Elaine Omwango | A Spell In Time

Kirui Rono flicked blood off his fingers as the clock struck midnight and the last of the Majili mages went tumbling through his hastily summoned portal. Hopefully somewhere other than the bottom of the Indian Ocean this time.

Forensics would clean up the non-magical mess the Majili coven had made though there would be hell to pay after. This was the third territory breach in as many weeks and while a few priceless artefacts had gone missing from the Kinga coven’s warehouse, the Central Investigation Bureau would be more interested in the financial trail. Kirui was almost glad he’d be away from work for the next few days.

His phone beeped. It was time to go.

Sighing, Kirui palmed a piece of chalk. Public transportation would take less energy than a portal (and he was terrible at portals anyway) but his sister would kill him if he missed another fitting (how many times did he have to try on a suit anyway?) So he found a clean bit of pavement, traced runes onto the ground, and shut his eyes.

Magic rose within him, slow and steady as it always did. Once it had filled him, he pushed and pushed past its resistance until… it snapped.

There was a whoosh before cotton stuffed his ears and bile rose in his throat. Kirui squeezed his eyes shut as the portal sucked him into the abyss. Too fast. Too fast. Too—

Waves of vertigo rolled over him and he pulled on his magic to steady him. Wena Avenue. Think of Wena—

A shudder ratcheted through his body.

The pressure around his ears travelled to his lungs where it tightened — drawing energy, breath, and life until…

Cool marble kissed his cheeks.

The scent of lavender flooded his nose.

Kirui heaved onto his side and threw up.

A pair of boots stepped into his line of sight.

 “I knew we should have gone with sandalwood,” said Makena Kathambi, his immediate superior. “Get some rest. We’ll debrief tomorrow.”

Kirui rolled onto his back and watched her walk away, the hem of her ceremonial kitenge trailing behind her. He suspected she was sending him home for his benefit as much as hers. He’d heard rumblings about the Majili coven’s involvement in drug trafficking and money laundering with the Wafula family. It was the most capital of sins. In a city as populous as Nairobi, mages and witches already had enough trouble keeping their identity hidden from non-magical humans. To be involved in the worst of their society… Well, Kirui shuddered to think what punishment the council of elders would mete out.

Either way, he’d done his part and driven away the intruders. His colleagues in the warding department would repair the magical protections around HQ.

Getting up took every last bit of Kirui’s energy but he ignored the residual waves of vertigo churning in his gut as he took a boda to his bedsitter and immediately collapsed into bed.

Kirui was barely awake when he arrived in HQ the next morning.

The cool July air sharpened his awareness but his sleep had been restless. Magic took an unbearable toll on the body and Kirui had experienced everything from finger twitches to sleep comas in the past three years. It hadn’t taken much to repel last night’s attackers but the portal had been frivolous.

Whatever. There was nothing to be done for it now.

Nestled on CBD’s Rinda Street, Kinga coven’s HQ had been a run-down library before the Katani family acquired it three decades ago, promising to refurbish it as long as the city council didn’t ask too many questions. They’d asked their questions anyway (and asked for plenty of zeroes under the table, Kirui heard) but the Kinga coven had refused to be bullied. The street-facing half of the building was still a library but three of the building’s five floors were where the magic happened.

Kirui walked past the open plan room and its large circular desk which was currently littered with books, chargers, and stained coffee mugs. He caught his reflection in a nearby mirror and winced. He’d hadn’t much time to clean up this morning so he’d tied his locs back not realising it would only emphasise the circles under his eyes.

Makena was waiting for him when he stepped into her office. Beside her stood Nyokabi Mwangi, head of the Kinga coven, in a sharp navy pantsuit that made Kirui feel mortifyingly underdressed in jeans and a t-shirt.

 “Have a seat,” Makena said.

Kirui sat.

Nyokabi didn’t take her eyes off him.

Makena crossed her arms. “Why don’t we start at the beginning?”

Kirui’s account of events was anticlimactic at best, boring at worst, and didn’t last very long. A good thing too because he had an appointment with a tailor and lunch with his family after.

