Smoke and Salt
The first thing I notice is the silence.
Lagos doesn't do silence,not at 11pm on a Tuesday,not even in my tucked away corner of Ikeja. My apothecary sits between a tailoring shop and a locked up chemist.Lagos is always loud,honking danfo buses,generator hum,distant Fuji music,the restless pulse of sixteen million people,but tonight,everything fades away a few seconds before he walks in.
I'm weighing ewe asunwon on my brass scale when the shiver snakes up the back of my neck.That old but familiar chill at the base of my neck.The one i inherited from my grandmother.The one she usually called the ''sixth sense''.My fingers tighten on the scale.
My shop smells like memory,dried mint,camwood,cloves and the faint scent of shea butter from the cream I make every Sunday. Behind the counter is the only photo I keep of my family,a photo of me and my grandma in front of her old house in Warri.Her hand on my shoulder,my chin lifted like I could face spirits,bold and confident. I was nine. She died three years later,leaving me her books,her herbs and a warning i've never forgotten.
''Onome,this gift comes with a price. Some will call you blessed, others will call you cursed, but always remember the world of the seen and the unseen is thin and you,my child, stand in the gap''.
I stand in the gap,alone,not because I want to,because I have to.
There's no one waiting upstairs,no one texting to ask when I'll be home,just me,this shop and the rhythm of a life of built on remedies and wards.People come to me for cures doctors can't understand,protection from envious friends,charms to attract luck etc. I'm invisible to most people until they need a solution.
Some nights,like tonight, I talk to her in my head. Out loud would make me the crazy witch lady and ikeja already has enough of those.
' I'm running low on akoko leaves'',I tell her while straightening my bottles,''and the egun insects are eating the ewe ata'',you would know what to do.''She doesn't answer,not really. But sometimes the air shifts and I feel her a warmth near the dried ewe isin hanging by the window,like a mother's touch without a mothers hand.
My phone lights up on the counter, a message from my cousin Ejiro in Abuja.
''You can't stay in that shop forever,Onome,life is passing you by''.
I don't reply because she never understands. This shop isn't a hiding place,it's a legacy,where I can be myself without fear of being judged.
The silence deepens,not just quiet,empty,like the world has been muted. The generator outside sputters and dies,the distant music cuts off mid chorus,even the gecko on my wall stops clicking.
Something is coming,not from the street,but from The Rift,a place grandma warned me about.I move to the door,peer through the tinted glass into the dark street,empty,too empty,even the stray cats are gone.Then it hits me, a tear in the air,sharp and raw,like a fabric ripping in time,someone has broken the veil and whatever stepped through,it's close.
I turn,ready to reinforce the ward on my back room floor,but before I can take a step,the door bursts open.A man stumbles in,one hand pressed to the side,the other gripping the door frame.His black shirt is dark with something that isn't just sweat,blood,yes but also something colder,something that smells of wet earth and forgotten graves.His eyes find mine,dark,sharp,burning with a pain that isn't just flesh.
''Close the door'' I say,my voice calmer than my heartbeat, ''and lock it''. His movements are stiff,deliberate,he doesn't ask for help,doesn't say a word,just leans against my counter,breathing in shallow pulls.I don't know him, don't ask who's after him.Those questions would come later,if he lives long enough. Right now,I'm watching his shadow.It's lagging,trembling,as if it wants to escape.Only those with four eyes can see it,the soul's shadow,the spirit's echo,and his is trying to leave his body.
OGBANJE.The word lodges in my throat. A spirit child, a being tied to the other world,but this is no child,this is a full grown man,powerful in a strange way that has nothing to do with magic,The kind that comes from money and fear.
''You're hurt'',I say,moving around the counter.''Don't''. His voice is gravel wrapped in velvet,low but commanding. ''Don't come near me''.
''If you bleed out on my floor,I'll have to clean it and I hate cleaning blood''.
A faint smirk touches his lips.
''Witch humor?''
''Truth '',I say,I stop a few feet away,close enough to see the fine details,the elegant lines of his face,the sweat on his temple,the way his pupils seem to swallow too much light. ''You're not just wounded,you're unraveling.
He studies me,calculating,''you see it''.
''I see your shadow trying to run,i feel the cold coming off you and i hear them''
His eyes flicker,surprised,masked fast,''hear who?'
''The ones calling you''.
A tremor runs through him,knuckles white on the counter,the shelves rattle softly.Outside,a car slows down,tires on gravel,voices.His head turns sharply towards the door.
