The safehouse's brick walls glowed faintly in the pre-dawn light, Kai's kettle hissing on the counter as I zipped my backpack, the Peace Bloom tin tucked snugly inside. Fernie Junior had claimed the windowsill's cracked pot, its vine twirling—swish-swish—like it was practicing for a dance-off. My hands trembled, not from the chill but from the magic still buzzing in my veins—petals I'd summoned in last night's training, shields I'd barely held, all proof I wasn't just Mira, the snarky retail writer anymore. Zahir hovered nearby, his misty form coiling restlessly, bells jingling with a protective edge that hadn't eased since Jasmin's alley ambush. Kai, slouched in a chair, scribbled in his battered journal, the amulet around his neck pulsing softly, a quiet anchor in the whirlwind we were about to dive into.
"West Africa," I muttered, slinging the bag over my shoulder, Fernie bopping the pot—thwap!—as if to say, Adventure time! "Anansi's web—sounds like a chill field trip, right? Meet a protector, learn some tricks, no biggie."
Kai snorted, shutting the journal with a snap. "Chill? Afi's no pushover—she's been guarding the Bloom's web offshoot for decades, sharp as a blade and twice as tough. She'll test you, Mira, and she doesn't play nice. The pact's serious, and you're the wildcard shaking it up."
Zahir's bells clanged, mist flaring as he floated closer, his ember eyes narrowing at Kai. "Test her? She's barely grasped her chaos, and you're tossing her to some spider-god's lackey? I'm her shield, Kai—not this Afi or her web."
I smirked, nudging Zahir's mist, warm despite its cool shimmer. "Ease up, Genie—jealous of a spider now? I've got this. Fernie's my wingman, right?" The vine high-fived my bag—slap!—leaves rustling like a giggle.
Kai stood, tucking the journal into his satchel. "Afi's not the enemy—Jasmin is. The pact—Lashame, Anansi, Quetzalcoatl, Brigid, all those gods—holds against evil like her anti-Djinn curse. Afi's our first stop to get you ready, Mira. Your Bloom's root woke their offshoots—her web's humming because of your words, your fame. Fail her test, and we're all in deep trouble."
Zahir huffed, bells tinkling sharply. "Fail? She won't—her chaos is stronger than your dusty relics, hipster. But if this Afi tries anything—" His mist swirled tighter, brushing my arm, a silent vow that sent a warmth through my chest.
I rolled my eyes, but his protectiveness hit deeper than I'd admit, his bells softening when he caught my glance.
"Let's not jinx it, okay? Kai, how do we get there—magic carpet? Teleporting teapot?"
Kai grinned, pulling a small, rune-etched stone from his pocket, its obsidian surface glinting like a star. "Close—anchor stone, tied to the pact's network. Hold tight—it's a wild ride."
He tossed it to the floor, and the air cracked—a shimmering rift opening, golden threads weaving through it like a glowing tapestry. Fernie swished—thwack!—in excitement, nearly knocking the pot over. Zahir grabbed my hand—solid, warm, no mist—his bells clanging once, urgent. "Stay close, my lady," he murmured, his eyes fierce, like he'd fight the rift itself to keep me safe.
I nodded, gripping the tin through my bag, my pulse syncing with its faint glow. Kai stepped in, and I followed, Zahir's hand steadying me as the world lurched—light and sound twisting, jasmine and ozone flooding my senses—then spat us out into a burst of heat and color.
We landed in a bustling market square, the air thick with the tang of smoked fish, ripe mangoes, and dusty earth. Sunlight glinted off woven baskets and vibrant kente cloth, vendors haggling in rapid Akan, French, and English, their voices a lively hum. Accra, Kai had said—Ghana's beating heart, where Anansi's protector, Afi, waited. My sneakers crunched on sandy ground, Fernie poking out—swish—to boop a stray yam, sending it rolling under a stall. "Oops," I muttered, snatching it back before a vendor's glare turned nuclear.
Zahir materialized, bells muffled to avoid drawing eyes in the crowd, his mist coiling tight around me. "This place hums," he said, voice low, eyes scanning the throng—women balancing trays of plantains, kids darting through with kites. "Magic's thick—your Bloom's stirred it, Mira."