Nyokabi hadn’t spoken at all but Makena occasionally asked him to repeat something or recall some obscure detail like the colour of the attackers’ shirts. Thirty minutes later, she’d wished him a good long weekend and sent him on his way.

That’s right, Kirui thought as he stepped out of the library. It’s Thursday and I’m on leave until Wednesday.

It had been months since he’d taken a break from work, he’d even come to resent the constant cycle of magic-rest-magic-rest. So why did he feel so uneasy?

Twenty minutes later and he was still feeling uneasy, but in a suit. The tailor, a wizened old man with strong, callused fingers, fussed over him from all possible angles before he was satisfied. The suit would be ready the next day after a few minor alterations.

So, it was off to Tumbi, a new restaurant in Mwari’s suburbs.

Cherop waved when she spotted him and for once Kirui was glad they’d ordered for him. A hearty beef stew with a side of chapati and greens. The food was fresh and well-seasoned and for a while he was content to listen to his mother and sister trade gossip (who thought he’d have missed so much since last week’s family lunch?) After half an hour of this, his dad decided it was his turn and the conversation turned to football scores, growing more animated as the beers racked up. Kirui was no fun. He had little time for TV or gossip and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d kept a relationship longer than six months.

 “You haven’t found a date yet, have you?” Cherop leaned over to whisper when their parents began a protracted back and forth about imported and locally sourced fruit.

Kirui sighed but the beers had taken the edge off his fatigue and smoothed away the last vestiges of the week’s anxiety. “I’m working on it.”

His sister was as superstitious as they came and claimed it would be bad luck for Kirui’s love life if he attended her wedding without a date.

 “It doesn’t even have to be a romantic partner,” she said. “You could get one of your friends to come.”

As if on cue, Kirui’s phone chimed.

Yoh! the text from Odera read. Long time no see!! Drinks @ Koga kesho. Utakam?

 “You better not ignore that,” Cherop said.

 “I’m not,” Kirui muttered, when in truth he felt so hopelessly disconnected, even to his oldest friends.

It had intensified when he’d discovered his power, and been discovered by the Kinga coven in turn. But part of him had always felt… separate.

 “You work so hard,” Cherop said. “I just want you to enjoy life too.”

She didn’t know what he truly did for work. None of his family or friends did. Kirui had sworn himself to secrecy when he joined the coven.

He finished off his third beer. “I’m enjoying this.”

Cherop rolled her eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean.” But she didn’t press the issue.

Sankei Lonyasunya sank into the rickety chair in his shabby cubicle with a sigh of relief.

It had been a hectic few days, combing through evidence and running down leads from the attack on Kinga HQ. The mages and witches had been cooperative but aloof. It was an open secret that Central Investigation Bureau officers disliked having to work with magic users though Sankei couldn’t understand why. Sure, they had some odd tendencies and were standoffish to outsiders but it wasn’t impossible to develop a rapport. In fact, Sankei’s relationship with a few of Kinga’s members was the reason he was often assigned to cases that required their close collaboration.

This particular one involved one of Sankei’s longstanding studies. One of Nairobi’s most formidable drug trafficking operations. The Wafula family. The case had been opened three years before Sankei joined the CIB’s forensics team and stalled until it was assigned to him a year later. As with many such investigations, the problem had never been a lack of evidence but a complete absence of integrity.

Sankei had been approached by the same individuals who’d been keeping his predecessor’s pockets lined. The key, he’d learnt from his time at the Central Bank, was to play coy at first, then outraged, and finally ignorant. He’d avoided taking bribes this way for the past two years but word had gotten around and, ironically, it had made him somewhat of a pariah. But it was the spiteful references to his past that cut deepest.

He’s been a beneficiary of ill-gotten gains his whole life but now he thinks he’s better than us.

And the common, It’s a PR stunt, in response to, Didn’t he sever ties with his family?

