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Chapter 1: The First Spark
The silence of the temple compound was a heavy, suffocating blanket. For me, seventeen-year-old Omotara, it was the worst kind of Friday night. The air itself felt thick with expectation, pressing down on my shoulders like the ceremonial gele I was supposed to be wearing.
I was supposed to be in the sacred antechamber, preparing the chalk and purifying the bronze bowls for the full moon ritual. Instead, I was crouched by my bedroom window, my breath held tight, one eye on the moonlit courtyard below. The dún-dún drum had begun its slow, hypnotic call, a sound that usually resonated in my bones. Tonight, it felt like a chain.
My phone, tucked under my thigh, vibrated.
Kemi: If you activate the Igi Orisa wards, I swear I'm leaving you here. My cousin is already side-eyeing me.
Me: Five minutes. Tell your cousin to park three streets down. Mama's chanting is unusually loud tonight.
Kemi: Unusually loud? She's probably calling on the entire pantheon to find you. Hurry up! The party is LIT. Deylan is even here.
My heart gave a traitorous little jump at Deylan's name. The boy from my Literature class who talked about post-colonial theory like it was a sport. He didn't know I existed. How could he, when my world was chalk circles and river deities?
My mother, Iya Nla, wasn't just a priestess; she was the regional High Priestess. Her voice could command spirits. Her gaze could still a room. Tonight, I was supposed to be the Arugba, the sacred vessel. But I didn't feel sacred. I felt like a fraud in white lace, a battery for a power I didn't understand and didn't want. I hated the crushing weight of a destiny I never asked for.
Tonight, I told myself, I'm just Omotara. Not Arugba. Just a girl.
I slipped out the window, my movements silent from years of practice, and dropped onto the moist grass. The compound was eerily still, the high walls casting deep shadows that seemed to watch me. As I scaled the outer wall, I focused solely on the distant thrum of bass from the city. I locked my mind onto the promise of Kemi's laughter, of music that demanded movement, not meditation. I pushed back against the faint, intrusive spiritual energy that always hummed around the compound, a sensation like cobwebs against my skin.
When my feet hit the cracked pavement of the side street, it felt like freedom. I sprinted three blocks, my sandals slapping the ground, until I saw Kemi's cousin's battered Toyota. Kemi flung the back door open before I could reach for the handle.
"Get in, runaway priestess!" she whisper-yelled, her eyes wide with adrenaline. She yanked me inside. The car smelled of air freshener and her vanilla perfume.
"Drive, cousin, before her mother turns us all into frogs!" Kemi commanded. Her cousin shook his head with a sigh but pulled away.
Kemi immediately turned, her beaded braids clicking. "Let me look at you." She scrutinized my jeans and simple top. "Okay, not temple-wear. Good start. But we are fixing your energy. You look like you're about to be struck by lightning." She rummaged in her purse and produced a small tube of shimmery gloss. "Here. War paint."
I applied it, my hands trembling slightly. "She's going to know, Kemi. The moment I walk back in, she'll just know."
"So? You'll be grounded for a century. Big deal. You'll have memories of an actual life." Kemi's expression softened. "Look, Tara. You owe yourself one normal night. One night where you're not responsible for anyone's spiritual wellbeing. Just your own."
"What if I don't know how?" I whispered, the confession startling me.
Kemi grabbed my hand, squeezing tight. "Then you follow my lead. We dance. We laugh. We maybe talk to Deylan. We act like the teenagers we're supposed to be. Deal?"
The knot in my stomach loosened a fraction. "Deal."
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The party was a sensory explosion. A rooftop in Ikoyi, overlooking the lagoon. The air was thick with the driving beat of Afro-pop, the sizzling scent of suya, and the collective, carefree energy of a hundred teenagers.
I felt instantly out of place, a monochrome photograph thrust into a vibrant painting. My eyes kept darting to the full moon, now a mere decoration, and my ears, trained to listen for subtle shifts in energy, were assaulted by the cacophony.
"See? Nobody is chanting. Nobody is judging. Just… vibe!" Kemi shouted, grabbing my hands and pulling me into the swirling mass of dancers.
For an hour, I let Kemi lead. I mimicked her movements, let the rhythm disarm my mind, and laughed when she made silly faces. For precious minutes, the constant, low-grade anxiety of the temple faded. I was just a girl at a party.
