Tunde didn't wait for her answer. He scrambled out of the shower, grabbing a towel, his eyes darting around the bathroom as if the walls were closing in. "I'm going to the pharmacy," he muttered, his voice shaking. "This is malaria. Or typhoid. I'm seeing things, Amina. I'm hearing things."
"Tunde, don't go out there!" Amina shouted, stepping out of the tub, her wet clothes heavy and dripping.
But he was already in the parlor, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
Amina stood in the middle of the bathroom, the cold tiles biting into her feet. The jasmine petal in her hand had shriveled into a black, hard coal. Suddenly, the lightbulb in the bathroom flickered. Not the usual "NEPA" flicker it was a slow, rhythmic dimming, like a lung struggling for air.
Crrrk.
The sound came from the parlor. It was the sound of a window pane under pressure.
"Tunde?" she called out.
No answer. Only the sound of the wind howling through the louvers, which was impossible because they had closed everything before the rain started.
Amina pushed the door open. The parlor was freezing. Mist thick, silver-grey mist was pouring in through the gaps in the front door. Tunde was standing by the center table, frozen. He was looking at the front door.
The metal security door was bulging inward, as if a giant was leaning against it. The heavy iron was groaning, the bolts screaming as they were forced out of the concrete wall.
"Amina, get back," Tunde whispered. The fear in his voice had finally replaced the annoyance. He picked up a heavy glass ashtray his only weapon.
BOOM.
The door didn't fly open; it disintegrated. The metal didn't break; it turned into grey ash that dissolved before it hit the floor.
Standing in the doorway was the man in the charcoal coat. But he wasn't alone. Behind him stood two figures draped in rags that looked like they were woven from shadows. They didn't have faces just voids where light went to die.
The silver-eyed man stepped into the room. His boots didn't make a sound on the linoleum floor.
"The Alchemist is awake," the man said, his gaze ignoring Tunde and fixing on Amina. "A clumsy awakening. You let the scent leak out like a broken sewer."
"Leave him alone," Amina said, stepping in front of Tunde. Her heart was a drum in her ears, but her hands were starting to glow with a faint, blue light. "He doesn't know anything!"
The man smiled, and his teeth were like shards of broken mirror. "He is the vessel. He doesn't need to know. He only needs to bleed."
One of the shadow figures moved a blur of blackness that crossed the room in a heartbeat. It raised a hand that looked like a jagged blade of obsidian.
"Tunde, duck!" Amina screamed.
Tunde threw the ashtray, but it passed right through the shadow. He fell back against the sofa as the blade-hand swung down.
Amina didn't think. She didn't calculate. She simply thrust her palms forward.
A wave of blue flame cold, blinding, and smelling of ancient jasmine erupted from her chest. It slammed into the shadow figure, throwing it back through the doorway and into the rainy night.
The silver-eyed man didn't flinch. He just raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. You've sacrificed ten years of your Lagos life-force for that one blast. How many years do you have left, Amina? Two? Three?"
He took another step forward. The floorboards beneath his feet began to frost over.
"Amina..." Tunde's voice was small. He was looking at her hands, which were still smoking with blue embers. "What are you?"
"I'm the woman who's going to keep you alive," she snapped, not looking back. "Run to the kitchen! Get the salt!"
The silver-eyed man laughed. "Salt? You think this is a village ghost story? I am a Seeker of the Void. Your kitchen spices won't"
He stopped. His head tilted to the side.
From the street outside, a new sound emerged. It wasn't the rain. It was the sound of a heavy engine a roar that sounded like a beast made of iron. A pair of headlights, bright as miniature suns, cut through the silver mist.
A black SUV with tinted windows screeched to a halt in front of their broken door. The license plate was blank, glowing with a dull orange light.
"The Bureau," the silver-eyed man hissed, his calm expression finally breaking. "They tracked the surge."
He looked at Amina, a promise of death in his eyes. "This isn't over. The bond is a beacon. We will follow the light."
In a puff of grey ash, he and the remaining shadow disappeared just as the SUV doors flew open.