Sankei’s phone lit up with a call from his father. It would be the usual refrain. Still working that job? Still single? Still not talking to me? He silenced it and shoved all thoughts of his family and his colleagues to the back of his mind.

He was close to cracking the Wafula case and the call from Makena Kathambi proved it. Not only had it been months since he’d been offered a bribe, but the Wafulas had no previous history of working with magic users. They’d abandoned hope of influencing the investigation and were now trying to cover their tracks as much as they could.

Sankei would’ve liked to question the mage who’d been at the attack himself but the man was on leave for the next three days and Makena had refused to share his contact information. No matter, the undercover team was close too and it wouldn’t be long before Sankei had irrefutable proof.

For now, he needed to make sure every scrap of available evidence was ready for the day he’d bring the case to a judge.

Kirui woke to an incessant beeping the next morning and cursed when he realised he’d forgotten to turn off his work alarm.

He sank in and out of consciousness several times until the overwhelming need to relieve himself finally woke him.

It was early afternoon by the time he was properly awake and though it was the longest sleep he’d gotten in days, fatigue lingered. His stomach growled and he thought of cooking but his fridge was empty and now that he was looking, his laundry was unwashed and his sink full of dirty dishes.

I’m just worried you’re not making time for everything else.

Kirui sighed.

Three days. When was the last time he’d gotten three days off work? And now he was going to spend it moping around?

His phone dinged with a message from Odera.

Venue changed to Juha. C u in 1hr!

Kirui smiled despite himself. He could do lunch and drinks.

*****

Twenty minutes later, Kirui weaved his way through Juha’s crowded tables to a fully occupied twelve-seater at the back. Odera rose to greet him, grinning and slightly flushed with alcohol. A server fetched Kirui a chair and he squeezed between Weigesa and Njau who, after a brief hello, continued with their avid debate about the cost of living. Abura shot him a sympathetic look from across the table and tapped her wine glass with a wink.

Oh, Kirui definitely needed a drink.

Once he’d dispensed with his order, he glanced around the table. He recognised a few faces, the twins Odera and Abura, of course. Weigesa and Njau had been his classmates in uni, and Imai was their close friend though Kirui had never spent much time with her.

 “Okay, enough economics,” Weigesa said from Kirui’s left. “Time for intros.”

She went round the table, introducing the people Kirui didn’t know and introducing him in turn. One face, however, stood out to him. 

 “I know you from somewhere,” he said to the man named Sankei.

Easy smile, close cropped hair, twinkling eyes.

Kirui would never forget a face like that.

 “Critical thinking, first year, Dr. Nasimiyu.”

That’s it!

 “Sankei has an excellent memory,” Imai drawled from beside him. “He works in forensics.”

Kirui’s gaze flashed back to Sankei who was taking a sip of beer. “CIB?”

He didn’t know why he said that. He could have worked anywhere. God, now he looked like an id—

 “Yes, actually. How did you know?”

Kirui shrugged noncommittally but he felt Sankei’s gaze on him.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of gossip, drinks and more food than Kirui could stomach. He didn’t have much to contribute to conversations when they circled around to him. He listened in mild surprise at what his friends had been getting up to but mostly he found himself entranced, envious and more than a little suspicious at Sankei’s joviality. He seemed to burst at the very seams with life, enthusiastically calling back to this and that time when so and so had done such and such.

Only when the group voted in favour of moving to a sports bar did Kirui realise the sun had gone down.

Feeling a little flushed from the drinks, he excused himself for fresh air. It had been an unusually warm day for July and the balmy evening air, coupled with the hum of vehicles and foot traffic, was calming. Kirui exhaled, grateful for the simple pleasures that were satiety, familiar company and minimal thought.

The door opened and shut behind him a moment later.

Sankei shook out a cigarette from a bright blue pack.

 “Those will kill you.”

 “I’m quitting soon.”

 “Mhm,” Kirui replied dubiously.

He was tempted to whip out his phone as the silence grew between them but he didn’t want to look like a screen addict.

Wait, why do you care anyway?

