Chapter 05

Helen walked into her home, a calculated expression of concern etched on her face. Her husband, Chief Gabriel, was in the sitting room with some visitors, his business partners. The news caster's voice filled the room, detailing the tragic circumstances of Stephen's passing. Stephen was a well-known figure in the estate, respected for his hard work. But Helen's history with him was complicated. He had once been her business partner, but their relationship had soured after he had scammed her out of millions.

As Helen entered the sitting room, she greeted her husband with a warm hug and a peck on the cheek. "How was your day, baby?" she asked, trying to sound cheerful despite the somber mood.

"It went well," Chief Gabriel replied, his eyes fixed on the television.

Helen's gaze followed his, and she saw the news caster's serious expression. She turned to their guests. "And my co-managers," she said, forcing a smile.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of the television. Chief Gabriel's business partners exchanged somber glances.

"What can I offer you?" Helen asked, trying to break the tension.

Aggie, their house help, appeared at the doorway. "Mama Helen, I've taken care of our guests," she said.

Helen smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Aggie."

As she headed towards their bedroom, Chief Gabriel called out to her. "Helen, baby."

She stopped and turned to face him. "Yes?"

"Do you remember Stephen?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on the television.

Helen's expression changed, and she hesitated for a moment before responding. "Yes, I do."

Chief Gabriel turned to face her, his eyes filled with sadness. "When was the last time you heard from him?"

Helen's voice was barely above a whisper. "It's been a while."

Chief Gabriel nodded. "Well, he's dead now."

Helen's eyes widened, and she felt a pang of...not guilt, exactly, but perhaps a twinge of anxiety. She had known this moment would come, and she had prepared herself for it. But still, it was a relief to have it finally out in the open.

She let out a fake sob, trying to appear distraught. "Oh, this is terrible news."

Chief Gabriel's eyes filled with sympathy. "I know, baby. It's a tragedy."

Helen's expression was a perfect mask of grief, but inside, she was thinking, It's done. It's finally done.

Samantha walked through the front door, a bit later than expected. She had spent the afternoon studying math with Tony at his house, and then they had gone for a stroll. As they walked, Tony had decided to accompany her for a bit, enjoying the cool evening air.

"I've called my house line," Samantha said, checking her watch. "Mr. Patrick should be on his way here."

Tony smiled. "That dude is always on time."

Samantha laughed. "He's very funny."

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, his stories are hilarious."

As they walked, Tony pointed to a penthouse in the distance. "Can you see that?"

Samantha followed his gaze. "Yes, it's my father's tower."

Tony's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "For?"

Samantha smiled. "It's his business tower, okay?"

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "Well, my point is, that tower could be your home. It could be where you and your family live, but no, your father decided that it'll be a place where he can change the world."

Samantha's eyes widened as Tony continued. "Bring forth new principles that guide not just this estate or Lagos, but Nigeria as a whole. That's what the building is meant for. It's unique in its ways."

Tony turned to Samantha, his expression serious. "The same way you're unique in your own ways, Sammy."

Just then, a blue Audi Q7 drove towards them, shining its bright headlights. Tony squinted, covering his eyes. "God, who's shining such bright light at us this time of day?"

Samantha laughed. "It's okay, it's just Mr. Patrick."

As she walked towards the car, Tony called out, "See you later, Samantha!"

Samantha smiled and waved goodbye to Tony before getting into the car. "Good evening, Mr. Patrick," she said, settling into the seat.

Mr. Patrick's warm smile greeted her. "Samantha girl, how was your day?"

Samantha filled him in on her afternoon with Tony, and Mr. Patrick listened attentively. As they pulled away from the curb, Tony waved goodbye, and Samantha smiled, feeling grateful for her friend and the lovely evening they had shared.

Mr. Patrick turned to Tony, who was still standing on the sidewalk. "Son, walk straight home. It's too lonely for you."

Tony stammered, "Umm, yeah, yes, I'll do that right now."

Samantha waved at Tony once more before the car drove away.

As Samantha climbed the stairs to her room, each step felt like an escape into her own world, away from the bustling yet emotionally distant household. Her room was her sanctuary, filled with books, music, and art supplies, all reflecting her inner world—a stark contrast to the polished exterior of her family life.

