She wasn’t ready to read her grandmother’s complex Nsibidi page, but she had gotten a lot better at reading Nsibidi. Each day, she got better and better at “reading” Sugar Cream’s book—particularly when she was rested, had eaten a good meal, and managed to go most of the day without talking to anyone. One did not simply read Nsibidi as one read a book or even music. Nsibidi was a magical writing script. It had to call you, and it only called those who could and wanted to change their shape.

Shape-shifters who saw Nsibidi would see the symbols moving and even hear it whispering. Sunny had experienced this the moment she picked up the book of Nsibidi at random in Bola’s Store for Books last year. And though the book had cost some heavy chittim (Leopard currency that could only be earned by acquiring knowledge), it was worth it. It was her first lesson in mastering a Leopard art. Learning to read Nsibidi was initially intuitive, forcing the reader to reach deep within and understand that the symbols were alive and that they were shape-shifters, too. And when Nsibidi symbols changed shape for you, the whole world shifted.

The first time it happened had been two weeks ago, after Sunny thought she’d already learned to read Nsibidi. She’d managed to get through the first page, which was basically an introduction to the book, or at least, this was what she thought. Sugar Cream wrote that her book would never be a bestseller. So few could “hear” Nsibidi and even fewer wanted to listen. She said that Nsibidi was more a language of the spirits than one for the use of humankind. Then she began explaining how the book was split into sections. The book was quite thin, so the sections were very short. This was as far as Sunny had gotten.

For some reason, no matter how much she turned the wiggling symbols over in her head, unfocused her eyes, and strained to “hear” what the whispers were saying, she could get no further in her reading. She’d hit a wall.

Sweating and frustrated, she’d set the book down on her bed, the thick pages open. She leaned against the pillows on her bed.

“Come on,” she tiredly whispered.

Understanding that first page had been deeply satisfying. With all that she’d experienced in the past year, here was something she felt made sense. Every part of her being loved and wanted to learn Nsibidi. And it seemed as if the understanding came to her because of this. It was exhausting, mentally taxing and frustrating, but she loved it. So it came. Then she hit this wall.

Now, as she looked at the thin book with thick cream-colored pages and maroon, almost jellylike symbols that wiggled and sometimes rotated, shrank, and stretched, she relaxed. She sighed.

“It will come,” she whispered. She relaxed more. Her heartbeat slowed. She had other homework to do. Nsibidi was her friend, not a lion to tame or anything else to beat into submission. She was about to go get something to eat. Her stomach felt empty, though she had just eaten dinner.