BLACK ISIS: WITCH ACADEMY BY ROZ CARTER Kiya Covington is your typical teenager — she deals with family stuff, friend drama, her mom, who is… a challenge. Oh, and she’s a witch. Actually, she comes from a long line of Black witches, but that’s just ordinary life for Kiya. When tragedy strikes at home, instead of being comforted by her family, she’s sent off to the exclusive Black Isis Witch Academy. From the little information she’s given, it’s the academy where witches from all the best Black witch families go for finishing. Black Isis sits protected by ancient magic, undisturbed in The Great Dismal Swamp in North Carolina. What happens during her first year at Black Isis is beyond anything Kiya could have imagined. She and the other baby witches will forge bonds and break them as they learn what it means to study their craft under the watchful eye of Headmistress Pendergrass, at Black Isis Witch Academy. AVAILABLE ON AMAZON ADD ON GOODREADS
EXCERPT The rhythm flowed, the rattles shook, the spectators clapped their hands and soon we were all feeling the rhythm of the music in our bones and in our souls. The sound was thunderous, climbing to the top of the two-story ceiling, and I moved my hips and shook my shoulders and clapped my hands. My eyes were half-closed and I couldn't make out anyone's individual face and I didn't think or care that they could see me. I'd never wanted to dance like this before. I had danced alone in my room but to regular music. Never something that felt bigger than music like this. This felt like me. That I didn't need to know the right steps and movements because there were no wrong moves. The music changed, the drum beat got faster and one by one we, the spectators, stepped back and watched. They made a circuit around the room, those without the drumsticks, waving white handkerchiefs to one side, then the other. I felt like there were words being spoken just below the surface. And then the drums and feet fell silent. The dance was complete. I took a moment to look around the room. Everyone looked as relaxed as I felt. I felt like melted butter, so flowy, that if I slid into a chair, I might just slide bonelessly to the floor. Even though I hadn't broken a sweat, I felt spent, like after a hard run. The drummers and dancers filed out of the hall. Headmistress Pendergrass took her place in the center of the room once more.
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ABOUT ROZ CARTER Roz Carter lives in one of the most haunted neighborhoods in Philadelphia. She holds a degree in English with a Creative Writing concentration from the University of Pennsylvania. While she enjoys writing in many genres, she often returns to the sinister.
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