18°41'34.2"N 12°55'10.6"E - Bilma, Niger

  23.05.2024 – 01:00 UTC +01

  I gazed out the window of the suite. I could feel my pulse through my neck veins. This was the adrenaline of the Nabd-hunt, fueled mad by my Calling. There was something I was supposed to do in Bilma, for that I was certain now, and it was only a matter of my surrendering for the night. Whether my Calling was triggered by the attack on my brother or by simple coincidence, it did not matter. Allowing it to guide me was my best bet right now.

  My initial plan was quite a standard one: walk out at night from establishment to establishment, waiting until I would walk into one with members of the Ngam Kúrà or simply until my sense of Nabd kicked in, fueled by the traces of my prey on the blood-riddled cloth tucked in my pocket.

  Unfortunately, my Calling would beg to differ, driven by its own designs. I looked at the flower of the Baobab on the palms of my hand. The Baobab tree outside my balcony was not in bloom, but the single flower in my hand had somehow acted as an omen when I had picked it up earlier today. I had to follow my Calling.

  My phone rang.

  “Yes, Walid,” I asked, still looking outside the window.

  “Your brother is now stationed in his room.”

  “Did Mr. Yakubu protest?” I had paid the owner of the Baobab Inn a handsome fee to allow us to extend our stay indefinitely and let our men turn my brother’s room into an infirmary. It was a risky move financially, as it almost emptied half our budget. If our mercenaries knew of this, we would lose many of them. But it did not matter, as my Calling was holding the driving wheel right now. I had to stay in Bilma a bit longer. To satisfy it.

  “Not at all. He is a friendly guy, Miss. What should we do now?”

  “Choose three of your Banadiq. I need an escort team in Bilma. Have them ready with a car in ten minutes. The rest of you stay with my brother, and even if a single leaf lands weirdly out the window, you give me a call. Got it?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  I hung up the phone and turned to the mirror. I hadn’t looked as well-dressed in weeks. I wore a dress with three layers, in different shades of bright or washed-out white. I placed the alien-looking white flower of the Baobab next to my right ear.

  It fitted perfectly.

  I was not sure if anyone would find me desirable in this dress. That was not what I was going for. I let my hair flow and spring naturally up and down around my head, much like a lion’s mane. I smirked at the thought, as this was exactly my intention. Desire? Maybe. But with a hint of fear.

  It was not a long ride to the unknown. Passing through various neighborhoods of the central district, I let my Calling decide the evening. I commanded one of our men through the relatively empty streets. It was one hour after midnight on a Wednesday, but I was sure this city did not sleep.

  Eventually, I felt my Calling tug my attention.

  “Here.”

  Once we pulled up to a halt, one of the men opened my door. We were on an empty street, where no one would end up unless they were looking for this place. I stepped out and looked directly at the ten-story building nearby. Its balconies and windows were lit, and its corners were covered with thick-leaved vines. Big LED lamps formed the name of the venue, dim enough to create a feel of exclusiveness but bright enough to draw the eye of the visitor.

  DáWù FáLT??

  “Do you know this place?” I asked one of the men with me while the other one was locking the car.

  “No Miss,” he said.

  I searched its name on my phone. It was an exclusive entertainment club. Its name meant “MIDDLE SPLIT” or something along those lines.

  Two men were at the club entrance, holding the characteristic expressions of bouncers.

  “Please stay in the car, and keep the engine running,” I said to the driver, “and you two. Come with me and stay focused.”

  “For what, miss?” one of them asked, but I did not answer. I was already heading to the club entrance.

  One of the bouncers spoke in Kanuri to me as I approached. Then he repeated in broken Arabic:

  “This is a private establishment.” He smiled.

  “Isn’t there any place for me? Surely, for a drink. And the right price,” I said, reciprocating the smile.

  “This is not a party you can crash, madame,” the man insisted. His voice indicated he would not budge.

  “I am not a madame.”

  It felt as if time froze, and I focused on the bouncer’s Nabd coming closer. I could count the moments and could feel his pulse joining mine – and although mine raced faster with adrenaline, his pulse slowed down. And down, and down.

  The man collapsed right in front of me. “Shit,” said one of the Banadiq with me, caught off guard by my approach.

  “Oh no! Sir, something is up with your friend!” I said with the most damsel-in-distress voice I could muster. The second bouncer was already shouting the man’s name.

  But as he approached us, I repeated the process. His pulse slowed down as well, and he collapsed into a deep sleep. I looked around as I commanded my two men.

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  “Take their mics. Gag them and put them in the trunk. They will be asleep for a while, so now you are the bouncers. No one gets in or out.”

  “And you miss?” one of them asked.

  “Oh, I will crash a party,” I said.

  I took the elevator to the fifth floor. There was no one else to stop me, except for myself.

  What was I even doing? Was my Calling broken? Why did I have to be there?

  The elevator’s bell rang as it opened its doors on the fifth floor. I was now in a huge, luxurious ballroom with low lighting; its western side was practically an enormous crystal window. It was not exactly glass, as its crystalline texture was visible even from where I stood, and it filtered the outside lighting with a scarlet hue.

  As the bell rang, everyone turned to stare at me. Around twenty men and just as many women, dressed in revealing and expensive dark, red, and gold outfits, were now looking at me. They were in groups of two or three, and from their body language, I had just interrupted all their discussions.

