Nwabueze stared at the woman before him. Brown and white cowrie shells adorned her matted hair. He ignored the blood stains on her white wrapper, and the skulls around her waist. He’d come for one thing.

As she mumbled incoherently to the small wooden sculpture in her hand, his gaze swept through her frame. Burn scars decorated her skin. The ones on her face left him slightly curious. One half was completely burnt. The other half was unscathed. 

It calmed him that she shared something similar with his wife. Weirdly, it made him believe that she was the solution to the answers he spent seven months looking for. But while Nwammiri had clearly survived whatever burnt her, Adaku didn’t.

“Time travel is a very dangerous magic,” her hoarse voice grated his skin.

He stared at her for a beat before he spoke.

“You say you are the greatest sorceress alive. Is this too hard for you too?”

Her sinister smile revealed a hint of brown teeth.

“The warning was for you…”

Nwabueze didn’t need to be reminded. He was well aware of the risks. Yet, he grasped tightly onto the twig of hope that he could save Adaku’s life.

“You are not afraid,” Nwammiri continued.

“It is admirable. But it can also lead to your doom.”

At her words, fear clawed its way up his spine. 

Standing from her small, wooden stool, she began to lit candles in a circle around him.

He hated candles. He believed Adaku’s scented candles had caused the fire seven months ago. He had no proof to back his claim. After all, their small bungalow in Awka had burned to the ground. But he just knew. The candle had burnt the house, and it was his fault.

*

Nwabueze drove his Volvo 940 into his compound. Pressing his right foot against the brake pedal, the engine spluttered before it finally stopped. He sat in his car for a few minutes, lost in thought. It was 2019, and he was still driving his father’s old car and living in his old house. And now, he didn’t even have a job anymore.

Stepping down, he walked towards the house. His stomach growled in hunger.

The moment he stepped into the living room, the floral fragrance of Adaku’s scented candles enveloped him. The house, although old-fashioned, was spotlessly clean. Adaku was lying on one of the sofas. She’d complained of menstrual cramps in the morning. 

She turned and forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He didn’t return it.

“You’re back early today. How was work?”

Nwabueze clenched his jaws. “Good.”

He didn’t want to talk about it. So he walked straight into the kitchen, hoping there was something to eat. He checked all the pots. They were all empty. He opened their refrigerator. The sight of oranges and sachets of pure water greeted his eyes.

Anger smouldered beneath his calm façade. He slammed the refrigerator door shut. Walking back to the living room, he roughly tapped her legs.

“You’ve been at home all day and you didn’t cook anything?” He couldn’t keep his rage out of his tone.

Adaku’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Don’t yell at me. I’ve been in pain…”

He scoffed. “Because of small cramps, you couldn’t cook what your husband would eat?”

That made her sit up.

“I didn’t know you were going to be back this early. And didn’t you hear what I said? I’ve been hurting since morning.”

Her excuses sounded ridiculous to him. While he had to toil every day at work, she remained at home doing nothing.

“You’re not the only barren woman in the world! Stop using your sadness as an excuse to be lazy!”

She stared at him. He saw a hint of hurt in her empty eyes. Yet, he was too angry, too proud, to apologize. He couldn’t face her, so he stormed out of the house. Hours later, he received the call that changed his life.

*

Nwammiri was about to start the spell. She stretched a frail hand towards him. “Wear this in your right hand.”

Bloodied teeth and cowries held together by raffia. He took it from her, slipped it around his wrist. It immediately clung to his skin in a vice-like grip. 

She placed a bowl filled with black liquid before him.

“The time travel spell is only potent for two hours.”

Nwabueze already knew that. He had done extensive research before coming to meet her.

“You can meet people, converse with them. There is only one rule.” She paused, looked into his eyes.

“The natural order of life and death must be preserved. The universe will resist your efforts if you try to alter anything.”

It was another warning. Nwabueze knew. Another warning he wouldn’t heed.

“What happens when the two hours elapses?” He asked.

“The bracelet will bring you back.”

She pointed at the bowl.

“The moment it is time to go, drink this.”

His heart began to pound as Nwammiri went to stand at the foot of the large tree. Its trunk had eyes that looked like it could see everything. A wide opening below the eyes served as the mouth. She threw her living sacrifices in there.

“When the candles start emitting smoke, think of the exact moment you want to be taken back to,” she ordered. 

And then she began to chant. Her voice echoed in the forest. A bird wailed in the distance. The croaking sounds of toads filled the air.

Smoke suddenly filled the room. They danced in the air, morphing into the figures he saw in his dreams.

He closed his eyes, imagining he was in Awka, in his old house. He did what he could have done seven months ago. He kissed her forehead. He apologized for his outburst. He explained that he had lost his job. He put out the candle that was beside the round center table.

The smoke penetrated his nostrils. He felt something clawing at his chest. Guilt. Its talons dug deep, tearing him open. He’d known she was depressed. After their fertility specialist confirmed that her fallopian tubes were blocked, Adaku changed. She slept throughout the day and didn’t sleep at night. She stopped eating. She became a mere ghost of herself. Their doctor had suggested he take her to a therapist. 