Then, Kemi spotted a tray of exotic cocktails. "Ooh, mocktails! I'm getting us some. Don't move!" she declared, and vanished.
Feeling suddenly anchorless, I drifted toward the railing overlooking the dark lagoon. The relative quiet was a relief. I took a deep breath.
This is what normal feels like, I thought. This is what I'm missing.
It was here, staring at the water, that the chaos broke.
A commotion started near the entrance—raised voices, a shatter of glass. A group of loud, boisterous guys pushed through. I instinctively backed up, stumbled clumsily in the crowd, and collided hard with someone solid.
A strong hand instantly steadied me, gripping my elbow firmly but gently. It was a grip that felt like it could anchor a ship.
"Whoa, sorry about that," a deep voice rumbled, close to my ear. It was a voice that commanded attention.
I turned, and everything—the noise, the lights—seemed to fade into a dull hum.
The boy holding me was stunning. Tall, with skin the rich hue of polished mahogany, and eyes a startling, intense amber that seemed to catch the city's glow. He wore confidence like a second skin.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his smile devastatingly charismatic.
I felt a strange, immediate physical reaction. My heart hammered. The quiet pulse of energy I always felt near water—a priestess's affinity—suddenly spiked. But this was different. It wasn't calming. It felt like an anxious, electric coil tightening in my stomach, a silent alarm.
"I—I'm fine," I managed. I subtly tried to pull my arm back, but his grip, though gentle, was steadfast. "Thanks. Sorry for bumping you."
He released my elbow, but his gaze remained locked on mine, curious and intense. "It was definitely me. Too busy trying to avoid my family's security detail." He chuckled, a warm sound that inexplicably heightened the electric feeling in the air. "I'm Tayo."
"Omotara," I replied, all my carefully rehearsed casual greetings fleeing my mind.
"Omotara," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "A name with weight. I haven't seen you around before."
I felt a sudden, desperate need to impress him, to cement myself in this world. "I'm with my best friend. We actually ditched a super boring, super serious family thing to be here. A whole… ceremony." I waved a hand, attempting nonchalance.
Tayo's grin widened. "A ceremonial ditching. I respect that. I'm new in Lagos myself. Just started at Lagos Met on Monday."
My jaw dropped slightly. "Lagos Metropolitan? No way. So am I! I mean, I'm a sophomore."
"Then it seems like fate intervened tonight," Tayo said, a hint of genuine surprise in his tone. His gaze dropped to my hands. He reached out, not for my hand, but for the simple silver ring on my thumb, touching it lightly. "Maybe you can be my tour guide. Show me where to find the best jollof on campus."
His touch was brief, but a sharp, static-like jolt passed between us, so palpable I almost gasped. The coil in my stomach tightened into a knot. What is that?
Before I could form a reply, a sudden, blinding flash of greenish-yellow light exploded from the far side of the rooftop. It wasn't electrical. It was violent, unnatural, and sizzled as it scorched the decking, releasing a plume of acrid, chemical-smelling smoke.
Screams tore through the party atmosphere.
What was that?! My priestess instincts snapped to the forefront. The energy was wrong. Corrosive. Dead.
I looked at Tayo. His charming smile had vanished, erased in an instant. His expression transformed into one of sharp, lethal focus. He wasn't scared; he looked prepared, his amber eyes scanning the panicked crowd with strategic precision. The shift was so complete it chilled me.
"Omotara, listen to me," he commanded, his voice dropping, losing all its boyish warmth, becoming hard and deep. "You need to find your friend and get out of here. Now."
He moved with startling speed, shoving me firmly but protectively behind him, putting his body between me and the source of the attack.
The fun was over. My rebellion hadn't just risked my mother's wrath.
Peering over Tayo's shoulder, my gaze found the source. Standing amidst the chaos, untouched by the panic, were two figures. Their eyes glowed with the same sickly yellow light as the unnatural fire. Their movements were jerky, wrong. The smell that wafted from them was of damp earth and decay.
One of them raised a claw-like hand, and another bolt of that corrosive energy screamed across the rooftop, shattering a glass table.
A cold certainty settled in my soul, colder than any river water I'd ever been purified in.
This isn't an accident. The training I'd tried to suppress rose up in a wave. This is an attack.
And he knew it was coming.