

🌙 🌙 🌙

Jah’Terrika jolts up into a seated position and clutches their chest. After taking a moment to gather their bearings, they emit a sigh of relief at the realization that they were in the safety of their own four walls. They turn their head to the left to look at the time on their phone.

It’s only 5:55 AM? Fuck. They think to themselves as they use their shirt to wipe the cold sweat off their forehead. Adjusting their bonnet, they lay back down and attempt to sleep, but to no avail. They’re restless.

“Another dream?” a squeaky yet authoritative voice murmurs. Jah’Terrika groans.

“Of course,” they reply dryly, turning on their side.

“Was it the same one?”

“Yep.” a hedgehog scampers around a bit in its cage by the window.

“That’s the third time this week,” the creature says.

“Yeah,” they reply. The hedgehog sighs.

“My my, Jah’Terrika. So talkative this morning, aren’t we?” Jah’Terrika groans again and proceeds to toss and turn in bed.

“We go through this shit every week, Baltazar,” they scoff. “How many times I gotta tell you that this is a reoccurring dream?!”

Unfazed, Baltazar turns to look out the window, gazing upon the rising sun as its rays reflect off the Brooklyn skyline in the distance.

“Do you really think that this is all coincidental?” he asks as he continues to observe the morning glow. “A witch having the same, frightening dream every night? That’s rather intriguing. I would even argue that it’s a cause for concern.”

Jah’Terrika closes their eyes and mentally counts to themselves. Sitting back up, they turn their body and plant their feet onto the plush floor. They cast their eyes onto Baltazar’s spiny figure.

“I disagree,” they retort while stretching. “I know my skills, and receiving messages through dreams ain’t one of them.” Baltazar shakes his head and turns to face them.

“You are so dense. The older you become, the more you allow your family to shape you in their image. You, my dear, are not the independent thinker that you claim to be.” This struck a nerve.

Standing up, they bolt over to the cage and lean in close, their eyes just inches away from his.

“Listen to me you prickly rat. I’ve spent the last twenty years becoming the person I am today. I know myself, and I don’t need you constantly questioning my authority,” the say with feigned confidence. Baltazar sees through their facade and lets out a hardy chuckle.

“Look at you! You are three weeks shy of turning the gargantuan age of twenty-one, and suddenly you know yourself. That’s very rich. You keep selling yourself this dream, Jah’Terrika, but trust. There will come a time when you will have to accept that there is more to you than meets the eye.”

Scoffing, Jah’Terrika recoils, grabs their phone and walks toward the door. They take one more look at Baltazar.

“Normally I would go back and forth with you, but today I’m choosing peace,” they say, exiting the room and roughly closing the door. The creature groans and curls into a ball, flustered.

Jah’Terrika walks down the carpeted hallway and down two flights of stairs, bypassing walls of faded, striped wallpaper teeming with pictures of their siblings, parents and respective accolades. Notably and in comparison to the rest of the family, Jah’Terrika didn’t have many pictures of themselves on the wall, but these photographic totems are far more than just memorabilia-- they are a testament of a deeper circumstance at play.

The Greenwoods are a respectable and highly regarded family of Black witches who possess many talents and abilities. For centuries, two things were consistently true for their lineage-- those who decided to have families always had at least five children, and each child was born under a full moon, an attribute that the spell-casting community as a whole had always seen as a tell-tale sign of high magical aptitude. In typical Greenwood fashion, all four of Jah’Terrika’s siblings are, indeed, full mooners and powerful beings.

They, however, were a deviation.

Jah’Terrika came into the world kicking and screaming under a waning crescent. Uneasy about the ominous birth of her third child, Signora Greenwood, their mother, sought the guidance and support of her coven to uncover whether or not her child was a manifestation of any bad luck or foul play. Luckily, the coven was able to determine that Jah’Terrika was not a malevolent entity masquerading as a child to wreak havoc on their bloodline. However, this crisis wasn’t fully averted. At first, it was suspected that they had little to no magical ability, which prompted a lot of Signora’s insecurities about her family’s public image. Although wayward spirits were not welcomed in the community, they still were preferred over those who did not have abilities.

To prevent any hostilities from outsiders, their mother turned to her own gifts. After many long bouts of prayer, candle work, incantations and offerings, her child began to exhibit some magical ability at the tender age of five. While her other children at this age were dabbling in conjure, elementals, and even resurrection magic, Jah’Terrika had an affinity for animals and was the only who could communicate with them telepathically. Naturally, their family did not believe them, but a confirmation from the coven and the manifestations of the messages passed on to them by these creatures proved their ability to be true.