Kai nodded, leading us through the bustle, his amulet hidden under his faded hemp shirt. "Afi's nearby—a weaver's shop, edge of the market. Stay sharp—Jasmin's hunters could've tracked the rift's echo."
I swallowed, the tin's glow a faint pulse against my hip, Jasmin's venom—"I'll have you yet"—a claw in my mind. Her ananti-magiciss lingered, a ghost from the alley. "Great," I said, forcing a grin. "Nothing screams 'welcome' like a death squad."
My phone buzzed in my pocket—Trendy Threads group chat because o, of course, m, my retail hell wouldn't let me breathe. Jen's text popped up: "Yo, cuz, Greg's losing it—sales up 20% since urourook, but he's whining bout Fernie's 'vandalism.' Where u at??" Dave chimed in: "Miss u at the register, Mira—u okay? Fernie's chill, Greg's just loud." Greg himself: "Mira, ur plant's a liability—fix it or ur fired (legal's watching)!" I groaned, shoving the phone back, Fernie thwacking my bag—bang!—like it sensed the drama.
"Trouble?" Zahir asked, his bells tinkling, mist brushing my shoulder, warm and curious.
"Just work," I muttered, dodging a cart piled with cassava. "Greg's got a vendetta, Jen's hyping chaos, Dave's… being Dave. They're clueless about this." I gestured vaguely at the market, the tin, him.
"Let them stay clueless," he said, voice firm, bells softening. "Your world's here now—Jasmin's the threat, not some cologne-soaked tyrant."
I smirked. Is protectiveness a quiet fire in my chest? "Yeah, but I'm still broke—tickets to Africa aren't cheap, and I'm not exactly swimming in royalties yet."
Zahir's bells jingled, a sheepish note creeping in. "I could… grant such things—gold, passage—but your chaos…" He trailed off, mist flickering like he'd forgotten his own power in the heat of guarding me.
"Forget it," I said, waving him off, but a spark flared—the Bloom's hum, jasmine-sharp. As we passed a stall, my fingers brushed a stack of cloth, and petals flickered—unseen, fleeting—leaving a crisp stack of cedis tucked in my bag. I froze, checking it—real, enough for a flight back. "What the—?"
Kai glanced back, smirking. "Your chaos—Bloom's got a mind of its own. Keep it in check, or you'll be funding markets worldwide."
Zahir's bells clanged, indignant. "That should've been my wish—blast it, I'm slipping!"
I laughed, pocketing the cash, Fernie high-fiving—slap!—like it planned the heist. "You're fine, Genie—stick to shielding, I'll handle the hustle."
We wove through the market's pulse—drummers pounding, kids laughing—until Kai stopped at a low building: mud walls, thatched roof, a wooden sign reading Afi's Threads. Inside, looms clacked rhythmically, threads shimmering faintly, woven with a light that felt alive. A woman stood at the center—tall, hesheocs swept into a crown, her dark eyes sharp as she worked a loom, fingers dancing over golden strands like she was sculpting the air itself.
"Afi," Kai said, bowing slightly, his voice respectful but easy. "This is Mira—and Zahir."
Afi's gaze flicked up, piercing, pinning me like a bug on a board. Her voice was rich and assured, carrying the market's warmth but edged with steel. "The writer who woke the Bloom," she said, setting the shuttle down with a deliberate clack. "And her Djinn—bound, yet fierce. You've brought a storm, Kai—Jasmin's shadow trails you."
I bristled, Fernie thwacking my bag—bang!—in solidarity. "Storm found me," I shot back, crossing my arms. "I didn't sign up for psycho exes or magic plants—Jasmin's the one hunting, not me."
Afi's lips twitched, not quite a smile, her eyes softening a fraction. "Yet here you stand, chaos in your wake, the Bloom's root singing through you. My web offshoots it—Anansi's pact demands I test you, Mira. Prove you're worthy, or the web rejects you, and the pact falters."
Zahir's bells clanged, mist flaring as he floated forward, his voice sharp. "Test her? She's faced Jasmin's hunger—survived an anti-Djinn's wrath! What more do you demand, weaver? She's no pawn for your spider-god's games!"
