Old man Schmidt was an odd one. He had black, fluffy hair and wore dark aviator glasses. He only spoke when someone else did in order to interrupt them.

Chris’s and Ryder’s sudden request to bring in another passenger to his plane didn’t bother him. Of course, it didn't. It meant they had to fork up more money.

Schmidt took their luggage and shoved them into a compartment on the side of the plane. In the cargo hold, there were a few seats fixed to the walls on either side like the ones for paratroopers before they parachuted into action, and Ryder’s van was fastened onto a prepared platform in the center.

It was an eighteen-hour flight.

Ryder stayed inside the vehicle for the entire plane ride.

Chris kept his distance from Tayte and was seated somewhere on the other side of the plane, reading book after book, falling in and out of sleep.

Tayte’s mind refused to rest. She had a hard time sitting still, swinging her feet back and forth like a child and thrusting her body as far as her constraints would let her. Every time she’d force her eyelids close, they’d open about a second later, as if pulled by an invisible force.

She wiped the sweat that dotted her forehead for the seventh time and then put her hand over her chest—her heart rate was frenzied. She pushed herself back into the wall and channeled the neurons firing off in head to focus on something. Home? No, that’s too boring.

Without her consent, an image from her past flashed before her. Her mother’s youthful face twisted with horror.

“I don’t want to be like this anymore,” a shaky voice echoed in her mind.

Her mother’s velvety voice replied, “It’s okay, we’re going to get you out of here.”

Tayte blinked back to reality and scanned the area. Nothing changed. She shook the memory away, raised her hands in front of her, and clenched them hard. With white knuckles, she started to swing, strike, parry, and block.

###

Nearing the last hour of the trip, Chris spotted Tayte’s solo sparring session and eyed her for a while. He turned back to his book quickly when she looked in his direction. Chris pretended to be focused on his book for the rest of the trip.

###

As planned, Tayte and Chris separated from Ryder at Kajjansi Airfield and scouted the land as they hauled their belongings. Chris led the way.

The sun hovering over them sent down scorching rays. Tayte could feel her skin blister at the scalding temperature as she plodded forward.

“It gets really hot around here during this time of year.” Chris looked back at her and made a face. “Oh, right, you need sunscreen,” he jested. “Did you bring any?”

“I’ll live,” Tayte said, squinting an eye.

They came across a dilapidated shack. The inside looked just as bad as the outside. A collection of dusty SUVs that hadn’t turned on in a long time surrounded them.

Chris halted. Tayte followed suit and stared at him as he analyzed each of the low-quality cars and then he pointed to a dark green one with confidence. “That one,” he said and strode over to it. He pulled a rear door open after a short struggle and threw his bags inside.

Tayte walked up to the door and hurled her gym back into the backseat.

“Okay, let’s go.” Chris slammed the door shut and headed to the driver’s seat.

As Tayte climbed into the passenger seat, she found Chris in the process of hot-wiring the car.

“Are we stealing this car?” Tayte asked.

“You’re an accessory to murder and traveled outside of the country without a passport. You’re worried about law-breaking now?” Chris jumped back as the old wires spat a spark at him.

“I’m just curious.”

“These cars have been stolen or recovered from the places where they were abandoned. Which is probably the same thing now that I think about it…” The engine teased a roar. “This is what we call a Thief’s Hangar. Cars are left here for traveling grave-robbers to use.”

Tayte pulled the rough seatbelt over her shoulder as she kept her eyes on Chris, hopelessly intrigued by the lore of the criminal underworld. A lot more interesting than the culture of morticians that’s for sure.

The engine roared back to life. Chris put on his seatbelt and steered the vehicle out of the shack.

As the SUV moved down the dusty road, Tayte looked out the window, surveying the central African grasslands that were spread to either side of the road. The grassy vegetation basked in the climate’s golden glow. Tayte could spot only a few trees in the distance. She turned to Chris, who was focused on the road with a stern expression.

Tayte curled her lip to the side and shifted her eyes to her right and left. “Are you sad or are you mad?” she asked guilelessly.

