Sneak Peek! "Darnell and the Librarians: Trapped in Tulsa" Chapter 1 (A Work in Progress)

Thursday, June 2, 1921

Darnell, the librarians, and his mom walked quickly under a brightening sky, the morning air thick with dew and a chilling silence. Their footsteps slapped on sidewalks, and they rushed past quiet and dark buildings. They had just swum out of what they now knew to be the Arkansas River, having escaped Kuzimu, the Land of the Dead, and arrived in Tulsa, OK. Only a 2-3 hour drive should have separated them from home in Oklahoma City, but they had arrived at the wrong time.

They had arrived in June 1921, just days after the Tulsa Race Massacre. His mom, Jack, and Cyrus had told him what happened. A mob of angry white people came to a rich black neighborhood and razed it. They burnt down businesses, homes, stole belongings, and killed many of the residents over multiple days of racist violence. And the people of the neighborhood couldn’t even go to the police or the hospitals, as the state had sanctioned the attack. The newspapers condoned and justified it. A haunting moment in American history that they were now having to survive and escape. 

“Do we have to be careful about changing time?” Darnell asked.

“No.” Cyrus answered, “Humans are too small and insignificant to change the past. Time has already accounted for us, so no matter what we do, history will stay the same.” 

Annie the tarantula, perched on Cyrus’s shoulder, hissed in agreement. She was one of Anansi’s children, an African god whose domain included all stories. 

“Unfortunately,” Jack added under her breath while scanning the area around them with an attentive eye. 

“But you probably shouldn’t say too much about the future, it may…upset people.” His mom added.

They quickly and quietly walked, their wet clothes clinging to them and chilling them, having chosen Vernon AME Church on Greenwood Avenue as their destination, a place Jack and Cyrus believed to be a friendly coven’s haven during the attack. They hoped the witches and wizards there would be able to extend them aid, in addition to the injured and homeless they would be helping at this time. They also needed new clothes. Their collection of jeans, T-shirts, tank tops, scrubs, and sweaters was out of place here.

Darnell felt like passing out; he was so exhausted. They had just defeated the undead sorcerer Terry and swam through the living waters of Kilember. They briefly rested by the shores of the Arkansas River before Jack discovered the newspaper showing how much danger they were still in. There was no time for sleep; groups of the angry mob might still be on the prowl, searching for residents of Black Wall Street to harass or to kill. 

The smell of burning hit their nostrils, and the taste of ash landed on their tongues, drying their mouths unpleasantly. They were getting close. Darnell dared to feel relieved; maybe they could change out of their wet clothes and sleep soon. But a shout from a distance made them all jump and become wary.

A group of four white men was approaching them. Darnell’s mom grabbed his shoulder and pushed him behind her. Jack and Cyrus eyed each other and said nothing. They had told him many white people did not participate in the massacre, and some had helped the residents of Black Wall Street hide and escape the violence. But these men did not appear friendly. They were dressed simply, in pants and button-ups with the sleeves rolled up. But their clothes were stained with blood and ash, their shoes so covered in it that Darnell could not see the material beneath. And all of them carried wands.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” The blonde one grinned mischievously. He eyed their appearances. The blonde man would have been handsome if it weren’t for his dark eyes that gave no spark of warmth or mirth. “Have you not learned your place yet?”

The others, two men with brown hair and one with black hair, chuckled excitedly and fingered their wands. They eyed their intended prey eagerly, waiting for the go-ahead from their leader.

The blonde one looked around at the empty streets and then held out his wand, pointing it at Cyrus. “No witnesses means more fun.”

It quickly became apparent that the racist wizards thought they had happened across a helpless group of escapees from the massacre, as they yelped in surprise when all four of their intended prey armed themselves and shot magic at them first. 

Cyrus and Keisha were the quickest, with a stream of lightning from Cyrus’s wand and a stream of green energy from Keisha’s hand colliding with the two brown-haired men, sending them flying and landing on the paved street with a crash.

Darnell cast his protection charm and found that with his wand, he could make it large enough to engulf himself, his mom, and the librarians. 

The black-haired man, upon seeing that their intended victims were able to defend themselves, turned to the blonde leader for direction. But the blonde leader had turned all his focus on Jack. 