Once in her room, she closed the door with a familiar click that sealed her solitude. She mechanically changed out of her school uniform, her mind replaying the day's uninspiring interactions.

Looking out her window, she observed the expansive garden, now bathed in the shadows of the setting sun. The tranquility outside contrasted sharply with the turmoil within her. Deciding to sketch, she hoped to channel her feelings into something constructive. She grabbed her sketchbook and pencils, her strokes capturing the loneliness she felt amidst her family's wealth and success.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was different. Her mother, still in the living room, poured herself a glass of wine, her expression one of concern mixed with resignation. She knew her husband's commitment to NovaTech was non-negotiable, but she also understood the impact on Samantha. She contemplated how she might bridge the gap, wondering if tonight’s dinner could be more than just a routine meal.

Dinner time approached, and Samantha reluctantly descended. The dining room was set with its usual elegance—fine china, silverware gleaming under the chandelier light, but to her, it all felt hollow. As they sat down, her father was distracted, occasionally glancing at his phone, though he made an effort to engage in conversation.

"Samantha, how are your classes going?" her dad asked, setting his phone aside for a moment.

"They're fine, Dad," she replied, her voice flat. "Just the usual stuff."

Her mother tried to lighten the mood, "And your art? I saw you've been sketching a lot lately."

Samantha perked up slightly, "Yeah, it’s been... a way to sort through things, I guess."

The conversation limped along, with her parents asking superficial questions while Samantha gave equally superficial answers. It was clear they wanted to connect but didn’t know how, lost in their own worlds of business and social obligations.

"Sammy, about our new product," her father interjected, "how do you see it?"

"I'm not really sure what the product is about," she said.

"Well, people have been wondering why tech giants haven't produced smart glasses yet," he explained. "Why haven't they? iPhone, Samsung, Tesla—they could've done it. So, I decided to create my masterpiece, 'Moferso.'"

"Moferso?" Samantha echoed, puzzled.

"Yes, Moferso. Is it bad?"

"No, I'm just surprised by the name."

"Well, it's the best my team could come up with," he said. "Besides, ask your best friend; he's part of it."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Tony."

"I thought Mr. Ogbeifun opened his own company," she said, confused.

"No, he didn't. So, let me guess, Tony came up with 'Moferso'?"

"Yes."

"Ugh, his father must be ashamed," she muttered.

"I don't know. Just post the banners everywhere you can. Start from your school," her father instructed, handing her some event catalogs.

"They wouldn’t care..." she began, but was cut off.

"Just do it," her father said with authority.

"Y-yes, sir," she replied, her voice tinged with fear.

After dinner, Samantha excused herself early, retreating to her room. She felt a mix of relief and sadness—relief from the social pretense, sadness for the lack of genuine connection. Lying in bed, she pondered her future, her role in this family, and whether she would ever feel truly seen or understood.

As the night deepened, Samantha lay awake, her mind a whirlpool of thoughts from the dinner conversation. The name "Moferso" echoed in her head, not merely for its oddity but for the weight of expectation it carried—another piece of her father's sprawling empire laid upon her shoulders.

Meanwhile, at the coven, Helen found herself amidst the solemn rituals of the night. The witches shared bitter leaf and drank coconut water, each passing the vessels in a circle, their movements ritualistic, their purpose clear.

"This has a significant meaning," declared the Queen Mother, her gaze piercing the darkness above. "Give us the strength, dear Mother, show us the way!" Her voice was both a plea and a command, tinged with anger as she spoke of the rising threat. "The Uchicis have risen against us. They challenge the power of our Mother, Hilda. They attack our kind."

Ekene, prompted by the Queen Mother, took a deep breath before recounting her ordeal. "I was attacked in my sleep. I saw myself standing on Layefa Street, where a young boy on a bicycle circled me, raising clouds of dust. In reality, I was choking, nearly dying. Then, the wheels of his bicycle detached, and he crashed. That's when I awoke."

"It was Mother Hilda who saved you," Omolola stated, her voice firm with conviction.

"I believe she was sending a message... preparing us for war," Adedolapo added, her tone grave.

