Wings of Ebony

Autorentext

J. Elle is the author of the instant New York Times and Indie bestseller Wings of Ebony, a YA novel about a Black teen who must lean into her ancestor’s magic to protect her inner-city community from drugs, violence, and crime. Ms. magazine calls it “the debut fantasy we need right now.” She also wrote its sequel, Ashes of Gold. Elle is a former educator and first-generation college student with a bachelor’s degree in journalism and a master’s in educational administration and human development. When she’s not writing, Elle can be found mentoring aspiring writers, binging reality TV, loving on her three littles, or cooking up something true to her Louisiana roots.

Klappentext

Half-god, half-human Rue is snatched from her Houston home to Ghazan, a secret land of gods, by her estranged father, then must face an evil determined to steal everything from her.

Zusammenfassung
Instant New York Times bestseller!
“A remarkable, breathtaking, earthshaking, poetic thrillride.” —Daniel José Older, New York Times bestselling author of Shadowshaper

​In this riveting, keenly emotional debut fantasy, a Black teen from Houston has her world upended when she learns about her godly ancestry and must save both the human and god worlds. Perfect for fans of Angie Thomas, Tomi Adeyemi, and The Hunger Games!

“Make a way out of no way” is just the way of life for Rue. But when her mother is shot dead on her doorstep, life for her and her younger sister changes forever. Rue’s taken from her neighborhood by the father she never knew, forced to leave her little sister behind, and whisked away to Ghizon—a hidden island of magic wielders.

Rue is the only half-god, half-human there, where leaders protect their magical powers at all costs and thrive on human suffering. Miserable and desperate to see her sister on the anniversary of their mother’s death, Rue breaks Ghizon’s sacred Do Not Leave Law and returns to Houston, only to discover that Black kids are being forced into crime and violence. And her sister, Tasha, is in danger of falling sway to the very forces that claimed their mother’s life.

Worse still, evidence mounts that the evil plaguing East Row is the same one that lurks in Ghizon—an evil that will stop at nothing until it has stolen everything from her and everyone she loves. Rue must embrace her true identity and wield the full magnitude of her ancestors’ power to save her neighborhood before the gods burn it to the ground.

Leseprobe
Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1

BULLETS DON’T HAVE NAMES.

But if they did, chances are one would have mine. Or someone brown-skinned like me.

Metal slats chill my legs and I shimmy sideways, craning for a better view from the bus stop, careful to keep the onyx stones fused to my wrists covered.

Up all night, I watched the sun rise like a traitor to the chill set in my bones. A yawn scratches at my throat, but my lungs refuse to breathe. Any moment Tasha will step out, her tie-dye drawstring knapsack on her back and her purple fuzzy phone clutched in her fingers. She always oversleeps. But she won’t be late. Not today. She—like me—probably couldn’t sleep, knowing we had to face today. Had to relive what this day means.

One year ago today, Moms died, shot dead on her stoop. No explanation. No investigation. Just blood, pain, and lots of tears. So many tears.

Since then, it’s been Tasha, and me. Separated, living in different places.

But not today. Today my little sister won’t be alone.

My eyes sting. I blink the tears away as a bass-filled trunk rattles by, blasting some rapper whose name I can’t remember. I’m home. It’s good to be back… even if I can’t stay. I sigh, but my shoulders cinch instead of sink.

Construction crews spill out of work trucks across the street, bringing the block to life. Chiming bells snatch my attention. Kiki’s wig shop? They opened early as hell today. Two doors down, dudes in glistening chains, hoodies, and baggy jeans chop it up, slapping hands and giving one-arm hugs. My niggas. The whole damn block is family. Neighbors are aunties. I got more cousins than makes any sort of mathematical sense. You can’t work that shit out logically with a family tree chart. The block is fam. Just the way it is. The way it has to be.

But even families keep secrets. I tug at my sleeves.

I lean back, slipping my hood on, face cloaked in shadow. I’m not trying to get tripped up with questions about where I’ve been. Some shit’s just too wild to even try to explain. And where I’ve been this past year—the place I’m forced to now call home—is wild AF.

A jumble of voices pulls me around, twisting in my seat. I keep my head down, hoodie up, until their footsteps are faint patters. I exhale, my knee still bouncing.

Six a.m.

My sis takes the bus to school because it’s too far to walk, and everybody at the house is off to work well before the streetlamps stop buzzing. Any moment now, she’ll be out the door and find the gift I left on her step. A gift I wish I could hand to her if the risk wasn’t so great.

As far as folks know, I disappeared a year ago. They probably think I’m locked up in juvie somewhere. It’s not true. I’ve been in juvie twice. Two times too many. Being snatched from home before Moms was in the ground makes my insides ache more than how it felt sleeping on a cold cell floor.

And the bastard who took me left Tasha.

Such bullshit. “She isn’t full blood,” he’d said. We got the same mom, different dads. I tried to tell him the whole block is fam—that I can’t be pulled from home and just forget where I’m from. It don’t work like that. But he wouldn’t get that because he’s not from ’round here. Home won’t ever be “behind me.”

He wasn’t hearing it. “Once you leave this place you can’t ever come back… ever,” he’d said without explaining. And for 364 days I didn’t.

But Tasha won’t be alone today. Today, she has me. Even if it means breaking their dumb-ass rules to leave her this gift.

She will know I remember.

I tuck my curls inside my hoodie and swipe the screen on my wristwatch. It warms, glowing a dull blue. It’s barely breakfast time and this Houston heat is straight up disrespectful.

Six-oh-five. Come on, sis.

I promised Bri, just about the only friend I have at my new “home,” I’d get in, leave Tasha’s gift, see her off to school, and get out of here. She protested, but she made me this dope watch to get here and back—without magic—undetected. She’d just finished it days ago and was nervous it might not work. A pulsing dot shifts on its screen, zeroing in on Tasha’s location when I tap. Works just fine. Bri is smart as hell, I swear.

As long as I lay low, no one will even know I’m gone.

A frayed purple necklace dangles from my neck. I roll the thread back and forth between my fingers. The last time I saw Tasha, she wore a matching one. The sparrow charm that used to hang from it broke off months ago. Tasha’s got a thing for birds. Something about flying mesmerizes her. She was always back and forth between Moms’s and her dad’s grandma’s house. She’s like a bird, even if she can’t fly. Little bones, light, so small. Always flitting between fam’s houses. A bird with many nests. Wh…