Jack, in the melee, had retrieved her sledgehammer from her enchanted backpack, bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Once in her hands, it had immediately lit up with runes that cascaded up her arms and to her shoulders. She turned to Darnell and nodded, impressed with the large protection charm. Despite the danger they were in, Darnell glowed with the praise. 

The blonde leader approached the protection sphere, tapping it with a finger. He yanked his hand back, as his finger sizzled as if dipped in acid. The other men cautiously approached to stand with their leader, but they kept a wide berth of the librarians, especially the brown-haired men. 

Cyrus and Keisha stayed near Darnell, ready to hit the men again if they managed to break through the protection spell. Jack was closer to the edge of Darnell’s magic, standing eye to eye with the blond-haired man, hammer in hand, ready to swing.

The blond-haired man pointed harshly at Jack’s hammer, “Where did you get that!?” Spittle sizzled on Darnell’s magic as the man snarled at Jack.

“My house,” Jack replied with a suppressed smirk.

“Listen here, you nig-!”

Before the man could finish his sentence, Cyrus had whisked off another spell at him that hit him right in the face. Darnell watched in surprise and a little amusement, as the man tried to scream at Cyrus, only to find his lips were sealed shut! As if his lips at been super-glued together, the man could only rage as he tried to use both his magic and his hands to undo Cyrus’s spell. His comrades tried to help him, bumbling and shooting off bright flashes of magic, but to no avail. 

“Now, where did you learn a naughty spell like that?” A new voice queried. 

Darnell spun around in alarm. The voice had come from inside his protection sphere! He turned to find a hare standing behind them, looking at the collection of warring covens with what Darnell thought was amusement. Its thick, coarse fur was a reddish-brown, its ears and tail tipped with black. Larger and leaner than a rabbit, its very long ears were pointed straight up as it waited for an answer.

“Obu warned us about you,” Cyrus replied, eyeing The Hare warily. 

Annie hissed angrily at The Hare. The Hare glanced at the angry tarantula, but seemed unconcerned with her presence. 

“Now, what did the false shaman tell you about me, hm?” The Hare asked, turning its voice silken sweet. “And more importantly, what did they tell you about themselves?”

“What do you want, Hare?” Jack turned away from the racist coven to growl at the mythical creature. 

“Do you think I have use of you, warrior?” The Hare snarled back in response, bearing its long, yellow buck teeth. “Or you, healer? Do you think I didn't see you toying with that locket?”

Keisha stilled her hand but kept it on her locket, eyeing The Hare uneasily, and placing a hand on Darnell’s shoulder.

“Why would I be here, other than to barter with a powerful seer and to meet the next sorcerer chosen by Death?” The Hare continued, eyeing both Cyrus and Darnell. 

“What!” Keisha and Cyrus exclaimed, with Jack looking at Darnell in alarm before quickly turning back to The Hare.

Darnell shrank back from the attention. He had been planning on how he would talk to his mom about being offered a position as the god of death, Owuo’s Chosen. But The Hare had just let his secret out, so cavalierly. He felt his face heat with embarrassment, guilt, and anger. “I was going to tell you.” He mumbled quietly, not daring to look anyone in the eye. 

“Oh, you didn’t tell them? Your father didn’t tell them either, did you know that?” The Hare hopped to face Darnell directly, moving its head back and forth to keep him within sight. 

This was too much for Darnell’s mom, and she turned and snapped at The Hare, “Get on with your business!”

The Hare turned to Cyrus, “Your family has kept a tome of all their predictions, that you have in your possession, yes?”

Cyrus hesitated, looking at Jack, who shrugged in response. He turned back to face The Hare, “Yes.”

“If I take you to Little Africa, will you let me read it?”

“Why do you want to read it?”

“Why do you think that is your concern?” The Hare questioned back, its ears twitching in irritation. 

Cyrus stared at the ground, silent and deep in thought. He said nothing for a long while, and neither did anyone else. Even the racist coven was quiet, watching this exchange with the talking beast with shock and interest.

