Chapter 15
Samantha Omoshola awoke to the gentle patter of rain against her window, the gray dawn seeping through the curtains like a muted watercolor. Her room felt wrapped in stillness, a quiet cocoon that held the faint echoes of last night’s music—a melody still thrumming in her chest. She stretched beneath the covers, her mind drifting to the rare moment of connection she’d shared with her father, a warmth that had been absent for years. Yet beneath that glow, unease flickered: Ugo’s quiet struggles, Alex’s biting texts, and the biology test looming over her afternoon like a storm cloud. Shaking off the thoughts, she swung her legs over the bed’s edge and padded toward the bathroom.
After a quick shower, she slipped into her school uniform—crisp white shirt, red checkered skirt, and a matching tie—and descended the stairs, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder. The house pulsed with its familiar morning rhythm. At the dining table, Chief Gabriel Omoshola cradled a steaming mug of coffee, his broad frame bent over a tablet displaying stock reports. In the kitchen, Helen moved with brisk efficiency, though her distracted air suggested her mind was elsewhere.
“Good morning, Dad. Good morning, Mom,” Samantha said, then switched to Yoruba. “E ku ale, Baba. E ku ale, Mami.”
Chief Gabriel glanced up, his weathered face breaking into a grin. “Bawo ni?” he replied—How are you?—his deep voice warm. “Ready to ace that test?”
“Hopefully,” Samantha said, snagging a slice of toast from the counter. “It’s biology—lungs and all that.”
“You’ll do great,” Helen chimed in, her tone steady but her eyes distant. She handed Samantha a packed lunch, her fingers brushing her daughter’s for a fleeting moment. “Just focus.”
Samantha nodded, catching a faint edge in her mother’s voice. She chalked it up to early-morning fatigue. “Thanks, Mom. See you later, Dad.”
“Tell your friend Tony I said hi,” Chief Gabriel called as she headed for the door.
Samantha paused, surprised. First the piano duet last night, now this? Her father’s sudden warmth was disarming. She smirked, tossing a wave over her shoulder. “I’ll try.”
Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle, cloaking the sprawling campus of International School in a shimmering haze. Wet concrete paths wound through lush greenery, and students milled about, their laughter slicing through the damp air. Samantha spotted Geoffrey near the science block, his lanky frame hunched over his phone, brows knit in concentration.
“Hey, Geoffrey,” she said, falling into step beside him.
He looked up, dark eyes sparking with recognition. “Hey, Sam. Ready for the test?”
“Sort of,” she admitted. “You?”
He shrugged, pocketing his phone. “I’m just waiting for a certain Samantha to, you know, do her thing.” He winked, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.
“Ha, very funny,” she shot back. “I hope you find that girl.” With a playful roll of her eyes, she started to walk away.
Then she collided with Alex. He approached from the side, his stride casual but his smirk loaded with intent.
“Well, if it isn’t Samantha Omoshola,” he drawled.
“What’s today’s trouble?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“Yo, I come in peace,” Alex said, raising his hands. “Why’re you always looking for a fight?”
“Why’re you always looking to bug me?” she countered.
“Well, it’s because—” He faltered as she cut in.
“If you say ‘love,’ I’ll shove my pencil up your nose,” she warned, half-serious.
“Okay, chill, Sam,” Alex said, laughing as he stepped back. “Just keeping it real.”
She glared, then turned on her heel. “Excuse me, I’ve got a test to crush.”
Far from the school’s bustling chaos, a darker scene unfolded. Beneath an abandoned warehouse on the estate’s outskirts, the Daughters of Hilda convened in their hidden sanctum—a cavernous chamber steeped in shadow and secrets. The air buzzed with the lingering energy of a failed ritual, the concrete floor still marred by dark stains of spilled blood. At the center stood the Queen Mother, her regal presence unshaken despite the loss of Omaomi, one of their own. Her black-streaked hair framed a face carved with fury, her obsidian eyes glinting like shards of night.
Helen knelt before her, head bowed, the weight of her brother Mike’s confrontation pressing down like a stone. Around them, the sisters stirred, their murmurs a low hum of unease. Ekene paced near the altar, fists clenched, while Omolola lingered in the shadows, her quiet satisfaction at the coven’s stumble tempered by its cost.
“Mother, it’s my fault,” Helen said, her voice thick with remorse.
“There’s no time for blame,” the Queen Mother replied, her words sharp as a blade. “Your uncle’s interference cost us Omaomi and fractured the pact.”
“He came for reasons I can’t fathom,” Helen admitted.
“How did he know where to strike?” the Queen Mother pressed, her gaze piercing. “Your ties to the Mbeke lineage are a liability we can’t ignore.”
Helen’s pulse quickened. “They’re also an advantage we can’t dismiss.”