Even with the acknowledgement of their powers, Jah’Terrika’s family still did not take them seriously. When referring to them and their powers, they would playfully name the third born as “The Pet Whisperer”, and although their family says that this was a term of endearment made purely in jest, Jah’Terrika always felt that it was their family’s way to diminish and remind them that they were different.

Like all other summer mornings, the family kitchen is seemingly the busiest place on Earth. Zayne, the second oldest, is sitting at the kitchen table and paints his nails, all the while FaceTiming his boyfriend about much-needed vacation plans. Samira and Shameekah, the sixteen-year-old twins, are simultaneously levitating and recording TikTok dances. In the kitchen is Otis, their father, who is flipping pancakes while The Delfonics croon on vinyl. Amidst all the daily cacophony is Signora, who is currently listening to a financial wellness podcast and reading the morning paper.

Jah’Terrika walks up to the table and takes seat.

“Good morning,” they say dryly as they pour themselves some orange juice. Zayne looks over his shoulder and smirks.

“Ew, good morning to you too,” he responds half playfully yet sarcastically. “Terri, why you so stale this morning?”

Jah’Terrika rolls their eyes and laughs, trying to conceal their humor.

“Why is your breath so hot this morning?” they retort. They both start throwing digs at each other. Signora clears her throat.

“That’s enough you two. Play fair,” she interjects. The second and third borns suck their teeth in response. Jah’Terrika shifts their focus to the front of their mother’s newspaper, captivated by a headline that reads ”CONGRESS RUSHES TO ESTABLISH ANTI-OCCULT VIOLENCE AS A HATE CRIME WHILE NUMBER OF MISSING WITCHES CONTINUES TO GROW“. With a countenance full of concern, they take a sip of juice and sink into their chair.

“Who was the latest child that’s gone missing?” they ask. Signora turns the page and picks up her pen.

“I have no idea.”

Otis emerges from the kitchen with plates of food floating behind him. Placing the food on the table, he beckons the twins to their seats and approaches Jah’Terrika, lovingly rubbing their shoulders. He takes a seat next to his wife.

“They said on NPR that it was a white boy from Stamford,” he adds, picking up his fork and knife to eat. Signora, who is completely engrossed in her crossword puzzle, has yet to take her eyes off the paper.

“Truthfully, I haven’t been following these cases all that much,” she says. “So many Black witches have been missing since March of last year, and the government did nothing but offer its ’thoughts and prayers.” Otis nods in agreement and takes a bite. The children all silently follow suit.

“I agree, Nora, but hopefully something good will come of this. The future of all covens depends on this legislature, but in the meantime we need to do all that we can to protect each other,” he says, pushing his glasses back on his nose bridge. Zayne closes the top coat and looks into the phone.

“Here go Otis Luther King. Let me call you back on my way to work. Love you!” he chimes as he hangs up the phone to eat. Jah’Terrika looks down to hide their laughter, but their father isn’t amused.

“I know y’all like to play around and joke about everything, but this here ain’t no joke. Y’all don’t understand how hard-”

“We know-- how hard y’all work to make sure that we are safe,” the four children say in unison. He shakes his head.

“I wish Nani were here to speak some sense into you all. She always knows what to say to get y’all together,” he responds with disappointment. Jah’Terrika grunts.

“Yeah, but she’s too busy being the Oprah of the spell-casting world and running around on her celebrity book tour with her ‘high value’ wizard fiancé,” they mutter under their breath. Zayne snickers to himself.

“Oop! Not the book tour!” he exclaims.

Finally, Signora puts down the newspaper and glares at Jah’Terrika. An eerie silence and stillness falls over the table.

Nani is the eldest child. A well studied and well-versed witch, she is the crowned jewel of the Greenwood family. During the tail end of her doctorate, she traveled all around the world doing research on covens and houses across the African diaspora, and upon her return to The States she had a book deal, a degree and a wizarding man in her repertoire.

But above all else, Nani Greenwood was the favorite child-- specifically Signora’s. Conversely to her husband, Signora did not emerge from a “noble” bloodline. She was a spell-caster of modest upbringing, but it was truly her wit and unwavering motivation that propelled her into becoming the well respected witch she is today.

However, this truth was no match for her anxiety when she conceived Nani. She worried ceaselessly about her first-born living up to her in-laws’ expectations, so once the child was born, she had one goal and one goal only: to make her the absolute best that she could be.

And she did. Under Signora’s tutelage, Nani didn’t just meet their expectations, she superseded them, setting her up for much success. But with that came an inflated sense of confidence. Being this perfect in every way caused Nani’s hubris to make her quite insufferable amongst her siblings. She never hesitated to let them know how she set the gold standard in their family, and she always found a way to criticize her siblings for every little thing that they did.