Darnell wasn’t sure if trusting The Hare was a good idea; he had read stories about The Hare. Stories of its trickster nature and its mischievous actions were recorded in stories all around the world. The Hare before him gave him an uneasy feeling. Its eagerness to exploit the danger they were in for its gain made Darnell doubt that it would be a friend to them. He felt compelled to say something, but his mom's squeeze on his shoulder told him to remain silent. 

The Hare proved impatient and began to prod Cyrus into a decision. “Will you risk your exhausted friends? Is what I ask so unreasonable, considering you have a child with you?”

Jack grumbled, displeased, but said nothing. Cyrus winced and looked at Darnell and Keisha. 

Darnell did not like being a bargaining chip for The Hare. “I have a wand now, we can make it.” He said confidently, waving his wand emphatically in an attempt to prove his point.

Keisha pointedly ignored The Hare and caught Cyrus’s eye, “It’s up to you, Cyrus.”

Cyrus then turned to the racist coven, staring at them thoughtfully. The soft-spoken librarian sighed, having come to a decision. He turned back to The Hare, “No.”

Cyrus then turned to the racist coven, staring at them thoughtfully. The soft-spoken librarian sighed, having come to a decision. He turned back to The Hare, “No.”

The Hare sat back on his haunches, “No?”

“No.” Cyrus repeated, with more strength in his voice now. “I know we can’t trust The Hare that tricked and killed the Lion, the Hyena, the Rhino, the Elephant, the Cheetah, and her cubs.”

The Hare was still angry at his request being denied, but it did look proud as his ‘accomplishments’ were listed. “Do you really believe you can escape this place without me, knowing what I am capable of?”

They all sounded as if they could indeed return home without the help of the trickster god. Annie hissed alongside as if she were cheering for her humans. 

“Why don’t we see how you fare for a few days then?” The Hare queried maliciously.  Then Hare ran in a circle around them, a line of dust tracing behind it as it ran faster and faster. Soon, the dust began to rise, and started to shred Darnell’s protection sphere. 

Darnell tried to use his charm again to reform another sphere, but the dust ripped away his magic, leaving them vulnerable to the racist coven. Once their protection was completely gone, the Hare came to a stop and bowed. With a spiteful wink, it hopped up and disappeared with a pop.

For a moment, everyone just stared at each other. But Jack, ‘the warrior’, The Hare had called her, acted first. She positioned herself in front of her friends, the runes on her hammer and arms glowing. 

The blonde man, still under the effects of Cyrus’s spell, pointed emphatically at her hammer. The black-haired man, quicker than his brown-haired companions, spoke for his leader. 

“How does a ni-” He caught himself, eyeing Cyrus warily, “How does a negro have Mjölnir?”

“Mjölnir?” Darnell asked, the name sounding oddly familiar. 

“Thor’s hammer,” Cyrus answered, his tone weary and tired. “They think she has Thor’s hammer.”

Jack laughed derisively, “This isn’t Thor’s hammer! These runes aren’t even Nordic!”

“Then what are they!?” The black-haired man shouted. 

The blond-haired man was staring hard at Jack’s hammer, greedily, Darnell thought.

“African runes!” she shouted back exasperatedly.

“No such thing!” The black-haired man, so quickly that it was clear he had not given a thought to the idea that African people had runes of their own.

“They are specifically Adinkra symbols,” Cyrus murmured, recognizing the pointlessness of educating those who take pride in their ignorance. 

Keisha was looking around, but saw no help coming, no passerbys, no witnesses. The windows and doors of the surrounding buildings stayed resolutely shuttered, shut, and dark. She kept Darnell close to her, and he felt in her hands the sensation of magic accumulating. She was preparing for a fight, he realized quickly. He pulled his wand out of his pocket. 

The brown-haired men saw Darnell arm himself with his wand, but their blonde leader acted first. His attention was entirely on Jack and his sledgehammer; he shot off a spell at her, which she easily dispelled with a swing of her hammer. But the spell was just a distraction. He tackled her to the ground and began punching her and trying to wrench the hammer from her hands.

Cyrus moved to help Jack, but the black-haired man was ready for him and began to send off a quick flurry of spells that Cyrus had no choice but to stop and defend himself. Annie crawled down onto his back, but Darnell was distracted before he could see what the spider was doing or where she was going.

