Time lost all meaning in the space between worlds, measured only by the flicker of the ledger shard and the amulet’s cold feast upon my life. By what might have been the third day, the cost finally crested over me, a wave of exhaustion that threatened to pull me under.
My hair had bleached to a dull grey, and when I tried to stand, my knees buckled. Tunde slid my arm over his shoulder, his grip firm. "Easy now," he said, his voice soft. "My sister for Ajah, her son dey sick. The medicine... na why I dey smuggle." He looked away. "If we no do this, wetin go remain for my family?"I just nodded. My own pain was a roaring fire, but his confession was a quiet ember of shared fear. We were all fighting for someone.
Uzo had used the time well. He came back with spirit uniforms—robes that shimmered like oil on water. "It will not fool them for long," he warned, handing me one. The fabric felt cold and slimy. As he moved, I saw it—the melting on his face seemed less severe, the edges a little sharper. Like a curse weakening as our hope flickered.
Tunde had gone back to the physical world. He returned with a bag from Oyingbo market. Practical things. Kerosene. Matches. A small, sharp knife. "They hate our world's mess," he said, holding up the knife. "The smells, the fire. It confuses their clean spirit senses."
This was the plan: cause chaos, find the vault's heart, break it open. A stupid plan. The only one we had.
The uniforms itched. My own form felt thin beneath it. The amulet was a constant, cold drain, a parasite sucking me dry. Tunde’s bag smelled of kerosene and desperate hope.
The path to the main hall was a gauntlet. Mmuo guards were everywhere now, their hollow eyes scanning everything. The Orishas knew someone was coming. We moved like ghosts, Uzo leading us through service tunnels so tight I felt the spirit realm trying to squeeze me out. Every sound made my heart stop. This was no longer a stealth mission. It was a suicide run.
We reached a grate that looked into the main hall. The air was thick with a spiritual hum, a sound that made my teeth ache. But underneath it, faint and far away, I could hear the familar honk of Lagos traffic. The two sounds fought in my ears—the hum of stolen power and the honest noise of a city just trying to survive.
We saw them then. All four of them. The Orishas.
The Orisha of Earth sat on a throne of roots and stone. The Orisha of Sky floated above, a being of storm clouds. The Orisha of Wind was a shimmering haze. And our Orisha, the one of Water, flowed beside her throne, more beautiful and terrible than I remembered.
And in the center of them all was a spinning ball of light. The vault. Inside, I could see faces swirling, mouths open in silent screams. I scanned the torrent of souls, my heart in my throat. And then I saw her. For a single, heart-stopping second, I saw my mother’s face, her eyes closed, trapped in the current.
Tunde didn't hesitate. He uncorked the kerosene bottle. The harsh, real smell cut through the spirit-stink. He lit a match.
The flame was a dirty, orange thing. It looked wrong and alive in the cold, clean hall. He held it ready, his eyes on me, waiting for the signal to throw.
We were in position. The gods were in front of us. The vault was spinning. My mother was inside. There was no turning back