Down the street, a woman pushed a stroller while talking animatedly to her friend. A man jogged across the road and gave them a nod of acknowledgement as he stepped into the restaurant.

 “Congratulations, by the way,” Sankei said. “On your sister’s wedding.”

Kirui stuffed his hands into his pockets with a mumbled thanks. He’d had enough of the warmth now and wished he could whisper an incantation to cool himself but Sankei was watching him amusedly, and standing close enough that he’d hear besides.

After a moment, “You never did say where you work.”

 “Kinga library.”

Sankei’s eyes lit up. “I’m there twice weekly and have never seen you.”

Shit. What do I— “I work in inventory. At the back.”

Sankei hmm’d.

Kirui was in the process of devising a clever exit from the conversation when Sankei stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it into the dustbin.

 “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to disappoint your sister this weekend.”

Kirui’s head whipped up. “What?”

 “Well, my girlfriend and I parted ways a few weeks ago and I don’t have a date lined up.”

 “I don’t either,” Kirui said. “Have a date, I mean. I’ve had a girlfriend before.”

Sankei’s grin was so wide he might have died from holding in his laughter if Kirui hadn’t elbowed him in the ribs.

 “Not a word,” he warned as the rest of the group stepped out of the restaurant, curious about what had Sankei in stitches.

 “What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Makena.

Already in the CBD to pick up his suit from the tailor, Kirui had been unable to resist dropping by Kinga Library.  He’d spent most of the day lounging in bed, half watching TV, half sleeping off the previous day’s alcohol. Fridays were typically quiet days in the library but the lobby was awash with activity and not just from non-magical patrons, Kirui saw several familiar faces mixed in.

 “You’re supposed to be on leave,” she said, as though personally offended.

 “I uh—”

Makena waved him away. “Never mind that, I’ve got an eleven o’clock appointment with— oh damn, there he is.”

Kirui followed her gaze to a very familiar face.

 “Well, isn’t this a happy coincidence,” Sankei said when he reached them. He turned to Makena. “It’s lovely to see you again, Ms. Kathambi.”

Sankei was dressed in a crisp grey shirt, dark trousers, and leather loafers.

Makena turned an accusatory stare at Kirui. “Do you two know each other?”

 “I uh—”

 “We have mutual friends,” Sankei said suavely.

 “I see.”

Sankei turned to Kirui. “You’ll be joining us for the meeting then?”

 “Kirui’s on leave at the moment,” Makena said. “Though I had hoped to introduce you two on his return.”

Kirui finally found his words. “Introduce us?”

 “For a case. We’ll talk about it once you’re back at work next week,” Makena said, a little irritated now.

 “Fine,” Kirui mumbled.

Makena gestured for Sankei to follow her but he held up a finger and hang back. Once she was out of earshot, he turned to Kirui.

 “When you said you worked at the library, I thought you meant as a librarian.”

Kirui’s surprise at seeing Sankei was quickly replaced by something akin to dread. “I understand if you find it weird. I’ll try my best not to get in your way—”

 “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I found it weird.”

 “Oh,” was all Kirui could say.

 “That being said, I accept.”

 “Accept what?”

 “Your offer to accompany you to Cherop’s wedding.”

 “I didn’t offer anything,” Kirui stammered.

Sankei just smiled. “I’m happy to go over the details in about an hour if you’d like. There’s a cafe across the street that just opened.”

Kirui knew exactly which one he meant, having been subjected to merciless construction noise over the past three months.

 “Alright but I’m leaving at exactly one minute past five.”

This time Sankei’s smile was infuriating.

Kirui tapped his fingers against the table as he watched pedestrians bustle past.

He’d ordered a cup of coffee when he first arrived and leafed through his pocket book of protection spells, making notes in the margin. Majority of its contents had been taught to him by Makena when she took him under her wing but he’d created a few himself. Composing spells was easy enough with the right training and intent but Makena had cautioned Kirui against self-doubt.

Your magic can sense when your mind isn’t in it, she’d once said. At that point, it’s a question of confidence and not skill.