The brown haired men had turned their sights on the mother-son duo. Keisha sent off a green blast of magic at one of the brown-haired men. He braced himself, assuming he could take the blow. He was sorely mistaken. He flew back with a yelp and hit the ground hard. 

The other brown-haired man aimed at Keisha, but Darnell pointed his wand at him. He felt the magic surge through the wand and saw mushrooms beginning to spring forth from it. Then he stopped. The last time he conjured mushrooms, it killed the tar baboon. But it was a person. A bad person, a person nonetheless. His moral dilemma froze him in place, which gave the brown-haired man the opportunity to run up towards him.

SLAP!

The man backhanded him. Darnell’s eyes flashed with the pain of the impact. A copper taste flooded his mouth as he bled from a busted lip. He stumbled, but managed to stay upright. He stared at the man with teary eyes. And fury. He pointed his wand at him and envisioned him being pushed away from him, hard. A gale of wind pushed out his wand and sent the man flying. He kept funneling the magic through the wand, his rage focusing the magic. He swept his wand over the street, sending the racist coven flying when the gale directly hit them. The brown haired men and the black-haired man went flying quickly, but the blond-haired man was holding on tightly to Jack’s hammer. 

The magic that silenced the blond-haired man had faded once Cyrus started battling the black-haired man. The blond-haired man was screaming in Jack’s face as she gallantly kept hold of her hammer. “Give it to me!”

Jack said nothing; she just kept hold of the hammer, kicking and bucking as she tried to release his hold. 

Darnell moved a few steps closer, the wind from his wand blowing so violently that the man’s words were lost in the sound of the wind. He felt his mom move behind him, holding his shoulders and helping him remain balanced as the force of the wind began to push him backwards. Cyrus soon joined them, joining Keisha in keeping Darnell steady.

But the blond-haired man hung on. His longing for Jack’s sledgehammer seemed to provide him with a physical weight, making it impossible for anyone to push him off the librarian. But one more librarian was there to help. Annie was slowly crawling up the blonde-haired man's shoulder, hanging on as the winds buffeted her. She crawled until she could reach the side of his neck, and then she sank her fangs into his flesh.

The blond-haired man screamed in surprise and pain as Annie’s fangs pierced his neck and as her venom began to burn and sting. The surprise loosened the blond-haired man’s grip, allowing Jack to snatch back her hammer and to grab Annie, pulling her to safety as the man was flung away in the gale-force winds from Darnell’s wand. 

Darnell relaxed when the wind pushed the racist coven so far down the street that they were no longer visible, and his magic tempered down until finally stopping entirely. They all stood still, catching their breaths. Jack returned Annie to Cyrus’s shoulder after whispering thanks to the tarantula. The tarantula hopped happily back on Cyrus’s shoulder, appreciating Jack’s appreciation. 

Darnell’s mom fussed over his face, where the man had slapped him. His cheek still stung, but his lip no longer bled, and he attempted to push her away as she fawned over him.

“I’m fine, Mom.” He assured her with a note of irritation in his voice.

“Your teeth are ok?” She continued to fuss.

“Yes!”

She paused, seeming to want to say more, but decided against it. She turned to Cyrus and Jack, “We should keep moving.”

“Agreed.” Cyrus set out, setting a fast pace as he led them to Greenwood Avenue. 

Everyone kept their casting magic in hand, except Keisha, who wore hers around her neck. But it appeared the racist coven wasn’t coming after them, for now. 

They walked, and as they walked, their feet started to kick up ash. The scent of extinguished fire became predominant. For the first time, they started passing people, all black, all with the same look of trauma. Darnell’s mom kept him close to her, and he did not protest. His heart grew heavy; he knew they were walking towards tragedy.

Their arrival was just as quiet and morose as the displaced citizens around them. Darnell silently gaped at the devastation. The streets here were gray with ash that kicked up with the steps of the dazed and forlorn people who explored the ruins of their homes and businesses. White cloth-covered mounds were being carried into carts by silent men, their sleeves rolled as they did their grim work. Families picked over the destroyed remains of their homes, either with tears or grim determination. He saw one old man sitting in front of a destroyed building, his face in his hands, still as a statue. A few people peered at them, examining their odd clothes and unfamiliar faces, but they were left alone.  