"Anu," Helen whispered to herself, the name catching the Queen Mother's attention.

"The Uchicis hail from Agbor," Helen explained. "They are led by my uncle, my father's brother, Mike. He's ruthless, devoid of compassion. The boy you saw, his name is Anu."

"Anu?" the Queen Mother echoed, her curiosity piqued.

"He's believed to be ageless, appearing as a twelve-year-old boy. He's been the greatest wizard among them, conquering different covens for at least seven years now. Their aim is to undermine Mother Hilda's sovereignty," Helen continued, her voice heavy with the burden of knowledge.

"And this Mike?" Ogechi inquired, her voice sharp with skepticism.

"Mike is infamous throughout Delta State and beyond. His power, though formidable, pales in comparison to Mother Hilda's. He was once involved in a fierce battle where the spirit of Jezebel was summoned in 1968."

The Queen Mother listened intently, her expression a mix of fear and resolute confidence. "Enough," she said, her voice calm yet authoritative, cutting through the rising panic.

"But how can we be certain their powers have no limits?" Ogechi interjected, her question overlapping with Helen's continued explanation.

"Enough!" Helen's decree silenced the room.

"Your husband is launching a new product, is he not?" the Queen Mother shifted the conversation.

"Yes, Mother," Helen confirmed.

"Invite your uncle," the Queen Mother instructed.

"I haven't seen him since Samantha's naming day," Helen admitted, her voice tinged with regret.

"It might have been our only chance," Ekene lamented.

"Not necessarily," Helen countered. "There are two men from Agbor working for me. They could be our connection to the gods there."

"Bring me their souls," the Queen Mother commanded, her decision final. The meeting adjourned, leaving the witches to ponder the impending clash of powers.

The souls of the other witches returned to their bodies one after another after a quick discussion. "How's Stephen?" Omolola asked tactfully, trying to glean information from Helen.

"He's dead," Helen whispered, leaning close to Omolola to avoid the Queen Mother overhearing.

"And Joshua and Kingsley?" Omolola pressed.

"Omolola..." Helen started, but was quickly interrupted.

"You promised me they'd be out of sight," Omolola said, her voice sharp.

"I know, okay? I know," Helen replied, attempting to interject.

"I've completed my task, and you should do the same," Omolola insisted, cutting her off again.

"Omolola, everything needs to be planned meticulously. That's what sets us apart," Helen countered, her patience wearing thin.

"Really? Do you understand the cost of an undone task? Kọjá," Omolola retorted in Yoruba, emphasizing her point.

"And I trusted your words," she continued, only to be interrupted by Helen's raised voice.

"Omolola!" Helen's shout echoed through the coven, silencing all but the murmur of distant conversations. With everyone's eyes on them, she continued in a lower, yet firm tone, "When we pull the trigger, we must hit two heads. Joshua and Kingsley dying on the same day as Stephen would be too conspicuous."

"I've discovered they're from Agbor, and their fathers work for me," Helen explained. "Wait a minute..." Omolola started, but Helen cut her off.

"No, let me speak." Her voice was authoritative now. "The Uchicis want to start a war against us. We'll use Joshua and Kingsley's fathers' souls to summon the gods from Agbor. We don’t need to kill them; we just need to drag them down to Richwill's level. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to rest. Tomorrow is a big day."

As Helen's soul began to return to her body, the Queen Mother's voice halted her. "How's Sam?"

Helen took a deep breath, turning to face her. "She's fine."

"I hope you remember the blood oath you've taken still stands," the Queen Mother said, her gaze piercing.

"What blood oath?" Helen asked, confusion in her tone.

"It's time Sam takes her place in the coven, being the only one naturally born of our Mother Hilda—just like me. She's the next ruler after me."

"My daughter has a future, and I won't let her be part of this madness," Helen declared boldly.

"At least her blood should be marked on our altar..." the Queen Mother began, but was cut off by Helen.

"An altar whose true purpose I know well. Never," Helen stated firmly.

"You're confident; I like it. I admire your faith," the Queen Mother said, her voice laced with irony.

"We have a war to win," Helen reminded her, walking away. The Queen Mother stood still, her eyes following Helen with a malevolent gaze.