  My dress’s white was dazzling compared to the darker décor, and it worked in my favor. I tapped into all their Nabd.

  I could feel their heartbeats, their blood flow, their intensity. Some of them were bored, some annoyed. Some were worried, and some were excited to see me. I held onto their Nabd. This was not a friendly visit.

  I breathed in deep, and as I held my breath, I could feel everyone’s heart slow down, just enough. Nobody was moving.

  I walked down the stairs in front of the elevator, and as I approached the crowd, I heard a few glasses fall, perhaps from the faintest of hearts.

  I started speaking in Kanuri, the way I had rehearsed.

  “I was told that if I pluck the flower of the Baobab, the lions will get me. I am here for the pride’s leader.”

  A man’s pulse rose ever so slightly. I raised my hand and pointed at him.

  “You shall take me to them.”

  He snapped out of my hex and hesitantly walked to me. He passed by me and went to the elevator.

  I joined him.

  “As you were,” I said in Arabic just before the doors closed and released everyone from my control.

  The man standing next to me was terrified. His heart rate increased by the second. With a shaken hand, he pressed the button to the ninth floor. He was not simply terrified of me, but also of our destination.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Koyzaaru.” His voice betrayed what his body did not: he was young. Perhaps he had just become an adult.

  “Don’t be afraid, Koyzaaru.”

  I raised my hand and touched his shoulder. I synchronized with his breathing, and I tried to control and lower his heart rate.

  “See. Easier if you are calm,” I said, and he smiled.

  The bell rang once we reached the ninth floor.

  “Go on,” I said, and I took a step back.

  Once the lift doors opened, two bullets hit his sternum, and he dropped bleeding. His sacrifice had bought me a valuable second to sense and grab onto the Nabd of the gunmen. No other bullet would fly for me now. Same as before, everyone in the room had yielded to me.

  “That is rich,” a woman’s voice said in perfect Arabic. The room was the same size and style as the one on the fifth floor, but only partly lit, primarily with a dark blue hue at the room’s center. This was the real private party, with only four people sitting around a table at the center of the room. A fifth one, equally well dressed, was holding a bottle of liquor. The only woman, the one whom I had heard speak no doubt, was sitting at a corner of the table. She was smoking an extremely long cigar, explaining the thick smell of tobacco.

  In a moment, seven men around the room collapsed. The gunmen who had fallen under my sense of Nabd.

  “That is tiring,” I responded appropriately to her remark.

  The woman sucked on the cigar with an unusual passion. One of the men around her attempted to say something.

  “Sit down.” The woman said. “Let her show herself first.”

  I approached the group slowly. My visit had interrupted some serious plotting and scheming. Future plans were being formed, a celebration of old plans, perhaps, probably illegal, and related to that Ngam Kúrà.

  No. Something else was happening as well. Not everyone there had the same intentions. One of the men, the one holding the bottle of liquor, was trembling, his Nabd fueled by adrenaline, much like mine.

  “You. What is your name?” I asked, pointing at the man.

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Don’t be rude, answer the question,” the woman said, not taking her eyes off me.

  “Kabiru,” he said, with a deep voice.

  “Kabiru. You should drink now,” I suggested.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Kabiru protested.

  “You heard the girl,” the woman said, always with the same stern look right at me. “We were about to share a glass. Have the first shot.”

  The man trembled as the woman puffed a cloud of smoke out of her mouth.

  “Drink,” she said.

  Behind me, I heard the elevator’s bell ring as more people were about to enter the room. I froze as a feeling of dread started rushing through me, replacing the confidence of the adrenaline from before. Not just because my hexes of the Nabd were all but drained at this point. But also because the Calling that has been surging in me and motivating me for the past minutes through the city and this venue, suddenly disappeared.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” the woman said towards me, as I heard guns being armed behind me, “let the man have a drink before you shoot the girl. Let us see what happens.”

  Kabiru held the bottle with a shaken hand. He put the bottle’s lid to his mouth and gulped.

  But he had faked it. The woman stood up, revealing her abnormal height, perhaps over two meters tall. She left her cigar on the table. She looked right at me before she turned to Kabiru.

  “The girl had a great idea. Drink, Kabiru.” She grabbed the bottle with one hand, and with the other one, she grabbed his face and opened his mouth. The man downed a few gulps instinctively before he started to fight back with his hands. The tall woman let him go and left the bottle gently on the table.

  Kabiru fell on his behind on the floor, crying, trying to spit the liquor out.

  “Speed it up,” the woman said, sucking the air through her teeth, “take him out of his agony.”

  This command was for me. I tuned into his Nabd. He was indeed in agony. I could feel his heart beating erratically, betraying his desperation. I breathed out as deeply as I could, emptying the oxygen from my lungs. And with my exasperation, his heart rate almost doubled. The blood inside his veins sped up, spreading whatever it was that he imbibed exponentially faster.

  “No, Aisa, I will-” he tried to say, as the veins in his skin turned white. He fell to the ground. Soon his Nabd disappeared from my senses.

  The woman, Aisa, turned towards me and smiled. I did not even dare to breathe. I hardly understood what I had just done and why my Calling had led me to barge into all of this.

  “Well, I’ll be. Guns down,” she said, and everyone behind me obeyed. She looked at me as she squinted her eyes. “That is one cursed flower right there.”