Most of the buildings around them had been burnt to cinders. All that was left of them were bits of blackened brick wall. To Darnell, they looked like broken teeth, the interiors of the buildings open to the sky like a screaming mouth. The Hare had deposited them in front of one such building; the few smoldering pews that had not been burned to ash showed that it was a church. 

“We need to go into the basement,” Cyrus spoke quietly, respectfully. “The entrance to Little Africa should be there.”

“Stay close to me,” Keisha whispered to Darnell.

Jack looked around grimly, her sledgehammer gripped loosely in her hands. The runes still lined her hammer and arms, but they no longer glowed.

They quietly stepped into what was left of the church and soon found a damaged door, too damaged to close fully, that opened onto a staircase leading downwards. Hushed voices could be heard coming from the basement. Smoke ferried up the steps, but it wasn’t the smoke of arson but instead the smoke of cigarettes. Darnell heard quick clacking punctuated by short pauses and conversation. As they walked down the steps, the hushed voices went silent, and the clacking stopped. 

Cyrus went down first, followed by Jack, and Darnell’s mom had him walk in front of him. Keisha closed the damaged door behind her as best she could and followed behind. 

Cyrus turned and greeted someone once he reached the basement floor, “Hello.”

Darnell heard murmuring once Jack, with her sledgehammer and runes, reached the basement floor. He and his mother reached the basement last. He met the gaze of three black men sitting around a table lined with papers and typewriters, and in the center, a blackened, broken dish filled with ash. The men all had cigarettes dangling from their lips, filling the basement so full of smoke that the ceiling was not visible. They had hung their jackets on the back of the chairs, their white button shirtsleeves rolled up, as they worked on various documents piled on the table.

The three men first eyed the newcomers warily, and then their eyes softened into curiosity. They took in the clothes, and one man smiled kindly at Darnell. Jack seemed to pique their interest the most, with her sledgehammer still in her hands and her runes still covering her arms. 

Keisha noticed their curiosity and motioned to Jack to put her hammer away. She did so, and the runes faded as the hammer disappeared into her bag. The three men's eyes widened in comprehension as her hammer disappeared into a bag that appeared much too small to carry such a thing. 

“Hello.” Cyrus repeated, Darnell could tell he was nervous and looking for words, “We are here because we need help.”

“We all need some help in times like these.” One of the men, the only one with a mustache, stood up from the table and held his hand out to Cyrus, “Clarence Booker.” Clarence pointed to one of his companions, a tall, slim man, “Samuel Fisher.” Then he pointed to another man, the youngest of the three, “James Freeman.”

Samuel and James both stood and shook their hands, and Darnell, his mother, and the librarians introduced themselves as well. 

“We’re lawyers, but I’m guessing you don’t need help with the law?” Clarence asked kindly.

“No, sir.” Cyrus chuckled and shook his head, “We came out of the river at the wrong time.”

The three lawyers looked openly shocked and intrigued. Darnell guessed the men understood exactly what Cyrus meant. Clarence motioned for the time travelers to follow, and the lawyers all left the table to go to the far corner of the basement. The cigarette smoke seemed particularly heavy in this corner. Samuel and James pulled wands out of their pockets and began to recite an incantation together.

Darnell watched as the seam where the walls met began to pull apart. Inch by inch, the walls receded from the corner. He looked up to see that the ceiling now hovered unsupported, but it did not sag or buckle. The walls pulled apart, creating an open archway that revealed a staircase leading up.

Samuel turned to the newcomers once the magic was complete, “You should find Ms. Mary; she runs the boardinghouse in Little Africa.”

James nodded in agreement, “Yes, and don’t be afraid of the golems. They only hurt those with bad intentions.”

They thanked the lawyers profusely, and after their goodbyes, Darnell, Keisha, and the librarians began to climb the stairs. As they began to walk, Darnell whispered to his mother, “What’s a golem?”

“It's a clay man.” Keisha answered as they stepped, “I heard about the golems here, but I have never seen one before.”

