The stench of last night's sacrifice had become as familiar as my own ghostly skin. For three months, my "promotion" meant learning the particular way blood crusts on bone, and how the slick, blue-ish intestines of the offered human clung to the carvings. I scrubbed, my knuckles barking with a pain that was now a constant companion. Back in Lagos, desperate souls still offered such sacrifices, praying for money, health, a chance to escape the slums. A bitter laugh caught in my throat. The Orishas only granted those prayers to their own descendants—the politicians. It turned out power was the same everywhere, even among gods: a hungry thing that fed on the desperate.
And the guard’s eyes were part of that hunger. They had never let me wander far; I could always feel their gaze like a cold spot against my skin as I worked . The other lowborns felt it too, giving me a wide berth. Trouble must be avoided. So I kept my head down, scrubbing until the bone altar gleamed, a silent lesson in survival I’d mastered over these long months.
Then, a shift . The guard looked away, barking at another spirit to haul away the waste. In that sliver of a second, I felt it—a sharp tug on my ragged sleeve. I turned to see a lowborn with a melted face, but his eyes were sharp, clear. Human-clear.
"Your form is flickering, mortal," he whispered, his voice surprisingly smooth beneath the grotesque mask.. He jerked his head towards a corridor hidden behind a waterfall. “Follow. Unless you want the Mmuo to see you unravel.”
My heart jumped to my throat. This was a trap. It had to be. But the amulet on my chest gave a painful throb, and a fresh wave of exhaustion made my knees weak. I was running out of time and choices. I followed him.
He led me to a cramped space between the walls, where the sound of rushing water was loud enough to cover our voices. Another spirit was already there, leaning against the wall. This one didn’t look lowborn. His form was solid, powerful, but there was a raggedness to it, like a torn flag. He had the eyes of someone who had seen too much.
“Who be this, Uzo?” the ragged spirit asked, his voice a low rumble.
The melted-face spirit—Uzo—nodded at me. “The new one the Water Queen dragged in. Her face no dey fully melt like us. She dey use juju.”
The ragged spirit looked me up and down. “A human. Stupid. Or desperate.” He picked at a loose thread on his ragged robes, his eyes cold.
“Both,” I admitted, my voice trembling. I saw no point in lying. “I’m looking for my mother. Her soul is in the vault.”
The ragged spirit laughed, a harsh, dry sound. “The vault. Everyone wants something from the vault. I am Chijioke. I was a debtor, like your mother. Now I am… nothing. A ghost who fights back.” He looked at me not with pity, but like a faulty market deal—weighing my value.
Just then, a boy slipped into the space. He couldn’t have been older than me. He wasn’t a spirit at all, just a human boy carrying a basket of glowing corals. He looked straight at me, his gaze piercing.
“She smells like Lagos,” the boy said to Chijioke. “Of dust and sweat. Not this spirit water.”
“This is Tunde,” Uzo said. “He runs supplies from our side. His family dey for Ajah. He sees things.”
Tunde’s gaze was urgent. “I was listening near the Orisha's throne. She was talking to the Orisha of Earth. They are worried. The prayers from Lagos are changing. People are refusing to pay their debts. They are burning the loan shrines. The balance is shaking.”
Chijioke’s eyes lit up with a fierce light. An empty smile played on his lips, his mind already racing ahead of us. “You see? They get their strength from our fear. From our debts. If the people in Lagos stop paying, stop fearing, the Orishas grow weak. This is our chance.”
“Our chance for what?” I asked.
“To fight,” Chijioke said. “You want your mother? I want to break the system. Uzo wants to be free of this melted face. Tunde wants his family safe. We help each other.”
A flicker of hope, sharp and painful, ignited in my chest. An ally. More than one. But it died just as quick when Chijioke leaned close, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“We work together. But remember, human. I know your secret. You fail us, I expose you. Simple.”
The amulet chose that moment to burn cold against my skin. A sudden, sharp pain shot through my jaw, making me gasp. I felt another piece of my life chip away. I nodded, my throat tight.
The deal was sealed. I had my way in, but looking into Chijioke's hard eyes, I understood the price. I was no longer just hiding from the Orishas; I was now a pawn for a man who saw my life as a disposable asset.