Kirui’s colleagues had probably spent all of yesterday strengthening the protections around Kinga Library. It would’ve been a good opportunity to test some of his new creations but that would have to be next time.

His phone flashed with a notification from Cherop.

Can’t wait to see who you bring tonight!!!

 Oh god. He’d been so focused on the wedding tomorrow, he’d forgotten about the rehearsal dinner. Surely, he couldn’t expect Sankei to attend that too. He probably already had plans.

 “You’re still here,” a voice said.

Kirui looked up to see Sankei sliding into the seat opposite his. A quick look at his watch confirmed that it was five sharp.

 “How do you do that?” he asked.

Sankei turned to him after flagging down a waiter. “Do what?”

Kirui made an all-encompassing gesture. “Be so… perfect all the time.”

Except, perfect wasn’t it. No one was perfect but there was something so… assured about Sankei’s presence.

 “I’m the furthest thing from perfect, trust me.”

 “You know what I mean,” Kirui said after the waiter had taken Sankei’s order.

Instead of playing coy, Sankei simply smiled as he always did. “Alright, I’ll tell you as long as you promise not to make fun of me.”

Kirui leaned in. “On my life.”

 “I just try to see the positive side of things.”

Kirui waited and when Sankei shrugged his shoulders as though to say that was it, he nearly burst into laughter.

 “You’re joking.”

 “I swear on my mother’s grave,” he said. “Besides, a cynical life isn’t worth living for very long.”

Kirui could only stare.

 “That’s it? That’s the secret?”

 “I mean, it would be cool if I had half your brain or could create fire out of nothing.”

 “Ninety percent of the people I work with say the same.”

 “About your smarts or the fire?”

 “Flashy displays of magic take too much energy and skill,” Kirui said, trying to redirect the conversation away from himself. “And most of us have to work hard, one wrong spell could have disastrous consequences.”

Sankei smiled knowingly but didn’t push the issue. “I hear there’s a rehearsal dinner tonight?”

 “You don’t have to come,” Kirui rushed to say. “I’m sure you’re busy enough as it is.”

 “I want to attend,” Sankei said after taking a sip of his coffee. “Cherop was one of my best students.”

Kirui knew Sankei had spent two years as a graduate assistant after uni but hadn’t known he’d taught actual classes.

They spoke a bit more about when to meet up tomorrow morning and where Sankei would sit (with Kirui, of course) and whether or not Sankei would attend the afterparty (“I want to attend,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument).

The weather was still nice when they left an hour later so they took the long way to Kirui’s stage, enjoying the CBD’s sights and sounds.

 “So, why did your girlfriend break up with you?”

A look of alarm flashed across Sankei’s face and Kirui might have regretted the question — and his reckless assumption that Sankei hadn’t been the one to break up with his girlfriend — if he hadn’t been wondering all evening.

 “I work too much too often,” Sankei said with a shrug.

Kirui sighed in relief then immediately regretted it.

 “It’s not a good thing and I’m trying to cut back but it’s difficult when finding the right piece of information at the right time could mean the difference between a conviction and an acquittal.”

Kirui understood all too well.

Despite Kirui’s apprehension, both the rehearsal dinner and the wedding went off without a hitch. In fact, they were such a blur that he would later be hard pressed to recount all but a few specific occurrences.

Cherop’s radiance as she walked down the aisle. The easy way Sankei not only carried conversation but included him. His own enlivenment and subsequently mortifying dance moves at the afterparty.

It was one of the best days Kirui could recall, and it wasn’t even his.

Or precisely because it hadn’t been his.

Perhaps it was because for the first time in years, his presence was all that had been demanded of him. Demanded, accepted, and found worthy without the need for addition or alteration.

Through it all the only thing on his mind was Sankei’s endearingly cliche declaration, words so bold in their defiance.

A cynical life isn’t worth living for very long.

Kirui was dead on his feet by the time he got home but all he could think was, maybe.

A familiar smile popped into his mind and he couldn’t help a smile of his own.

Maybe.

======

Image: insspirito cropped