“You might even meet the family that made them.” Jack offered. She seemed a little more at ease now that they were on the way to meet with the coven.

“The Zager family.” Cyrus agreed. 

They continued to walk up the stairs. The stairs were in a narrow passage, and only pairs could walk side by side. Jack and Cyrus walked together ahead, Darnell and his mom walking together behind them. The walls were decorated with murals depicting life in Africa. As they continued to walk, the murals showed African people being forced onto large ships and taken away from their homes forever. The murals showed enslaved black people toiling, then a moment of hope and freedom, before being dashed by segregation. At the end of the staircase was a door, and the last part of the mural. It showed the building of Black Wall Street, a red-bricked neighborhood filled with successful black people. But what interested Darnell most was the depiction of a group of sorcerers waving wands, necklaces, and books, creating a huge swirl of magic that formed a second Black Wall Street high above the one on the ground, supported on a bed of clouds. Darnell wondered if the mural would be updated to show what happened to Black Wall Street.  

The door they now faced appeared to be made of a shiny red wood. No burns or blows damaged this door. The four of them looked at each other, and with a collective bolstering of resolve, they went through the door. 

The very first thing that greeted them was a large red clay man. It was about 10 feet tall, and one large hand gripped a staff that must have been 12 feet tall. Its crudely molded face stared down at them, its eyes glowing red with some inner fire. It eyed them for a long moment, its face impassive. Darnell was grateful for the warning from the lawyers about the golems, or else he would have been terrified.

After what felt like minutes but was only seconds, the golem spoke in a deep rumbling voice, “Welcome, visitors, to Little Africa.”

With thudding steps that shook the ground, it moved out of their way and stood again like a statue as they stepped onto a sidewalk.

Darnell gasped with wonder. Little Africa was beautiful and alive with activity. They had come out of a door in the side of a church onto a sidewalk that bordered a cobblestone street. A street sign read “GREENWOOD AVE”. They had to cluster together to make room for all the people walking by, going about their day. Men in suits, women in dresses, and children with balloons and candy walked by, giving them curious looks as they passed. A prim, dark-skinned lady with a parasol strolled past, and Darnell’s eyes widened when he saw that draped around the woman's neck was a horned snake, its green scales giving way to two white horns on the top of its head. It gently hissed at them as its master continued about her day. A few mumbled exclamations at their ‘odd clothes’, and multiple people openly gawked at Jack’s dreads. A few children even pointed at them before hurriedly being hushed by their parents. But most residents smiled and nodded; the ladies nodded their heads in greeting, and the men tipped their hats as they walked by.

All the buildings were made of red brick, and they were all open and welcoming. Darnell looked and saw a wide variety of businesses lining the streets. Directly across the street was a restaurant called Maxine’s, and down the street in both directions was a myriad of businesses that all seemed to be open and teeming with customers. In the sky, envelopes and memos zipped through the air, flying into and out of open doors and windows. 

 The street itself bustled with Ford Model Ts, horse-drawn carriages, and people on bicycles. The sidewalk shook almost imperceptibly as another golem walked down the street, patrolling. But what caused Darnell to stare was the magical forms of transportation—people who sat together on a large cloud that easily avoided traffic by floating over the others in the street, and several witches and wizards flew by on broomsticks. Rickshaws of all shapes and sizes passed by, some large enough to only carry their driver and two passengers, some large enough to serve as a bus, all outfitted with steam engines. Darnell watched in fascination as a driver got off his rickshaw, shoveled more coal into the steam engine of his rickshaw, and then, with a very deep breath, he breathed fire onto the coals! White smoke began to issue from the steam engine, and the man resumed his seat, steering his rickshaw to pick up his next customer.

One such rickshaw, one equipped with 4 long benches behind its driver, pulled up in front of them. This rickshaw was painted green, and in gold cursive on the side was written “JOSEPH’S TAXI SERVICE”. The friendly driver, a young dark-skinned man whose voice cracked occasionally with the last vestiges of youth, tipped his flatcap to them. “Are you looking for a ride? First ride for visitors to Little Africa is free!”