When they would respond to these comments with their own critiques, Signora would always come to her defense, often reminding her that their claims were based in jealousy and not in truth. Nani wasn’t just her daughter, she was her passion project, and she refused to allow anyone the liberty of slandering her.

Signora and Jah’Terrika continue their tense staring match, her long, maroon acrylics tapping against the wood of the table.

“You know, Jah’Terrika,” she begins, taking the last sip of her coffee. “You always have something to say about your sister, but let’s talk about you.” They gulp as their mother shifts in her seat.

“Your sister has set a great example for all of you to follow and even emulate! I know that success may be a foreign concept to you, Jah’Terrika, but I do hope that you work through whatever insecurities you may have and shift your perspective.” They pause for a second and scoff with disbelief.

“Shift my perspective? Ma, Nani used to constantly talk down to us about our skills, especially to me. Why do I have to be subjected to that?” They ask. Signora folds her arms across her chest.

There is a heavy knock at the front door, followed by the thud of boxes against the stoop steps. The twins excitedly hop and up and dash towards the door. Otis stands, collects all the dishes and heads into the kitchen while Zayne picks up his work bag and glances at Jah’Terrika.

“I’ll call you on my break,” he mouths right before heading out the door. The twins run around him, their arms full of mail and packages. Shameekah, the mole-faced twin, passes Jah’Terrika a thick envelope.

“Here, sib,” she chimes, running up the stairs with the boxes, and Samira follows after. They hold the envelope up, seeing that it was sent from Cambria Heights Conservatory for Magicks and Divine Studies. Their eyes widen. Could this be it?

Jah’Terrika recently graduated from a junior college with an associate’s degree in Liberal Studies. To continue her matriculation process, she reached for the stars and applied to Cambria Heights, one of the most prestigious institutions in the country. As usual, her family, particularly her mother, were skeptical about her odds for admission. But with some encouragement from Baltazar and Shamir, their girlfriend, Jah’Terrika decided to press onward and apply.

With an unfamiliar pit growing in their stomach, something in them knew that this would be the document that would prove everyone wrong.

They froze and prayed silently over the envelope. Signora blinks.

“Who is it from?” she inquires, her tone slightly less snarky.

“It’s from Cambria Heights,” they respond. She motions for them to open it. With a shaky hand, they retrieve the letter and begin to read aloud.

"Jah’Terrika,

It is with my greatest honor to congratulate and extend to you admission to the Cambria Heights Conservatory for Magicks And Divine Studies with a full scholarship. Your application showed much promise and demonstrated alignment with our institution’s core values.

Attached is the Student Welcome Packet and more information about selecting your housing, meal plan options and course registration. Please do not hesitate to reach out to Admissions should you have any questions. We are here to help!

We sincerely hope to formally welcome you to Cambria Heights in August!

Warmest Regards,

Hilda Beauregard, Headmaster."

Jah’Terrika held a hand over her mouth in shock. After all those years of being made to feel that they were lesser than, their dreams were finally going to manifest in front of everyone’s eyes.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” she muses. “What are you planning to study?”

“I’m not too sure, but I’m leaning more towards Divine Studies,” they reply with a small smile. Otis returns from the kitchen as Signora chortles.

“Divination? Really?” They look at her with confusion.

“What’s wrong with that?” They ask with a raised brow.

“Divination isn’t a skill that our family possesses,” Signora explains while standing up. “Cambria Heights is a challenging school. This is not the place to be biting off more than you can chew.” Jah’Terrika stews in their seat, the pit in their stomach transforms into pent up anger.

“Since you have such a way with creatures, why don’t you pursue something like Magical Bestiary Studies?” She picks up the car keys off the table. “Samira! Shameekah! Time for camp.” Soon after the twins run down the stairs dressed and ready to go.

At this point, Jah’Terrika can no longer contain their fury.

“Even in times when I’m supposed to be celebrated, you still choose to be vile,” they riposte. “I’ve tried so hard to be accepted and acknowledged by this family, and you somehow push the goal post back each and every time. I’m tired of choosing your expectations over myself.”

They stand up and make their way towards the stairs, leaving the letter behind. Being the natural peacemaker that he is, Otis attempts to stop them, but they manage to turn away and stomp up the staircase. Otis leans over the end of the table at his wife. Before he could even get words out, Signora flings up her hand and leaves the house with the twins.

Otis walks over to the acceptance letter and picks it up. He reads it over and smiles with excitement for the journey that their child is about to embark on.

Upstairs, Jah’Terrika rapidly pulls off their clothes and wraps themselves in a towel. Picking up their phone, they begin to text their girlfriend.

“Shamir,” they type. “We need to talk.”