Chris glanced at Tayte. “How about both? My uncle’s dead, my plan went awry, we’re slightly over our budget because of you, and I am going to be responsible for whatever happens to you from this point forward.”

“I am here by my own choice. The responsibility is all mine.”

Chris sighed and shook his head.

As Tayte looked away, she had another memory flash—the night of the after party. “... Being able to make a family member smile at a rough time is a monumental skill for a funeral director,” her condescending cousin said. She also recalled her proclamation after the statement.

Tayte folded her hands together and repositioned herself in her seat as the sun’s glare probed at her eye. “Want to hear a funny story?” Tayte asked as she raised a hand to block the sun.

“What…?”

She didn’t hear a “no,” so she went on. “Alright, um, um, okay, here goes…” Tayte started. “So, a few days ago, my mother asked me to go to the supermarket to buy some cucumber, and when I got there, I don’t know why but it took me so long to find it, but eventually, I did. So, when I got home, apparently, what my mother meant was to buy ‘courgette’, so…” she chuckled softly.

“Okay, and…?”

Tayte’s smile faded.

“That’s not the end of the funny story, right?”

Tayte remained silent. “No, no, of course not…” she looked around the car as she drummed her fingers on the scalding seatbelt. It was an obvious failure, and yet, she didn’t seem to care all that much.

She let out a yawn.

“You sleepy? Didn’t you get any sleep on the plane?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m just… hanging out with you… homie.” Tayte made an ill attempt at a gang sign and then hit Chris in the shoulder. “You know what I mean?”

Chris looked back with fear and confusion in his eyes. “You’re going to be one lousy mortician.” He turned his eyes back to the road.

Tayte’s stale demeanor returned, and she went back to observing the dry grasslands.

And the rest of the hour-long car ride was in silence.

###

Lakan Hill Resort was an exotic, sumptuous retreat bordered by palm trees and a neatly manicured lawn, all vibrantly green well enhanced by the glow of the yellow sun. The hotel staff spared no hospitality when receiving the duo in the main lobby, despite their bloody bandages, bruises, and tattered clothing. They were definitely accustomed to guests that dabbled in eccentric activities.

After Chris had a quick exchange with the smiling hotel manager, their bags were taken by hulky hotel porters and they were escorted to their rooms. On their way, Chris whispered to Tayte to stay in her bedroom while he gathered some items and then meet up with her later on in the day.

The porter showed Tayte to her single room that was lavish-looking for an economy room. Tayte pointed to the floor where the muscly bellhop could leave her gym bag and after he recited the meal times and upcoming events. He gave his salutations and left the room.

Tayte explored the room. It had all the right accommodations, and what caught her eye was the view of the pool just outside her balcony window. Ignoring the fancy outdoor furniture spread on the balcony, she hunched over the railing and peered down, fighting back the urge to dive headfirst. She pulled back and decided to get clean in a more responsible way, and went to the bathroom. She greeted her contused complexion in the square mirror over the sink, moved her tousled hair to the side to get a better look. After she was done, she had a shower and settled into her pajamas.

As she brushed her hair in front of the mirror, Tayte realized she would never last through a hot African night with thick flannel pants and a long-sleeve thermal top.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said, walking out of the bathroom.

Chris entered, holding a black wooden box in his hand. He stopped and stared at her sleepwear. “You’re getting ready for bed? It’s not even the afternoon, yet.”

Tayte stole a glance at the wooden box. “What’s that?”

“Oh, right. Have a seat.” He gestured to the bed, Tayte sat on it and placed the brush to her side. Chris leaned towards her and opened the box, revealing a bunch of dark-colored chrysanthemums covered in dirt.

Tayte eyed the flowers. Its center was a mix of dark red, blue, yellow, and orange. It looked like a flame burning in the middle of darkness.

“It’s… ancient African medicine,” Chris said with a tinge of anger in his voice. He seemed to be annoyed by contributing to a stereotype. “Grave-robbers use them after jobs. They’re kind of a little known secret to the spiritual world of Africa and also illegal as hell.”