“Joseph?” Keisha asked, pointing at the sign.

“That’s my name!” The driver confirmed with a pleasant smile.

“Can you take us to the boardinghouse, please?” Cyrus asked.

“Of course! All aboard for Ms. Mary’s!”

They all climbed aboard, and the driver steered his rickshaw down the street. Easily rejoining the traffic of cars, clouds, rickshaws, golems, and broomsticks. 

“Where are you folks visiting from?” Joseph asked once they matched the flow of traffic.

“A long time from now,” Jack replied.

“It wasn’t planned,” Keisha added, looking around and smiling at a passing girl carrying a black kitten.

“Oh wow! We learned about accidental time travel in school, but I’ve never met anyone who did it!” Joseph excitedly turned when they reached a stop sign, “Came at a bad time, huh?’

They all quickly agreed to that assessment. “It looks like the mob didn’t find this place, though.”

“Not for lack of trying, but Little Africa is safe this high up.” He gestured to an alleyway between two brick buildings. 

They all turned and peered and saw nothing but blue sky and clouds. Just like in the mural, Little Africa rested on a bed of clouds high in the sky.

“Demons can’t reach heaven, that’s what pop says.” Their driver continued, pointing out various buildings and points of interest as he went. They passed a busy ice cream parlor called Isaac’s Ice Cream, a doctor’s office, and a dentist’s office. As Joseph turned onto Roberts Road, Darnell saw that, funnily enough, next to the dentist’s office was a candy shop, Little Africa’s Confections. 

“Where would you recommend we go for magical help?” Keisha asked, and all of them looked to Joseph for his answer.

“If you don’t mind the scenic route, I can take you through the old neighborhood.” He offered in response. “Most of the magic shops are on Sorceress Street and Charms Street.

Despite their fatigue, they quickly agreed. Joseph continued on Roberts Road, which encircled a large park called Roberts Park. They gazed at sweethearts strolling together in the greenery the park offered, and children fed ducks that swam in the large pond that took up the center of the park. They turned onto Tubman Drive, then Du Bois Street, and finally Douglass Street. 

The roads here were smaller and older, but still well-maintained. The redbrick buildings in this neighborhood had faded to a pleasant pink. Here, the building's signs were not for barbershops or BBQ, but for places such as “AFRICA’S APOTHECARY & GREENERY”, “CORNELIUS’S BOOKS, TOMES, & SPELLS”, and “EDNA’S SECONDHAND ENCHANTMENTS & TRINKETS”. Darnell couldn’t stop reading the different signs for various businesses that dealt in magic. He only read about magical neighborhoods in books, and now he was in one! 

They turned off Du Bois Street and returned to Roberts Road. Joseph stopped his rickshaw in front of a large building that had a simple sign in front that read “BOARDINGHOME”.

“Here you are, Ms. Mary’s. She’ll take good care of you.” Joseph reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of small sticks, giving each of them a few sticks. “If you need another ride, just light that.”

The smell of sandalwood and sage invaded Darnell’s nostrils as he accepted the sticks of incense from Joseph. He carefully placed the incense in the same pocket as his wand. 

“Who should we go to for help getting home?” Jack asked as she pocketed her share of the incense sticks.

“I recommend talking to Mr. Cornelius. He owns the bookstore. If he doesn’t know himself, he’ll know who does.” Joseph informed them.

A look of concern came over Joseph’s face as he looked at them as he helped them get off the rickshaw. “Don’t worry.” he reassured them, “Get some rest and some food in ya’, then go see Mr. Cornelius. He’ll be able to help you out.”

“Thank you, Joseph.” Cyrus smiled at him.

 Before getting back on his rickshaw, Darnell watched as Joseph opened up the door to the steam engine, and, to his delight, took a deep breath and breathed fire onto the coals. Joseph smiled at Darnell’s glee, and with another tip of his hat and a wave, he set off for his next customer

Ms. Mary’s Boardinghouse was a square, two-story, redbrick building. Two large windows edged the front door, and the second story above it was lined with three large windows that looked out onto the street. Flowered bushes edged the pathway they walked, with rose bushes bordering the staircase that led up to the front door and continuing around the exterior brick to encircle the building. 

