Chapter 13: Quiet Before the Storm
1356 Words
The house hummed low, wrapped in the gentle weight of late afternoon light spilling through dust-speckled windows. Waiya sat back against the couch cushions, the mug in her hand forgotten, warmth seeping through her fingers but failing to reach the tight knot in her chest.
Justin’s eyes found hers from across the room, calm and steady, the kind of steady that made her want to believe in something beyond all the chaos. He stood slowly and crossed the space between them, each step careful, like he didn’t want to shatter the fragile quiet between them.
“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he said softly, voice low enough to make her lean in a little, like they were sharing a secret.
Waiya gave a half-smile, the corners of her mouth tugging up despite herself. “You got me all worried there.”
He shook his head, eyes locking with hers. “Never gonna let you fall asleep without someone watching your back.”
The air thickened. Not with words, but something unspoken. Something electric in the silence.
Justin’s hand brushed hers—a ghost touch at first, then a little firmer. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let her fingers intertwine with his, heart pounding like the city’s heartbeat outside the walls.
They moved closer, breath mingling, shadows lengthening as the sun dipped lower.
Then—suddenly—the quiet shattered.
The front door swung open, the room filling with footsteps and voices.
Lily’s sharp voice sliced through the tension. “Waiya, how long you gonna keep us waiting? Nyla and I have been pacing for an hour.”
Nyla’s eyes flicked to Justin, then back to Waiya, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
Waiya pulled her hand from Justin’s and stood, cheeks warming, caught between the pull of something new and the ties of family that wouldn’t loosen.
Justin gave a rueful smile, stepping back with a nod toward the sisters.
Lily crossed her arms, eyebrows raised. “Well, look at this. I see someone’s got their claws in you.”
Waiya rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the soft blush.
Nyla laughed quietly. “Guess the house really is glowing after all.”
Justin met their gazes evenly. “Good to meet the family. I’ll try not to get on their bad side.”
Lily smirked, shaking her head. “You got your work cut out for you, mister.”
Waiya sighed, looking between Justin and her sisters, feeling the heavy weight of what was coming—and maybe, just maybe, a flicker of hope burning in the space between them all.
Waiya motioned for them all to sit, brushing her fingers down her braid like she needed something to ground her. The living room wasn’t big, but it held weight—stories soaked into the worn floorboards and faded walls. Her auntie’s spirit still lingered in the corners, watching.
Lily plopped down in the old armchair like she owned the place. “Alright then. Spill. You look like you’ve been through hell.”
“We have,” Waiya said simply, voice flat but not cold.
Justin remained standing for a beat, then leaned against the wall beside her, arms crossed—not in defense, but readiness. Watching. Listening.
Nyla perched on the arm of the couch, eyes scanning Waiya. “Your aura’s different. Tighter. Like something’s feeding on you.”
Waiya flinched.
“She’s not wrong,” Justin said quietly. “There’s something attached to her. It tried to kill us both the night before last.”
Lily’s brows shot up. “What the hell?”
“It wasn’t human,” Waiya said. “Something dark… sent by Donquavious. Or worse, older than him.”
Nyla leaned in slightly. “You saw it?”
“I felt it,” Waiya answered. “In the Grove, the spirits showed me. It’s feeding on me… through a scar. One I didn’t know I had until it started burning like fire.”
Justin added, “It’s like it’s alive—drawing from her strength, from her emotions.”
Lily let out a low whistle. “And all this is just… casual Tuesday for y’all now?”
“No,” Waiya said. “This is war. Quiet war.”
Silence stretched again, but it wasn’t empty this time. It was loaded.
Nyla’s face softened. “Why didn’t you call us sooner?”
“Because I didn’t know who to trust. I still don’t, not fully.”
Justin tilted his head, not offended—just observant.
Waiya glanced at him. “Except maybe him. And even that’s… new.”
Justin met her gaze and gave a small nod. He understood.
Lily’s voice cut through again. “So what now? You just sit here with a haunted scar, waiting for some spirit to finish feeding off you?”
Waiya shook her head. “No. We’re going back to the Grove soon. But we need protection, clarity, something to hold us over until the next phase. The spirits warned me… something else is coming.”
Nyla’s fingers drummed against her knee. “Then we prepare. Like Auntie would’ve. I’ll go to my car—I brought some things.”
Lily stood too. “And I’ll check the back. Make sure the wards Auntie etched into the windows are still holding.”
They moved like they’d done this before. Not because they were witches or warriors—but because they were sisters. They’d survived too much to be anything else.
Justin leaned closer to Waiya once they were out of the room, voice barely above a whisper. “They love you. Even if they don’t always say it.”
“I know,” she said. Then after a breath, “And I’m scared.”
He touched her hand again—briefly this time. “Me too. But I’d rather be scared next to you than brave alone.”
The front door creaked open again, and the smell of sage and cedar hit before they even stepped through.
Nyla walked in first, arms full—bundles of dried herbs tied in red string, a pouch slung across her chest. Her eyes were sharper now, jaw set with purpose. Behind her, Lily carried a small crate and a worn leather wrap that unrolled to reveal blades, feathers, bones, and stones with symbols carved deep into their surfaces.
Justin straightened up, watching them both like he was seeing a storm gather strength—but the kind that knew how to dance with fire.
Lily dropped the crate by the fireplace and rolled her shoulders back. “Auntie didn’t raise no punks.”
“Damn right,” Nyla said, setting down her herbs and pulling a small abalone shell from her pouch. “We’re not letting anything feed on you, Waiya. Not without a fight.”
Waiya stood, something in her chest loosening at the sight. The three of them hadn’t stood like this in a long time—side by side, hands full of tradition, ready to call down heaven or burn hell to the ground if they had to.
Lily smirked and held up a long, curved blade etched with ash-darkened designs. “This was Dad’s. He’d be pissed if he knew I took it, but he’d be even madder if we didn’t use it right.”
Nyla began to lay out the herbs, arranging them with a kind of reverence only the oldest blood could remember. “We’ll cleanse the house first, then ward the corners. And if that thing tries to come back tonight?”
She met Waiya’s eyes.
“It’ll wish it never touched our bloodline.”
The light in the room shifted—just slightly—as if the house itself exhaled, soothed by the familiar scent of sacred plants and the grounding strength of old ways returning home.
Waiya swallowed hard, watching her sisters move in quiet unison. This wasn’t just protection.
It was reclamation.
Justin caught her gaze and nodded once. “Now we stand.”
And for the first time in days, she felt less like prey.
More like a storm gathering its name.
- Writer
