Excerpt from Dominion by Addie E. Citchens, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Lawd, I got to know: Whoooooooooo is? Who is worthy?" called Rev. "To open up the book of the seven seals?" crooned the quartet in response.

Manny's bass grooved, and Ivy slammed the drums like a maniac. I don't know how many times I had to tell my boys that this was a house of the Lord and not the VFW Lounge. Manny was throwing eyes at somebody; I craned my head to try to follow the direction of his gaze. Church was packed, but in the general vicinity was Kathareen; Maggie's girl, Diamond (it's a shame that somebody saw fit to give that child a stripper's name); and Mary Kay's oldest daughter, the one with the liver lips. I had heard so many things about what that child did with them lips. Merciful father, say it aint that one. Manny was special, my baby—I couldn't bear to have him turned out by some worldly hussy. I twisted a little further for a better look. Did I need to go over there to check the situation out? Rev would be damn inquisitive if I moved, and also too if I got up and walked over there, I would no longer be the best-looking woman in the room. My hip throbbed as if to underscore that point.

I flipped my hand to motion for Bertha Benny. Her brother had the Gulf War syndrome, and he sold his various pain and nerve pills to get crack; she usually had something on hand. She was ushering that Sunday, so by the first offering, she had slipped me a few nerve pills in a yellow handkerchief. I dipped my head low into my gilded Bible and dropped one under my tongue, where it quickly dissolved to dust and bitter. You got the fulfillment quicker thataway. I started to pray. If God didn't protect my baby from ruthless women, who could?

DIAMOND

Where normally I had been a back-row believer, since I began loving Wonderboy, I became a third-row Christian. I had to be able to lay eyes on him quickly if I needed to, felt the rising panic in my chest when I couldn't. Now, he was playing bass, which I think was his favorite, but not his only, or even his best, instrument. He picked up the piano by ear at Seven Seals, before his mama had the chance to teach him at home. Next came the drums and the diddley bow with his uncle, and then there was the guitar that he made wail in the middle of revival, so deep was he in the Spirit. In the third grade, they bussed him to Booker T. Washington Junior High, where he learned the trumpet. For a moment, he eyed the saxophone, but his daddy said a man never oughta put nothing in his mouth but food. He focused his talents on the piano and the guitar; he mainly played Velvet (one of two given to his daddy by Ike Turner) or Sarah, a little acoustic that had belonged to his grandaddy. Although all of the Winfrey boys could sing like angels, if anyone could truly sing his ass off, Wonder wouldn't have nothing to sit on. During one of the Black History Month assemblies at school, the drama teacher played a recording of some Zulu singers, who sounded less like they were singing than vibrating together. Several kids were inexplicably crying. Wonder's voice was like that. It made people feel like crying in a good way.

The summer before sixth grade, he transformed. His voice squeaked, hair shot out like quills around his jaw, and tight, animal thighs began to stress his school khakis out. His face angled up, and he had brooding eyes—even when he was smiling. It was then that they discovered he could run, too, like, really run, and so his daddy had him training with his brothers and the other high school boys in the mornings and afternoons. Each Thursday, the driftwoody bleachers were full of people watching him look like a man among kids. And even when he was playing both sides of the ball on Friday nights at Dominion High School, and the other boys had more or less caught up to him, he was the only one that got to wear red cleats. He darted through the line like a beast and a dancer. People bought fewer concessions when he was on the field because they didn't want to miss what he would do next.

Excerpted from Dominion by Addie E. Citchens. Copyright © 2025 by Addie E. Citchens. Excerpted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.