That Night in Lagos Read Free Page A

assistant’s head. He however dodged my efforts, an inconvenient turn of affairs, and flashed a blade at me in response.
    Not to be outdone, I pressed two fingernails on the metal fist; a sharp slice of metal slid out the end of my walking stick and I slashed at the advancing blade. The assistant dropped his knife and scrambled onto the horse’s back where he clung to the neck like a leech.
    Having recovered sufficiently from his shock that I’d correctly surmised our driver’s intentions, Inspector Jones drew out his bludgeon with a curse. The three thugs behind us were now hemming us in, their weapons considerably more potent than the police-issue club.
    While I’m the first to admit that a good fight is thoroughly invigorating, I could readily discern that it wouldn’t be quite as refreshing for Inspector Jones, as ill-prepared as he was. And the Obayifo would provide more than a spot of trouble, situated in the sunless shadows as we were. I leaned over the bench, scooped up the reins and slapped them solidly against the weary little nag’s back. The obstinate creature snorted, uncertain in the face of the confusion that surrounded it.
    Appreciating my intent, Inspector Jones reached for the whip and snapped it heartily. The carriage jolted forward as the horse responded, and we began careening down the alley, the assistant bouncing against the horse’s neck and shrieking in protest. Another snap of the whip persuaded the horse not to slacken its pace and the Obayifo barely dodged being run over.
    Recovering far too rapidly for polite society, the humanoid paranormal leapt up and gripped onto the side of the carriage. He snarled up at me, fangs exposed.
    “What atrocious manners,” I muttered. No matter how often I was confronted with the less polite members of the paranormal society, I simply couldn’t allow myself to become accustomed to their behavior, for to do so would be to condone it.
    To emphasize my disgust, I jabbed the pointed end of my stick toward the Obayifo. Given the nature of the surface over which our transport was careening, it was marvelous that my blade managed to nick the sorcerer at all. A welt of thick blood oozed from the cut across his shoulder, but what I’d really been aiming for was his neck. There’s nothing like decapitation to put a stop to vampire nonsense.
    The vampire in question hissed at me as he swung onto the wagon. “Go home or be at peace,” he warned just as Inspector Jones swung his bludgeon.
    While his weapon was rather limited, it proved to be somewhat useful, for the force of it against the back of the Obayifo’s head propelled the sorcerer forward. Another thump of the rubber stick directed our adversary toward the other edge of the wagon, at which point I planted a booted foot squarely onto his lower region and kicked him over. One of the rear wheels rolled over the Obayifo, causing the wagon to lurch upward. Only Inspector Jones’ quick reflexes prevented me from pitching over the side as well.
    “Well done,” I told him, although the fact that the Obayifo still had his head securely attached to his shoulders was a trifle disappointing.
    “Indeed,” the man muttered, gazing back at the Obayifo. The dent in the creature’s head from the wheel didn’t prevent him from standing up and raising a fist in warning. The three human companions who had been left behind during our mad dash only now jogged into view, but by then, we’d veered out of the alley onto a sunlit dirt road and a few breaths later our attackers were out of sight.
    “Miss Bee,” Inspector Jones huffed as he reined in the nag. “That man… his teeth… and his eyes… They…”
    “Not now, Inspector,” I interrupted. “Duck,” and I flung my stick at his head.
    With a sharp exhale that closely resembled a cuss, he sunk to his knees and the metal fist atop my walking stick smacked soundly against the neck of the assistant. The man slumped and slid off the horse, one of his legs