“Why are they illegal?”

“African governments classify them as a dangerous narcotic, which doesn't make much sense, but it may be a way to cover the real reason. They’re called Nether-Mums.”

Tayte cocked her head to the side.

“As in the netherworld, the underworld, Hell. There’s a superstitious belief that the use of these will condemn your soul to an eternity of damnation. So, do you want to use them to cure your wounds?”

Tayte straightened herself upright. “Hit me.”

“Fearless as ever…” he said.

Tayte’s expression turned grim for a moment and then a muddy palm splat onto her face.

“You pluck the Nether-Mum from the ground and scoop out a handful of the dirt it grew from.” Chris smeared the wet dirt and flower across her face like ointment. He pulled back and put the flower and box in her hand. “The flower naturally secretes a liquid. It deals with swelling and closes wounds like magic.”

Tayte blinked rapidly and spat out dirt from her mouth. “That doesn’t sound like magic. That is magic.”

Chris shrugged. He pointed at the box. “That’s your share. Use it wisely. They’re really expensive.”

Tayte rolled up her sleeves and pulled up her pant legs as Chris went to the bathroom.

He returned with a hand towel for her and froze. He goggled at her toned, bruised arms as she applied the medicine on her legs that had just as impressive muscle definition. She passed on to her arms and Chris was still staring.

Tayte noticed him staring and the look wasn’t foreign to her. The look of trying to make sense of the discrepancy between her muscles and her petite frame.

She put the flower back in the box and closed it. “Thanks,” she said, taking the towel.

Chris spluttered, “Huh? What? Um, yeah. You’re welcome.” He fought to keep his eyes away.

She scanned the bedroom while cleaning off the dirt and asked, “How come we’re not sharing a room?” She pulled her sleeves and pant legs down.

“No, that would be inappropriate. We barely know each other.” Chris said, walking back.

Tayte hunched forward. “Are you afraid of women, Chris?” she asked. “Or is it intimacy?”

“I’m just being responsible! Ugh…” Chris grabbed the door handle and halted. “I need you to promise me something. If you ever find yourself in a position where you know you can’t win, then forfeit your Relic. That way you won’t die.”

Tayte clenched the bedsheet in her hand. “I’m only forfeiting if you’re out of the Trials.”

“Even if I’m still in! You have to stay alive… Think about your family. Don’t be selfish.” His expression became woeful.

“If I lose that way then you don’t have to worry about a body, right? I’ll turn into ashes, so no evidence will be left behind. I don’t think you need to worry about being a suspect—”

“People see us traveling together, don’t they?” Chris snapped. “And that’s not the point…”

Tayte stared vacantly and blinked.

“Nevermind, it’s useless trying to talk to you…” he muttered, pulled the door open, and stormed out.

Tayte pushed the door shut and collapsed onto the bed. Her brain finally calmed down for the first time in hours. Her eyelids dropped close, and she slept.

She awoke and sprang up in bed. She looked around as her heart rate already quickened and her brain shifted to high-alert, boosting her senses. Her eyes settled on the window and it was moonlight that was now beaming into the room. She got off the bed, legged over to it, and closed the curtains. As she turned around, she noticed something yellow on the hotel room’s phone at her bedside. She approached and found it to be a sticky note and scrawled on it was: CALL ME IF YOU NOTICE ANY WEIRD. — CHRIS N. And it ended with a phone number.

Tayte nodded and collected her toothbrush and toothpaste from her gym bag. She paced into the bathroom. Squeezing the paste onto the brush, she wondered just how many times her parents must’ve attempted to contact her broken cell. She turned on the faucet and suddenly, the water gushing out became a stream of thick blood.

Tayte turned off the faucet and tried again, slowly, blinking rapidly. Water came out. She rubbed her eyes, raised her head, and began brushing, staring back at her pale reflection in the oval mirror. The Nether-Mums were no joke. She bit onto the head of the toothbrush, holding it in her mouth, and examined her face. She peeled off the bandages and most of her injuries were gone, like they were never there at all. A few blemishes here and there, but the bridge of her nose was shifted back into place. The wounds on her thin lips were closed, and her cheeks returned to their naturally sunken look.

