Akata Witch: Chapters 8–12

“Never use juju on Lambs for petty revenge,” he said. “You’ll find yourself standing before the Library Council trying to defend your actions. You don’t want that, trust me.”

Her eyes were heavy and her mind was muddled.

Sunny had always wondered about all the secrecy, and her mother’s response never changed—cold and standoffish.

This priceless tome has since been duplicated exactly three times, yet the whereabouts of these copies are unknown.

Nevertheless, Udide revels in trickery.

The wounds were cauterized.

Ritual sacrifices and occult activities have long been a problem in Nigeria, but never has Igboland had a serial ritual killer like this.

This time she walked in what she knew was a straight, regal manner.

They went right to Bola’s Store of Books. Sasha headed straight to the section marked ENTER AND BUY AT YOUR OWN RISK. This time, two teenagers, an old man, and two women were perusing the section.

“Mhm. But I don’t know anything, really.”
“That’s an understatement,” he said, chuckling and patting her on the shoulder.

The bird’s feathers were soft or scratchy, depending on the direction you rubbed them. They were also covered with a thin coat of reddish palm oil, the smell wafting from its body.

“Humility,” Taiwo said, standing up and looking down at them. “Sasha, Chichi, you both lack it. Sunny, you have it because you’re new. You’ve still yet to realize your own potential.”

“But you two little super-intelligent vagabonds know, don’t you?”

“We don’t know what it is he’s planning, but these killings and maimings point toward the blackest, most secret type of juju,” Taiwo said.

Sunny exhaled loudly but looked away, working hard to shut her mouth. What else could she say that was coherent and not full of swear words, anyway?

As I have repeated incessantly throughout this book, there is no direction you can turn that does not face you toward certain death.

And for the hundredth time, I repeat: KEEP YOUR SECRET LIFE FROM YOUR LAMB RELATIONS AND ACQUAINTANCES. Not only are there dire consequences for breaching secrecy, but you risk upsetting a very delicate, crucial hard-earned balance.

And for the hundredth time, I repeat: KEEP YOUR SECRET LIFE FROM YOUR LAMB RELATIONS AND ACQUAINTANCES. Not only are there dire consequences for breaching secrecy, but you risk upsetting a very delicate, crucial hard-earned balance.

She also read well into her Advanced Juju Knife Jujus book, though the subject was way over her head. She didn’t even have a juju knife. And every charm had some crazy warning or side effect like heart failure, brain aneurisms, cancer, venereal disease, itchy rashes, terrible luck, insanity, and, most often, death.

She unrolled it and, just like that, the glowing euphoria she’d been experiencing for a month died.

Jibaku scrabbled away from Sunny into the guy’s arms, her eyes wide and wild.

The monotony of the drive and the hum of the car were soothing. Soon, she dozed off.

In large black letters, the sign read WETIN?, which meant “What is it?” in Pidgin English.

Sunny was trying not to hyperventilate.

When I was very small, I walked out of the forest. A young man found me. I was like a little monkey, wild and feral.

“I have severe scoliosis. And no, I was not born this way. And I don’t think I was abandoned by my parents. I think they were killed.”

“No, I’m not,” Sunny said. She froze, mortified by her rudeness.

“If she doesn’t come around, I’m sure Anatov will find someone else to mentor you,” Chichi said.
This was not a consolation. She wanted Sugar Cream.

“Healing juju is tricky. Do it wrong and you worsen the ailment. First you find the cause. Let’s say that a man has a boil on his nyash."

“There is only one way to swiftly heal the body. You must undo and then reknit the cells. Those who excel at this must have fast hands and superb spatial skills. Males possess this skill in greater quantities than females. With young people, simply look to their ability to play video games for your answer.”

Chukwu’s eyes were flashing with interest as he sidled closer, a lazy smile on his face.

Her mother looked shrewdly at Chichi.

In the distance, they spotted an ominous red cloud—the funky train, approaching at a ridiculous speed.

The funky train was covered with sayings embellished with colorful loops and swirls.

“Sir,” said a stately woman, “does this piece of junk run on fuel—gasoline?”

Anatov said they’d be staying at the Hilton, the biggest and most lavish hotel in the city. Even one of America’s presidents had stayed there.

“I hate this hotel and everything it stands for,” Orlu said. “The over-extravagance when people are living so badly just outside the hotel, it’s obnoxious.”

He wore a long light blue caftan and matching pants.

Anyway, Nimm women are...kind of eccentric.

The American supermarkets were always neat, the prices rigid, everything so sterile. The Abuja Market in particular was ripe, unpredictable, and loud.