When he told Adaku, she laughed at him. She told him that her pastor said she should pray more. Her fear and lack of faith in God caused her condition. 

A gust of wind blew across the room. The ground shook. Objects clattered to the floor.

“Drink. Now!”

With shaky hands, Nwabueze picked up the bowl and drank its contents. It smelt and tasted like stale blood, with a mixture of other things he didn’t care to know.

The room began to spin. He fell to the floor. His body shook uncontrollably.

Nwammiri spoke again. This time, it sounded like several people speaking at once.

“The spirits know your intentions. You cannot save her. She is dead forever.”

Those were the last words he heard before he fainted.

Nwabueze was lying on something hard. Opening his eyes, he took in his surroundings. He saw the rectangular sign that read ‘Chikason Kitchen and Bar.’

His heart sank. He wasn’t supposed to appear here—the bar he went to after he left the house. Nwammiri’s words repeated over and over again in his head.

‘The natural order of life and death must be preserved. The universe will resist your efforts if you try to alter anything.’

Nwabueze stared at the bracelet around his wrist. If he took it off, he would remain stuck in the past. He would have more time—not just two hours—to right his wrongs.

But as he pulled at the bracelet, it burned him and tightened more against his skin.

“No, no, no” he muttered to himself, quickly getting on his feet. 

The more he pulled, the more it burned. The sharp teeth bit into his flesh. His bled. Panic rose, clogging his throat. He couldn’t take it off.

He sprinted towards the main road. Waving his hands, he flagged down a shuttle minibus. 

“Tempsite,” he yelled the moment the bus slowed down before him.

“Two hundred.”

From Judiciary Road to Tempsite was hundred naira, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he opened the front door and got in. 

“Driver, why you allow mad man make he enter this bus?” 

At first, he was shocked that the woman behind was referring to him. But when he saw his reflection in the side mirror, he remembered. Since Adaku died, he hadn’t shaved his hair. Or bathed.

Blood rushed through his veins. His heart thumped. 

“Abeg give me your phone,” he muttered to the driver.

“My battery don die.”

When his eyes came back to the woman, she trembled. She gave him her phone without him asking.

His hands shook as he dialled the number he knew by heart.

The bus came to a stop as they got to Aroma Junction. All lanes were congested with vehicles.

A sheen of sweat appeared on Nwabueze’s forehead.

“Please pick up, please pick up,” he choked as the caller tune rang for the third time.

He saw her missed calls that day. She’d called him, but he was too drunk to answer.

“Wetin happen?” He heard the driver’s voice.

“Accident happen for front.”

Adaku picked up at that exact moment.

“Ada,” he choked. “Turn the candle off. It will burn your blanket…”

He heard her coughing.

“I’ve been calling you! There’s smoke everywhere,” she cried. 

He pushed the door open and ran out.

“This man don thief my phone o!” He heard behind him.

“Adaku, stop talking. Try to conserve your oxygen. Crouch to the floor.” Tears streamed down his eyes. The congested cars extended as far as his eyes could see. 

“I’m sorry,” he continued, “I saw the candle was too close to your blanket. I saw it before I left, but I was too angry to tell you anything…”

“Bueze, I can’t hear you…” The line cracked. “Some people…trying to…enter…save me…”

He spotted a keke making a U-Turn.

“Keke!”

His speed increased. He stretched his hand, grabbing onto the moving tricycle.

“Tempsite. Obi Okoli Avenue.” He sobbed.

“My house dey burn…”

“Oya enter!”

The man sped across the busy road.

“Ada, you’re not barren. I’m…” He spoke into the phone again. “I’m impotent…”

When they got to Tempsite, he checked the time. 

5:39 p.m. 

He’d left the house around 5:00 p.m. that day.

Hope blossomed in his chest. He could save her. He could make things right.

The keke swerved to the right, entering his street. From a distance, they saw the thick smoke. The driver increased his speed.

The keke finally came to a stop. Several people stood in front of his black gate. 

“My wife! Where is my wife?”

A woman who sold okpa beside their house saw him approaching. She broke down in tears.

“My wife is inside,” he yelled, elbowing people out of the way.

Getting to the front of the crowd, his heart dropped. Their white bungalow was completely consumed by fire. The flames, just like in his dreams, were red and fiery hot. 

Screaming, he tried to run towards the house. Several hands pulled him back, holding him firmly.

“My wife is inside,” he gasped, suddenly unable to breathe.

“Bring water!”

“Give him space!”

“Take him out of here.”

“He don dey faint o!”

The bracelet burned him again, this time hotter. He wretched and vomited the stale liquid he drank. He coughed, gagged. And he knew. His time was up.

His throat burned. His head spun. He closed his eyes.

When he woke up again, Nwammiri towered above him.

“I warned you,” she cackled. “Your time was reduced to an hour.”

“No,” he gasped.

In her hands was an axe. Fresh blood dripped from its sharp edge. She dragged him towards the mouth of the tree.

He closed his eyes.