“You said that before,” Ekene snapped, stepping forward. “Your past threatens us all. Mike Mbeke isn’t just a man—he’s a force. If he’s turned against us—”
“He hasn’t,” Helen insisted, though doubt gnawed at her resolve. “He’s protecting his own, not attacking us.”
The Queen Mother’s lips curled into a thin, cold smile. “Protection and destruction are two sides of the same coin. He took Omaomi to send a message. The Uchichis’ rage only fuels his power.”
“What do we do?” Omolola asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
“We strike back,” the Queen Mother declared. “But not recklessly. Helen, you’ll lure him out. Use your bond—your shared blood—to draw him into our trap.”
Helen’s stomach twisted. Facing Mike meant crossing a line she’d avoided for years, yet defying the Queen Mother could cost her everything—her place in the coven, her safety, even Samantha. “And if he resists?”
“He won’t,” the Queen Mother said, her tone absolute. “Not when he sees what’s at stake.”
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. Helen rose, her resolve hardening even as fear coiled tight within her. She knew Mike’s power—his true strength—better than the Queen Mother suspected. He’d never fall for her as bait; she was the wrong pawn in this game. Years ago, she’d abandoned her family’s coven for the Daughters’ promise of purpose, of life. Now, the price of that choice loomed closer than ever.
Samantha stood in the hallway just outside her classroom, her mind still buzzing from Alex’s annoying banter and Geoffrey’s teasing. The rain had stopped, leaving that familiar Lagos smell of wet earth drifting through the open windows, the kind that clung to everything.
She adjusted her bag strap and headed toward the classroom door, determined not to let anything throw her off today. That biology test was waiting, and she wasn’t about to mess it up.
Inside the classroom, the noise hit her—students shouting, chairs dragging, someone’s phone blasting Burna Boy until the teacher barked, “Turn that off!”
Samantha slid into her seat by the window, dropping her bag with a thud. She pulled out her notebook, flipping to her sketches of lungs and airways. She’d studied hard last night after that rare piano moment with her dad—his sudden warmth still felt strange, but nice.
She shook it off. No distractions now.
Geoffrey flopped into the seat next to her, grinning like he’d just won a bet. “You ready to kill this test, Sam?”
“I’ve got it,” she said, smirking. “You better hope you do too.”
He laughed. “I’m counting on you to carry me if I flop.”
“Keep counting,” she shot back, just as Mrs. Okonkwo stormed in, her presence shutting the room down fast.
She slapped a stack of test papers on the desk. “Quiet, everyone. Test time. No noise, no cheating. Let’s go.”
“Yes, ma,” the class mumbled, and Samantha grabbed her pen.
The paper landed in front of her—questions about breathing, oxygen, all that stuff she’d drilled into her head. She flew through it, her answers steady and sure, like she was cruising through Lagos traffic on a good day.
She glanced at Geoffrey halfway through—he was frowning at his paper, pen tapping his lip. She hid a smile and kept going.
As she was writing, she remembered that she had another smart genius by her side. It was Cassandra. She turned to look at Cassandra, who gave her an "I don't care" look.
Samantha then turned back to see that Angel had been writing without raising her head. She and Joy.
"Whoa," Samantha said. "This is gonna be difficult," she said as she continued writing.
Meanwhile, Helen sat in her car near the estate’s edge, the warehouse’s silhouette hulking in the distance. Rain tapped the roof, syncing with her racing pulse. Last night had been a catastrophe—Mike storming in from nowhere, clashing with her crew, and dragging Omaomi off like he owned her. Helen had joined the Daughters years ago, seeking purpose beyond her family’s fractured legacy. It started small—shady deals, quiet moves—but lately, the stakes had spiked, and Mike’s interference was a match to dry grass.
Her phone buzzed. Samantha’s school. She answered fast.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Omoshola, good afternoon,” came Principal Jacobs’ voice. “We need you to stop by later. Minor issue.”
“What issue?” Helen pressed, her stomach knotting.
“Nothing major,” he said, too breezy. “Routine stuff. Can you come?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” she replied, hanging up before her nerves betrayed her.
Routine? She wasn’t buying it. With Mike on her tail and the Daughters tightening their grip, this felt like another domino tipping.
Back at school, Samantha finished her test early, leaning back with a quiet exhale. She’d crushed it—she knew it in her bones. Mrs. Okonkwo collected the papers, pausing at her desk. “Good work, Omoshola,” she said, moving on.
Geoffrey leaned over, whispering, “Told you—you’re a rockstar.”
“Quit gassing me up,” she said, but a grin slipped through.
The bell rang, unleashing pandemonium—students bolting out, voices booming with relief. Samantha grabbed her bag and headed for the canteen when Alex blocked her path again.
