34

JUDGMENT DAY

The council came three hours before daybreak.

Chukwu was able to drop off Chichi at her hut. Then he dropped Orlu and Sasha at Orlu’s house, Grashcoatah following Orlu and landing in his compound safely hidden behind the house’s surrounding wall. At home, Sunny had time to greet her parents, peek into Ugonna’s room where he just grunted a hello and went back to sleep, take a shower, and unpack her things. It was just as she lay down to get a few hours of sleep that she felt her toes tingle. Then she felt the tingle travel up her body all the way to the top of her head. And it was in the center of her head that she felt the tug.

“Oh no,” she whispered as she was pulled through her bedsheets and window. Then there she was, standing barefoot in her nightgown in front of the council car.

“Get in,” the driver said in American-accented Igbo. She was a small woman with long straight black hair, lots of make-up, and large earrings that clinked when she turned her head. Sunny got in.

On the front lawn of the library, Grashcoatah was chained, shackled, and muzzled. He lay there, looking forlornly at Sunny as she passed. He would flicker into invisibility and then reappear, groaning in despair and biting at his chains.

“Hang in there,” Sunny said as she was ushered inside. “We’ll get you free!” She hoped. She hoped.

“Move,” Sunny’s escort said, shoving her along. “Worry about yourself.”

Sunny would never forget the black classroom in the Obi Library. Even the leather seats and table were black. Sitting in the plush chairs were Library Council members or officials or executioners, Sunny didn’t know or care. They all looked like they could be her angry mean aunt or unforgiving uncle. The only one Sunny recognized was Sugar Cream. Sunny went and stood with the others before the table of adults, feeling irrational with fatigue and anger. She fought back tears of rage.

“Pull yourself together,” Orlu whispered to her. “Grashcoatah’s life depends on it.”

Anyanwu, she said in her mind.

I’m here, Anyanwu responded.

She felt her muscles flex as she stood up straight and faced the stern, mostly unfamiliar council members. Some were her mother’s age; most of them were much older. But Sunny didn’t care. She was in a sort of zone.

“Again, here you are, Sunny Nwazue,” an old woman said to her in Igbo. She wore her hair in thin white-gray braids and she looked more ancient than Sugar Cream. “Your third offense. You’d think nearly dying at the hands of a djinn would teach you to follow the rules. Yet here you are, and you’ve dragged your Oha coven and a grasscutter into the trouble with you.”

Orlu stepped forward. Sunny put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got this,” she told him. She was shaking, but it wasn’t from fear; she felt she would burst if she didn’t say what she desperately wanted to say. She told them everything, from the beginning to the current moment. She spoke about her brother being in the secret society, how she ended up thrown into the Obi Library basement, the djinn, the dreams, being doubled, meeting with Bola, Lagos, Udide, almost facing Death, and then Osisi and their great battle with Ekwensu, the Aku masquerade, and Ekwensu’s minions. But again, she kept her encounter with Chukwu to herself.