Prologue

There was something wicked in these excellent ghettos and it slipped in from across the Wall.

Quinto Glover sniffed it down the second it landed – a pungent odor of fuchsia and dandelion, typical fragrances of the wealthy who ruled the territories from that side.

It couldn’t have gotten far – not here in his home. No matter how these streets have decayed in the devastation of the Great Fires, every nook and cranny of the Browns drew power from the Brownies therein: Black, Hispanic and every color of that cultural rainbow.

Quinto zeroed in on the wickedness, his cane clacking against soot covered asphalt. It’d secreted itself in a dilapidated part of his territory entitled “the Back-of-the-Wall” duly from its location, and how the Wall’s grand shadow cast upon the ghost town.

Once, the condominiums, boutiques and a few illegal markets overpopulated the streets. Now, all Quinto found a wasteland of blackened wood and brick, abandoned by all but the whispering horrors and chilled corpses of the ones who couldn’t outrun the flames – or the fiends that followed their dying embers.

The Adversary.

Their writhing shadows kept Quinto hurried along the barren streets, praying to his Ancestors, the powers and Art that so saved him in his youth.

Quinto didn’t often carry his frail old bones through these parts alone, but circumstances demanded it. He trusted no one to face this wicked parasite, save himself.

Along the road, Quinto found a few corpses hanging from the windows. Mostly skeletons, but amongst the clutter was a frost-bitten corpse. She was nine, maybe a little under 100 lbs: her casket wouldn’t be too expensive.

She must’ve come out here on a dare, Quinto frowned. No matter how many decrees he made, a child always tried to prove herself to the Community in an act of daring in spite of the living dangers of these parts.

Push on Old man, Quinto said to himself, before you lose the scent. It’s already hard enough thanks to that… thing!

Quinto, of course, referred to the Wall, a colossal pale fortification stretching many dozen leagues in either direction and so tall, it tossed an oppressive shadow over half of the Brown’s territory. If Quinto closed his eyes, he could almost hear the screams of terror from the Walls prisoners, their magic turned sour within its corrupt influence.

Almost in recognition of its crownless king, these damaged parts of the Brown’s seemed to bow in reverence.

If only the sunlight had such a regard; sadly, the white light of day was owned by his people’s oppressors. It would not bend to him without proper coaxing. Quinto’s eyes wincing in the sunset, he chanted a phrase of power and the sunbeams parted around him. Not as if by magic: but by magic alone. The same magic that allowed the magically artificial sun to shine, as it did the City to run, the wind to blow.

The magic that allowed life within a bubble in the middle of an eternal winter wasteland on the Eastern coast to exist. The contents of this city, Antebellum, was a patchwork – all parts snatched from one great American city or another after the Awakening. It took years to scrub the blood off of most parts, but they succeeded. A lot of the Blue districts, those places across the Wall, were made from the East Coast – its tall towers enamoring the elite. The Browns, however, came from so many disenfranchised and broken cities of the Midwest: some parts of Columbus, Chicago, and Detroit… They were the cities most harmed by the Adversary, and its stain never completely left.

A soul-shattering grey sickness hung over the Browns. At least, not before Quinto’s time. But in a year? Maybe.

Finally, Quinto arrived to a back lot busy with wooden crates and discarded furniture. Surrounding this crowded little space was a cold iron fence and bewitched graffiti art. Quinto closed his eyes, and zeroed in on the scent to one…tight… pocket—

“Are you winded, old man?” came the voice hiding in that pocket. She stepped out of nothingness, her thin, blonde frame popping into color. The intense shroud of Power around her paled in comparison to her might as a Seer. None of that matter too much, because as beautiful and useful as she might be, she was the Enemy. “I was barely hiding and it took you this long. You must’ve dropped several Degrees in your old age.”

“The rules are clear: you don’t come over here. If we are to ever meet, I summon you into a sanctified space, a protected place--”

“You really think of me as so low as to allow a common Brownie like you to conjure me? No thanks,” the Enemy smiled, her teeth like perfectly carved-and-polished pearls. “You really think your shamans are that good? That they could even hurt me if they found me?”

“It isn’t my shamans hurting you that I’m afraid of.”

“I’d never… so openly.” Her arrogant smirk made bile raise in the back of Quinto’s throat.

“And you aren’t the only threat to them from over there. Let’s get to business.”