“Done already?” he said, that smirk back in full force. “What, you think you’re a genius now?”
“Alex, move,” she said, brushing past him. “I don’t have time for you.”
He laughed, trailing her a step. “You’re always running, Sam. One day, you’ll stop for me.”
“Not today,” she tossed back without a glance.
Her real worry was Tony—he hadn’t texted since yesterday, and that wasn’t like him. Something was off. Outside, the sun broke through, drying the puddles. She spotted Tony by the basketball court, dribbling solo. She waved, recalling her dad’s odd message.
“Tony! My dad says hi!”
He looked up, grinning. “Chief Omoshola? Tell him hi back. How’d the test go?”
“Good,” she said, stepping closer. “You see Ugo today?”
“Nah,” he replied, bouncing the ball. “He didn’t show. You talked to him?”
“Not yet,” Samantha said, frowning. “He’s been way too quiet.”
“Check on him,” Tony urged, his tone shifting serious. “You know how he gets.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, that unease creeping back.
Her phone buzzed—her mom: Coming to school later. Stay put. Samantha stared at the screen, sensing weight behind the words. Between Ugo’s silence, Alex’s nonsense, and now this, the day was spiraling beyond her control.
She sighed, pocketing the phone. Whatever came next, she’d handle it. She always did.
Samantha lingered by the basketball court, the ball’s rhythmic thud against the pavement steadying her nerves. Tony dribbled lazily, his eyes flicking to her with quiet concern. The sun hung low now, casting long shadows across the damp concrete, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and fading rain. Her mom’s text—Coming to school later. Stay put.—gnawed at her, its brevity hiding something heavy.
“You sure you’re good?” Tony asked, pausing mid-dribble.
She forced a shrug. “Yeah. Just... a lot going on.”
He nodded, not pressing. “Let me know about Ugo, okay? Guy’s been a ghost lately.”
“Will do,” she said, managing a half-smile. She handed the ball back, her fingers lingering on its worn surface. “Catch you later.”
Tony waved as she turned toward the admin block, her sneakers scuffing the uneven pavement. The school buzzed with post-class chaos—students shouting over each other, phones blasting Davido, laughter ricocheting off the classroom blocks. But Samantha’s mind was stuck on Ugo’s last text from this morning: Need to talk. Not now. Later. Short, cryptic, not his usual vibe. She’d meant to reply, but the biology test had swallowed her focus. Now, his absence gnawed at her, a loose thread in a knot she hadn’t untangled.
By the time she reached the admin office, her mom stood waiting, her posture rigid beside a man in a dark suit. Principal Jacobs hovered nearby, arms crossed, his expression a mix of sternness and unease. Helen’s face was a mask—calm, controlled—but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something raw.
“Samantha, we need to talk,” Helen said, her voice steady but clipped.
Samantha’s stomach tightened. Her mom didn’t rattled easily, but that stiffness, that too-perfect poise, set off alarms. “What’s going?”
The man in the suit stepped forward. “I’m Mr. Eze, from the district office. Samantha, I need to ask you a few questions.”
Principal Jacobs gave her a small nod, as if to say, Go along with it.
Samantha glanced at her mom, who added, “Listen carefully, okay?”
“Okay…” Samantha replied, her pulse quickening.
Mr. Eze’s tone was even, almost too calm. “When did you last speak to Ugo?”
Her breath hitched. “This morning… sort of. He texted me, but I haven’t seen him today.”
Mr. Eze exchanged a glance with Helen, a silent signal Samantha couldn’t decode.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, a chill creeping down her spine.
Helen sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’ve been accused of being tied to a business scam with Ugo.”
Samantha’s eyes widened. “Me? No way! That’s insane!”
Principal Jacobs cut in. “Are you sure, Samantha? Word is you’ve been tight with Ugo lately.”
She shook her head, incredulous. “We’ve been friends for, like, two days. I’m just worried about him—he’s been off, lonely. That’s it.”
Helen stepped forward, her voice firm. “Principal, she’s telling the truth. I know my daughter.”
Jacobs nodded, relenting. “Thank you, Mrs. Omoshola. We’ll keep business off school grounds.”
Helen’s tone hardened. “This ends here."
As they left the office, Samantha trailed her mom, her mind spinning. “The way you shut that down… wasn’t it a bit much?”
Helen’s expression didn’t waver. “They were coming for my daughter.”
Samantha scoffed. “So, back to work now?”
Helen’s gaze clouded, distant. “No. Today’s different. Something’s coming—I can feel it.”
They walked to the car in silence, the words hanging heavy between them. Samantha shivered, unsure what her mom meant but certain it wasn’t good. Ugo, the scam accusation, her mom’s cryptic warning—what was tying it all together?