''They followed me''.
''Of course they did''. I'm already moving toward the back room.
''This way''.
''I'm not going into a dark room with a witch I don't know''.
''You're already in a lit room with a witch you don't know bleeding freely on my floor,your options are narrowing''.
He pushes off the counter,following,staggering slightly,pride is still in his step,even now.My back room isn't much,a small space with a worn out couch,a worktable cluttered with mortar and pestle,bundles of hanging herbs and a large aale symbol drawn in chalk on concrete floor. The ward should hold back mild spiritual intrusions.Whether it can hold whatever is after him,i don't know.
He stops,seeing the symbol ''you work with a babalawo?''
''I work for myself ''.I gesture to the couch. ''Sit,let me see your wound''.
He hesitates,then slowly peels back his shirt,a faint silver shimmer pulses on his side,looks like a spiritual decay,I fight the urge to touch,this is deeper than flesh.
''Who did this?''
''A man with a grudge'',he says,''he thought he was summoning a demon but he got something else,something older''.
''It marked you''. I lean closer,tiny threadlike filaments pulse under his skin,like roots.''This isn't just a curse,it's an anchor,it's dragging you to the other side''.
''Can you remove it?''
''Maybe,but you will have to tell me your name first''.
Silence,the air grows colder.
''Yemi''.
''Onome'', I offer in return.
''I know''.
''You know my name?''
''I know alot about you,Onome I came here for a reason''.
A loud bang shakes the front door,a rough voice shouts,''open up its the police''
Yemi's expression hardens''not police''.
''I don't think so'' I said,moving to the doorway that separates the back room from the shop. I peek through the crack,I see three tall,armed figures,faces shadowed.
''They want me alive'',Yemi says quietly,''or partly alive anyway.The ritual needs a living sacrifice''.
''Lovely'',my mind races. I could hand him over,that would be the smart thing,the safe thing to do but the ward on my floor glows faintly,reacting to their dark energy.If they come in,my shop dies,they won't just take him,they'll defile my space,my sanctuary.I've spent years building these wards,years staying quiet,staying hidden and this man,this cursed,bleeding,shadow lagged man has brought hell to my doorstep.
Another bang,the door shakes.
''Can you fight?'' I ask.
''I can''.
''Good because I'm not letting them in''.
His eyes meet mine,there's something new in them now, not just pain,something like curiosity and intrigue.
''Why?''
''Because this is my shop,and I don't like uninvited guests''.
I grab a handful of atarodo peppers and agbo leaves,crush them swiftly in my palm,with a sharp breath,I blow the mixture toward the door leading to the shop.A cloud of bitter,pungent dust fills the air.The symbol of floor flares,a bright clean gold.
Outside,one of the men shouts,
''its warded''
''Break it'', another replies.
Yemi stands,buttoning his shirt slowly,his movements deliberate,he's still in pain,still fading,but there's a rawness to his presence now,like a predator backed into the corner.
''You don't have to do this,'' he says,his voice low.
''Yes I do''.
No one violates my space,the pounding turns into a rhythmic chanting,they're not just trying to break in,they are using a counter spell
''They're breaking through'',Yemi says as he steps closer to me.
''I can see that''.
''What's your plan?''
''Working on it''.
The door shatters,not just breaks,shatters inward in a burst of dark energy, two of my lanterns die.The ward snaps,the gold light snuffing out like a candle in the wind.Three men step inside, their eyes glowing faintly with an unholy light,their leader's gaze lands on yemi,
''there you are''.
Yemi steps in front of me,a protective gesture I didn't ask for.
''Stay behind me'',he murmurs.
''This is my shop'' ,I whisper,''I don't stay behind anyone''.
The leader pulls a matted dirty bundle from his coat an Egbere's mat.Decay,hunger,cold fill the room. Oh ancestors,they're not using spirit magic, they're binding it to physical objects,that's advanced and deadly.He throws it on the floor between usYemi goes rigid beside me,his shadow tears completely free of his body,stretching towards the mat.
''No'' he grits out,agony in his voice.
I grab his hand,the world splits open,the cold burns my arm,his curse meets my magic,a deep hum answers inside me.His shadows slams back,the men freeze.Yemi looks at me in shock,dawning realization.
''You'',he whispers,''it's you''.
The leader laughs low and ugly,''he wasn't coming for shelter,he was coming for you.The ogbanje has found his witch,how poetic''. He raises a dark,serrated blade,humming with old magic,metal flashes,frost rush.
He lunges.