Quinto wanted to get this over with quickly. By betraying protocol, this girl might have alerted others to her presence. If an accident didn’t happen soon, it would be a miracle. While she inherited all of her father’s talents for predestination, as a woman, she had none of his political nuisance.

“Where are the others?”

“Around.” The Enemy smiled.

“This isn’t how this is done between us. In the old days—“

“That’s the thing about the old days, though. They’re gone: dustier than you soon will be. If I’m going to inherit my father’s place, I think I’ll inherit it my way, rather than whatever joke of a premise allowed you all to toil as freely as you think you’re allowed to be.”

Quinto shook his head. “If you were half the man your father was, you’d know this is a formality. To keep—“

“To keep your people safe. Not mine. I mean, honestly, it’s not like in a war you think the Browns could ever stand a chance. The Great Fires are a testament to that. So shut up, kiss my ring, and we can start this exchange: you’ve submitted the names of those you wish protected from the Law and our investigations?”

“Yes. Last night. Were there any adjustments you wished to argue?” Quinto steeled himself mentally and spiritually. This was the kind of battle he’d done for years. An immortal give and take that --

“No need,” the Enemy shrugged. “Every name you offered will be protected.”

Quint trembled in his spot for a moment. This wasn’t how it supposedly done. For years, this entire process took hours of haggling: a constant give and take. If he’d known she’d approve everyone so easily, he would’ve—

“Wait. Why?”

“Look at you, thinking you have the power to ask why. Call it the spirit of the holidays, if you want. And, I can see those fear lines come in: we do want something big, but before we tell you, remember how much you need a win today: your numbers are next to nothing.”

She was right. The magic of the Browns had failed before. Years prior, when the armies of street shamans protecting their blocks numbered thousands, there were now only a few dozen in their collective.

In fact, the truth many of them were felled by one enemy: the Wall itself. That monument to the Saviors and their “Elegant” White magic, and a prison, full of shamans too old to defend themselves or too young to know how to properly defend themselves, the injured and the sickly, mothers whose young children were threatened. They were all imprisoned there, and if Quinto ever wished to see them again…

“Give me the name.” Quinto said, his mouth losing moisture by the second.

She strutted across the scene as crates and a large recliner ejected themselves out of her path with the list in hand. Quinto took it in his frail, spotted hands.

“Is this right?”

“I’ve foreseen it myself. His talent is…problematic. Rest assured that if my father had my levels of clairvoyant accuracy seventeen years ago, that child would’ve been drowned in his cradle. We want him vulnerable if not gone.”

Quinto frowned.

“What?”

“You can’t take him. I’m willing to pay triple this year to see to that…”

“This isn’t negotiable. The very idea is laughable. You know what I’ll do to you.”

Quinto narrowed his eyes and raised his Presence. The bricks all over them trembled, the air bent with intense heat. The fences around them wilted like a dying rose and his cane wound about until the wood became leathery red scales and the pommel a writhing cobra head. It hissed in her face, flinging venom across her cheeks. She didn’t even flinch.

“You don’t threaten me, girl!”

“Your ego is wounded, Quinto. Calm yourself.” The Enemy smiled and stroked the serpent on its head. It snapped at her, wrapping barbed fangs around her fingers.

The Cobra’s teeth were a cloud of wood dust and splinters. They thing retreated back in fright. The Enemy giggled and pressed, slowly spreading her malice until the cane was a three inch length of wood in Quinto’s hand.

“Quinto, I don’t want to fight here: I have no time for anything that isn’t a challenge. This request is a generosity, and completely within your realm to let happen, but I’ll make it easier for you. All I’m asking of you right now is to remove your veil of protection from around him, leave him to me and my wolves and by the end of tomorrow,” the Enemy smiled, her lipstick the color of the blood frozen in Quinto’s veins. “Every single one of your soldiers still within your protection will find their lives much less difficult.

***

• Update #3 - Publisher! Dec. 29, 2018

  Hello Subscribers,

  To my satisfaction, we've been able to receive a Publisher's interest in Ebony Antebellum and that fortunately means we're on track! This is …

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• Update #2 - First Chapter Excerpt Dec. 29, 2018

  Hello Readers,

  The beautiful first chapter of Ebony Antebellum has been posted to Medium. For your chance to read beyond just the prologue, head …

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• Update #1 - First Chapter Drop! Dec. 29, 2018

  Hey All,

  So happy to announce I've received two pre-orders today and that leaves 48 more pre-orders before I meet my first milestone. I know with your …

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