Afi stepped closer, her presence heavy, like the market's pulse distilled into one woman. "Survival's not enough—control is. The Bloom's offshoots—my web, Brigid's flame in the Celtic hills, Quetzalcoatl's feathers across Mesoamerica—are bound by gods who swore neutrality against evil. Jasmin's no mere hunter—she's corruption, a breach of creation itself, twisting Lashame's gift into hunger. Your chaos, Mira, could strengthen our pact—or unravel it entirely. Show me you can weave, not destroy."
I glanced at Zahir, his mist steadying me, then at Kai, who nodded, his amulet pulsing faintly. "Fine," I said, smirking despite the knot in my gut. "Test away—Afi's got nothing on Fernie's vibe." The vine high-fived—slap!—leaves rustling like a cheer, toppling a spool of thread with a thunk.
Afi's test wasn't a brawl—it was a loom, and it scared me more than Jasmin's blades. She led us to a smaller room, its walls draped with glowing threads, a single loom at the center, its web shimmering like liquid gold under a skylight's beam. "Weave your chaos," she said, handing me a shuttle strung with strands that hummed like them, alive and slippery. "Anansi's magic binds—create, don't break."
I stared, palms sweaty, the tin's glow pulsing through my bag. "I'm a writer, not a textile major," I muttered, sinking onto the stool, Fernie twirling—swish—on a nearby table like it was ready to coach.
Zahir's bells jingled softly, his mist brushing my shoulder, warm and steady. "You shape worlds with words, my lady," he said, voice low, a quiet fire behind it. "This is no different—trust your chaos, trust you."
I nodded, swallowing hard, and gripped the shuttle. The strands glowed under my touch, vibrating like they knew me. I pushed—clumsy, threads tangling, snapping—but the Bloom flared, jasmine-sharp, flooding my veins. Petals flickered in my mind, guiding my hands, weaving into the web—messy, chaotic, but whole. Vines curled in the pattern, petals glinting like stars. Fernie thwacked the table—bang!—chasing a stray thread like a cat, leaves rustling in triumph.
Hours blurred—sweat beaded my forehead, my fingers cramped—but the web grew, a glowing tapestry of petals, vines, and light. Afi watched, silent, her eyes unreadable until I tied the final knot, the loom humming softly. "Unorthodox," she said a,t last, a hint of approval breaking through. "No weaver's craft—yet you bind, strong and wild. The web accepts you, Mira."
Zahir grinned, bells chiming bright. "Told you—she's chaos, but hers. Jasmin'll choke on it."
Kai clapped, leaning against the wall. "One down—more to go. Afi, what's the word on Jasmin?"
Afi's gaze darkened, her fingers tracing the web's edge. "Her shadow's close—I feel it on Anansi's threads, hungry, sharp. Her clan's regrouping—stronger, with relics of their own. You've stirred her, Mira—your fame's a flare she can't ignore. Move fast—Brigid's protector waits next."
I sagged, the tin's hum steadying me, Zahir's mist closer now, his protectiveness a quiet anchor. "Ireland, huh?" I said, smirking. "Hope they've got better coffee than Greg's sludge."
The next day dawned over Accra, the market quieter as we prepped to leave Afi's shop. My phone buzzed again—Jen: "Cuz, u ghosting us? Greg's got a new rule—'no plants on premises,' LOL. Fernie's a legend tho—vid's at 200K!" Dave: "Shift's dull without u, Mira—u good? Say hi to ur Genie for me." I snorted, typing back: "Alive, barely. Fernie says hi—Greg can suck it." The tin pulsed, and—poof—another stack of cedis appeared in my bag, petals flickering briefly. I gaped, Kai, chuckling nearby.
"Bloom's at it again," he said, slinging his satchel. "Your chaos likes to pay its way—just don't flood the economy."
Zahir's bells clanged, sheepish. "I should've—blast, my mind's on her safety, not coin!"
I laughed, pocketing the cash—enough for tickets to Ireland, maybe more. "You're good, Zahir—keep the hunters off, I'll handle the budget." Fernie booed my arm—thwap!—like it was proud of my hustle.
Afi stood at the door, her locs catching the morning sun. "The pact holds—Anansi's web is yours, Mira. Brigid's flame tests deeper—heart, not craft. Go, before Jasmin's shadow falls."
We stepped into the market, Kai's anchor stone ready, Zahir's mist tight around me, his bells a soft promise. The Bloom hummed, my chaos waking, and with every step, I felt him—fierce, steady—blooming beside me.