They entered the building quietly, being sure to wipe their shoes on the welcome mat before entering. The foyer of Ms. Mary’s Boardinghouse was a narrow rectangle, and a simple entryway rug covered a scuffed but clean wooden floor. There was a large desk to the right and an empty phone booth to the left. The desk was currently unmanned, with a vase of roses and a service bell situated on the lip of the desk. Behind the desk was a closed door with a sign that read ‘Private’. Across from the doorway and a little to the side was a staircase leading up to the second floor. As they stepped further into the boardinghouse, Darnell could see into an open archway on the other side of the phone booth that revealed a parlor room furnished with easy chairs, bookshelves filled with novels, and travel guides framed the fireplace. Hung up above the fireplace was a map with large lettering above the drawing of the streets and buildings that read “LITTLE AFRICA’S BUSINESS DISTRICT”. A coffee table was placed in front of the fireplace, and arrayed on top were multiple copies of ‘The Negro Travelers’ Green Book’.

Jack rang the service bell, and almost immediately, a woman emerged from the door marked private. Her graying hair was tied back in a severe bun, and her round glasses gave the impression she was looking at them under a microscope. Dressed in a simple black dress, she gave the impression of a serious teacher. 

The woman took in their odd appearance with a severe assessment before her face lit up with a warm smile. “Travelers!” She exclaimed and clapped her hands together in delight, “From very far away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cyrus replied.

“Come, come! You all look exhausted! I’m Ms. Mary. I’ll take good care of you!” 

“We are, but we were hoping-” Keisha began, but Ms. Mary interrupted her.

“After you’ve got some sleep, honey. You look like the dead walking.”

None of them could argue with her evaluation; they all had bags under their eyes, and their clothes were filthy from the river and then the ash of Black Wall Street.

“1, 2, 3, 4?” she counted them, then paused at the sight of the spider on Cyrus’s shoulder. She eyed Annie with an appraising, but neutral look. Then she said, “You’re not a normal spider, are you?” 

Annie hissed twice in confirmation that she was indeed not a ‘normal’ spider. 

Ms. Mary nodded approvingly and accepted Annie as a guest. Then tapped the rim of her glasses 3 times. Darnell thought he was too tired to feel excited again, but he felt that familiar surge of wonder at the sight of magic when Ms. Mary began to glow, and then duplicate! Three more Ms. Marys peeled off the original. Her clones were slightly transparent and glowed blue. “I should have enough spare clothes for all of you to have something clean to sleep in. Come, let's get you cleaned up.”

After collecting their names and writing them in her logbook behind her desk, Ms. Mary and her illusory copies began to collect pajamas, soap, and towels for the new residents. The original Ms. Mary assigned herself to Keisha, while an illusory copy led the others. The bathroom was communal, so they each had to take turns, but luckily, while they waited for their turn, Ms. Mary and her illusory copies brought them to the parlor room and served them food. The variety of food was immense and impressive: roast beef, baked ham, mashed potatoes, deviled eggs, salad, and a pineapple upside-down cake. Darnell and the others delighted in stuffing their faces.

After their meal and baths, they changed into the pajamas Ms.Mary provided, despite it still being sunny out, and they were each escorted to their room. Ms. Mary gave Jack and Cyrus each their own room, and one room for Darnell and his mom.

The room Darnell was to share with his mom was small, but clean and comfortable. Against the back wall, facing the door, was a window. Two small nightstands were positioned by two small, metal-framed beds on opposite walls of each other. With just enough room, two trunks were positioned at the foot of each bed for travelers’ personal belongings.

Once Ms. Mary and her copy left them to rest, Darnell’s mom slid into one of the beds. “Let’s get some sleep, Darnell. Then we’ll find a way to get home.” She yawned, sleep already overtaking her.

Darnell got into the other bed, his mom already gently snoring as he pulled the covers up over his legs. He did want to go home, but he hoped he would be able to explore Little Africa first. The fire breathers and golems and the clouds you could ride were all so exciting to him; he worried that he would have trouble falling asleep. But sleep overtook him quite quickly, and he, his mom, and the librarians all slept peacefully until the next morning.