A.Z. Louise is a lover of birds, a writer of words, and a believer in the healing powers of peppermint tea. After leaving their job as a civil engineer, they took up poetry and fiction instead, but they still harbor a secret love of math. Links to their work can be found at azlouise.com. Their novella Off-Time Jive was part of Neon Hemlock's 2023 Novella Series.
Set during an alternate Harlem Renaissance where new forms of magic created by Black joy strain against the white establishment, Bessie Knox is an investigator of magical mysteries. When her old colleagues at the Bronx Academy of Magic start turning up dead, Knox's weakened abilities are pushed to their limits, but if she can't solve the case, she'll be next.
A clever mystery set in a brilliantly imagined magical version of the Harlem Renaissance, where Black joy creates new forms of magic that threaten the white establishment. – Melissa Scott and Catherine Lundoff
"Magic? Detectives? Impossible romantic longing? A.Z. Louise writes a joy of a book, transporting you to an alternate Harlem Renaissance, where the unlikely and the extraordinary rub shoulders. A great mystery, but an even greater exploration of memorable characters sure to capture your heart."
– E. Catherine Tobler, author of The Necessity of Stars"A beautiful story of found family in the Harlem Renaissance, A.Z. Louise understands that magic is both mysterious and something worth fighting for. Off-Time Jive's nuanced characters and twisting plot have as many layers as New York itself."
– Jordan Kurella, Nebula Finalist for I Never Liked You Anyway"A sweaty, fervent detective story with ample heart and a honeyed tongue. Unapologetically Black and unafraid to tug at the biases of both academia and policing in 1920s New York, Off-Time Jive is both an emphatic love letter to Black Harlem and a fresh take on the jaded noir hero."
– Bendi Barrett, author of Empire of the FeastIt was hot enough in Harlem to sweat in seersucker. Hot enough to sweat in nothing, probably. Using up about as much magic as I could muster, I ducked into the cool of DeeDee's Donuts, slipping sideways into a space that wasn't really there, invisible to the untrained eye. A dull pain blossomed next to my right eye by the time I made it to the other side.
The scents of yeast, glaze, and fresh coffee hung in the magically-chilled air, amidst a few soft conversations being held at the mismatched tables. The blue-and-white counter had been polished to a shine, and the menu was written on a chalkboard hanging behind DeeDee's daughter Pearl, who stood at the big old register. A little shy of her fifteenth birthday, Pearl leaned against the counter and gave off an air of not wanting to be there at all.
"Afternoon, Miss Knox," Pearl said. "It's been a while since I saw you. Get you the usual?"
"Yes, please."
I rubbed my temple as I fingered the card in my pocket, left with my landlady in an answer to my newspaper advertisement for an assistant. There was only one person sitting alone: a white man in a beige linen suit wearing fussy little wire-rimmed glasses. I hadn't expected anybody to answer my ad, let alone an ofay, but he had to be the Calvin Bentley I was meeting.
Pearl poured a cup of coffee and put a plain donut on a plate, sliding them across the counter. I passed her fifty cents. Bentley's eyes were on me the whole time, but when I turned to sit at his table, he was focused on the morning paper. Trying to look casual, though he couldn't possibly look like anything except a nervous kid.
"Miss Knox," he said primly, folding his paper.
I wondered if I was late. "Afternoon, Mr. Bentley." I took my boater off, setting it on the table. I kept my hair shorter than his slicked-back auburn locks, too short to even bother with lye. "Let's get this out of the way before I ask you any questions. I ain't got a license to investigate; had some trouble with the law a couple of years ago."
"What kind of trouble?" Bentley's hazel eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
"Lab accident at the Bronx Academy of Magic. It ain't nothin'. The Greens looked into it, and nobody really cares, because I'm good at what I do. Sometimes I get cases from a detective over at the station when he needs help. He just doesn't pay me as much as he might have. Which usually only means I'm busy because I'm cheap. Kopasetic?"
"What kind of accident?" he asked.
I ran my tongue over my teeth. He hadn't answered.
"Old Magic," I said. "Mostly."
Bentley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Not many Negroes fool with Old Magic any more. Nobody except whites, really."
"I sure don't. But I was tasked with reeling in a white colleague's work and couldn't. I don't do magical work with anybody involved in Old Magic any more, if I can help it."
"That's why I answered your ad, Miss Knox," he said. His eyes shifted. "I quit my Old Magic doctorate program to study New Magic, but Bronx Academy doesn't have anybody to teach it to me."
"Thought you were white, to be honest." Should've known he wasn't when his first thought wasn't the Greens. Whites didn't have any worries about what kind of magic they were using, but Greens would snatch up a white almost as quick as anyone else. They'd gotten the nickname back in the 1800s, when green dye had been deadly, and it's stuck till now. I could probably count the number of times I'd heard anyone call them the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on one hand.
"My mama's half and my dad's white," Bentley said. "I can sense magic better than most, Old and New, so I figured I could help, maybe see some New Magic firsthand, instead of trying to figure it out on my own."
"Making magic's been a struggle for me, lately," I said, not wanting to take him on under false pretenses. "Hard to find the joy."
Bentley studied my face. I couldn't blame a man for wanting to get out of the world of Old Magic. Old Magic whites were even more hincty than the regular ones, more likely to turn on you when things went bad. And with Old Magic, things always seemed to go bad.
"It's like that sometimes," Bentley said.
"Sometimes," I agreed. It felt more like all the time, now that my ability to sense magic had gotten less and less reliable. It had never been strong to begin with, but its deterioration was a real bring down. Bentley's blandly handsome face said as much by the way his lips twitched down just a little. I kept warning this kid that I was bad news, but he didn't want to listen. "A doctorate, though; you must be good. I don't have the kind of money to pay you what you're worth. I don't pay me what I'm worth."
"I don't expect Academy money. What can you do?"
"Thirty percent, considering that it's my contacts getting us work. Thirty-five, maybe, if you're good help. Solid?"
"Solid."
"Good. We got work to do," I said.
"Come again?"
"We got a job in about an hour, if you don't turn it down on principle."
"Doing what? You must've taken it before I even...if you can't sense anything…" Bentley trailed off, uncomfortable. People didn't like talking about busted magic. "Why would I turn it down?"
"Got a call from an old friend," I said. Bentley scanned my face through his wire glasses. "Seems one Doctor Helen Mauro is missing."
"Mauro? I know her."
"Me too, sad to say," I said.
Bentley snorted.
"That old faust is the most hated person on that campus." That made Bentley laugh out loud, because it was the hard truth. "Another prof told me he ain't seen her in about a week."
"She's white, why not call the cops?"
"Beats me. We'll take it slow in case Clarence is laying an off-time jive. Come on."
