Blood on the Marina

The Stain Beneath the Marina

My hands were covered in black.

Not oil from the engine parts of a broken speed boat, and not grease from the food stalls by the Lagos water. It was my own blood. It spilled from a deep cut on my palm, thick and dark like wet ink, dripping onto the concrete floor of the underground club.

Kelechi! Move faster! The boss is checking the back rooms in two minutes!

That was Yetunde's voice through the small earpiece in my ear. She sat three streets away in a dark room packed with computer screens, watching the security cameras. Her glowing glasses flashed blue in the dark as she typed on her keyboards.

I wiped my hand on my jeans and cursed under my breath. I am trying, Yetunde. This mess is not normal dirt. It is magic sludge. It sticks to the floor like glue.

Just clean it, she said back. If he sees what you are scrubbing up, we are both dead.

She was right. Working the night shift at Club Marina was supposed to be a safe way to stay hidden. The club sat right on the edge of the Lagos lagoon, loud and bright on top, where rich people danced and drank until morning. But down here in the basement, away from the music, things were different. People came here to buy things that did not belong in the normal world. Spells in jars, glowing powder, and weapons that could cut through stone.

Sometimes, magic users fought. Sometimes, they bled. And when they left their mess behind, the club owners called me.

Kelechi Vance. The guy who cleaned up the mess. They thought I was just a quiet orphan with a strong stomach. They did not know the truth. They did not know why I always wore long sleeves, or why my heart beat slower than normal people, or why my blood looked like midnight.

I poured a bottle of harsh cleaning liquid over the dark stain on the floor. It fizzed and hissed, turning white before washing away into the drain. My palm throbbed with a dull, heavy ache. The cut was closing up already. That was the scariest part. Normal cuts took days to heal. Mine healed in minutes, leaving smooth skin behind, as if nothing had ever happened.

I stood up and grabbed my mop bucket, my muscles tight. I hated this life. I hated hiding in the shadows of a city that never slept. I wanted out. I wanted enough money to pack a bag and leave Lagos entirely.

Then, the lights went out.

Every single bulb in the basement popped at the same time with a loud snap. Sparks rained down from the ceiling like hot stars. Total darkness swallowed the room.

Yetunde? I called out, my voice sharp. "What just happened? Did the power grid fail?"

No answer came through the earpiece. Just a loud, high-pitched static sound that made my ears ring.

Yetunde! I said louder.

Still nothing. The static grew worse, turning into a sound like wind rushing through a tunnel. My chest went cold. My heart pounded hard against my ribs. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

I reached into my pocket for my phone to use the flashlight, but before my fingers could wrap around it, the air above my head changed. The pressure in the room dropped so fast my ears popped. It felt like standing right at the edge of a breaking dam.

Crack.

The sound was louder than a gunshot. The thick concrete ceiling in the middle of the room burst downward. Grey dust and chunks of stone flew everywhere, hitting the walls and smashing the tables I had just cleaned. I threw my arms over my face and stumbled backward, coughing as the thick cloud choked the air.

What the Before I could finish the word, a figure dropped straight through the hole in the roof, landing hard on the concrete floor.

The dust cleared slowly, and my breath caught in my throat.

Standing in the middle of the ruined room was a girl. She wore dark tactical gear covered in dust and soot, her face set in a hard, angry line. But it was not her clothes that made my blood run cold. It was what she held in her hand.

A long spear. It did not look like metal or wood. It glowed with a fierce, burning blue light that cut through the darkness of the basement, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. The power coming off that weapon made the hairs on my arms stand straight up.

She turned her head, and her eyes locked onto mine. They were sharp, cold, and entirely merciless.

Found you, she said. Her voice was ice.

I held up my hands, stepping back until my back hit the cold brick wall. My mind raced. I had never seen this girl before in my life. I was just a low-level cleaner in a basement. Why was someone hunting me with a glowing weapon?

You have the wrong person, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I do not know who you are.

The girl, Amina, didn't blink. She lowered the tip of her glowing spear directly toward my chest. The heat from the weapon warmed the skin through my shirt.

Kelechi Vance, she said, spitting out my name like it tasted foul. "You think you can hide down here playing human? You think the blood on your hands washes away what you really are?

My stomach dropped. She knew my name. She knew about my blood.

Who sent you? I demanded, the fear inside me turning into a hard, desperate anger. What do you want from me?

Amina did not answer with words. She pulled her arm back, her muscles locking into place, and lunged forward with the spear aimed straight for my heart.

I threw myself to the side just as the glowing point drove deep into the brick wall where I had been standing a second before. Stone exploded into powder.

Before I could push myself off the floor, a heavy thud echoed from the dark corner of the room near the private vaults.

I looked over. The heavy steel door of the main vault, a door that took three men and a hydraulic lift to open, was swinging slowly inward on broken hinges.

From the shadows of the open vault, a pair of boots stepped out.

My heart completely stopped.

A young boy walked into the dim light. He wore a simple black jacket, and his hand rested on the handle of a dark, heavy blade strapped to his belt. But the sight of him made the room spin.

He looked exactly like me.

Every line of his face, the shape of his jaw, the dark curl of his hair, it was like looking into a mirror in a nightmare. He stared at me with cold, empty eyes, a small, cruel smile touching the corners of his mouth.

You missed, sister, the boy said, his voice an exact match for my own. Let me show you how it is done.