She rolled up her sleeves and pant legs. Just a few bruises dotted them. She didn’t just look better, but felt better, too.

She raised her head up to her reflection and found it smiling back at her.

But she wasn’t.

Tayte froze. She put on a puzzled look, but the mirrored image failed to mimic it. It held a toothbrush in its mouth as well. The melty fluoride oozed from her lip just like the original although it kept it in place with an unsettling, sardonic smile.

She slowly raised her hand to the side, and the reflection followed, but the smile remained. She grabbed the toothbrush, the reflection following, pulled it out, and held it in front of her.

The girls stared at each other, concentrating hard on each other’s gray eyes. In a split second, the reflection's eyes moved down to the toothbrush, flipped it over in its hand, and thrust it forward.

Tayte caught the reflection’s arm in her hand, the end of the toothbrush jutting out of its fist. Another arm extended from the mirror, grabbed a hold of Tayte’s forearm, and twisted it. Tayte gave out a shriek that was cut early as the arm grasped onto her head and slammed it down on the edge of the sink.

After the loud ding, Tayte fell onto her back and writhed to the pain. She put a hand over her swelling forehead and sat up.

A horrific image caused her to stop and stare. The arms of her smiling reflection stretched outside the barriers of the mirror clenched onto the edges of the sink, dragging its torso out into Tayte’s world.

Her reflection’s body plopped onto the ground and arose.

Tayte stood up and studied her doppelgänger. Outside the mirror, it wasn’t a perfect copy. Its complexion was much grayer and a misty aura encircled it. Most notably, it had glowing blue eyes.

“Eid uoy erehw si siht,” the copy hissed in a distorted voice.

“What?” Tayte asked in understandable confusion and then took a foot to the face. She was booted out of the room and once she recovered back to her feet. She ran towards the bathroom.

The copy jumped, grabbed onto the door frame, and pushed Tayte back to the floor with a swinging kick.

Tayte rolled back to her feet, lunged for the desk lamp, and hurled it at the clone. Its head jerked back after the blunt hit, and so did Tayte’s. She put her head over the same spot where the copy got hit and moaned in pain.

Then, the copy charged at Tayte and swung a punch. She evaded swiftly, reached for the TV remote on the desk, and struck the copy in the jaw with it. The two jerked back in the same direction. They put their hand over the same spot on their jaws as they stared back at each other. The copy’s expression became more jubilant as Tayte’s straightened—the face of a warrior in deep battle analysis.

They turned to the bedside lamp at the same time and then shared a look. A race began as they dashed for it. Tayte was the closest to it. Inches away from the lamp, she was dragged away by the copy and hauled into the bathroom. They grappled each other, banging into the sink, and toilet and then crashed through the shower door, not stopping even with glass sprinkling over them. Tayte was on top and held the copy down on the shower floor by pushing onto her shoulders. The copy’s smile refused to go away.

“Pleh sdeen ohw lrig elttil ,kcis a er’uoy,” it said, striking Tayte with confusion.

The copy used the opportunity to knock Tayte to the side and she was out of the shower.

And then, the copy got up and grabbed her by the collar. “Rorrim eht ni kool doog a ekat ot sdeen ohw retsnom a tsuj er’uoy,” it added as it pulled Tayte up to her feet.

“I don’t know what you’re saying—”

Tayte’s spine hit the edge of the sink. She let out a shrill and slid down.

The copy wrapped its gray hand around her throat and pressed down. Bending her backward over the sink. Its eyes widened with delight.

In a desperate effort, Tayte reached for the copy’s face and pushed it in various directions as many times as she could. Suddenly, the pressure on her throat eased.

The copy vanished without a sound.

Tayte dropped onto the floor on her stomach and struggled to catch her breath. In her eyeline, she spotted two toothbrushes. The darker one vanished in an instant.

A smirk appeared on her face and then she laughed at the thought of another battle looming.