Chapter 12: Sisters and Smoke
1724 Words
The morning cracked open gently—no sirens, no shouting kids, no slamming car doors. Just golden light filtering through gauzy curtains and the soft hum of something sacred settling into silence.
Waiya blinked awake, her braid splayed across the pillow, limbs tangled in her sheets like she’d wrestled her own spirit through the night. For a moment, she didn’t move. The air smelled like cedar and cotton and memory. And for once, she didn’t feel watched. She felt held.
The sound of the house settling—pipes clicking, floorboards giving tiny groans—told her Justin wasn’t there anymore.
She sat up fast, heart thudding.
The couch was empty. The quilt she’d given him was folded neatly, resting where his body had been. Her eyes scanned the room like something sacred had been misplaced, like waking up without him there disrupted a rhythm her heart had just started learning.
Then she saw the note.
It was folded once and tucked beneath the ashtray on the altar, like he knew she’d go there first.
She walked over barefoot, picked it up, and unfolded it.
“Had to go grab a few things from my spot. Didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful. I’ll be back before the sun drops. —J.”
She exhaled slowly, her thumb brushing over the slanted handwriting like it held heat.
It was the first morning in forever she didn’t wake up tense. No heaviness behind her eyes, no bad dreams clawing at her spine. Just that note. Just him.
She read it again. And again.
And that’s when the knock came.
Three quick raps, followed by a pause.
Then two more.
“s**t,” she muttered under her breath, tossing the note on the counter and heading to the door. “Can’t even let a girl enjoy a good morning?”
She pulled open the door—and froze.
Lily.
In tight jeans and a rose-colored tank top, hair pulled back in that fierce bun she always wore when she meant business. And standing behind her, arms crossed and eyes full of suspicion, was Nyla.
“Hope you got coffee,” Lily said, stepping inside like she owned the air. “Because we got questions.”
Waiya blinked. “I thought you were—”
“Busy? Girl, please.” Lily looked around. “This house been buzzin’ for two days. Dreams, omens, flickering candles. You think we wouldn’t show up?”
Nyla followed in slower, her eyes scanning the room with that quiet seer’s gaze she’d inherited from their grandmother. “We felt you pull something. Big. Like the air got thick. Mama even called, asking if I felt it too.”
Waiya groaned. “Of course she did.”
“You burning violet again?” Nyla asked, sniffing the air. “And eucalyptus? That’s some deep-root work.”
Waiya ignored that and moved toward the kitchen, grabbing three mismatched mugs and filling them with hot water for tea. “Y’all always just pop up without warning?”
“When your aura’s screaming loud enough to wake the dead?” Lily raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”
Nyla leaned against the doorframe. “So… who’s the man?”
Waiya nearly dropped the teabag.
“There’s always a man,” Lily said knowingly. “We saw the shoes by the door. Big-ass boots. And don’t think I didn’t notice that folded quilt—no one folds it like that unless they weren’t raised by wolves.”
“He slept on the couch,” Waiya said too quickly, too sharply.
Nyla’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “But he was here.”
Waiya stared into the tea like it could bail her out. “It’s not like that. Not exactly.”
Lily plopped onto the couch. “You look different. Softer. Still mean—but in a calm way.”
“I ain’t soft,” Waiya muttered, handing her the tea.
“Mmhm,” Nyla hummed, taking hers. “Then why’s your house glowing like it’s been kissed by spirit?”
Waiya didn’t answer.
She sat down between them, letting the steam rise between her palms. The warmth of their presence was both comforting and chaotic—just like sisters always were.
Finally, she said, “His name’s Justin. And… I don’t know yet what this is.”
Lily raised a brow. “But you want to.”
Waiya hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Good,” Nyla said simply, sipping her tea.
For a while, the three of them just sat in the quiet, letting the house speak for them.
Outside, the sun climbed higher. But inside, the house was alive with stories waiting to be told—and two sisters who weren’t going anywhere until they got the whole truth.
Justin’s P.O.V
His building sat squat and tired on a corner where the city forgot to shine. Brick cracked, gutters sagging, and the front door looked like it had been arguing with time—and losing. Justin pulled up slow, eyes narrowing.
Something was off.
He killed the engine but didn’t get out right away. Instead, he scanned the windows, the alley to the left, the crooked front steps. The door was closed, sure. But the air… it was disturbed. The kind of quiet that wasn’t natural. Like someone had held their breath here recently, hoping not to be caught.
He got out, careful, sliding the knife from beneath the driver’s seat and tucking it into his jacket. He didn’t carry guns anymore—not unless he had to—but he wasn’t stupid. Not after everything that had gone down.
Not after what followed them in the Grove.
The apartment door gave under his key, but the frame was splintered near the lock. Someone had tried to force it—someone who didn’t know he’d placed protection wards in the damn hinges.
The old man down the hall poked his head out, lips twisted. “Heard somethin’ around three. Thought it was your cousin again. Told ‘em you ain’t got nothin’ worth stealing.”
Justin grunted. “Appreciate it, Mr. Watkins.”
Inside, the air was wrong. His wards were still warm—disturbed but not broken. Someone had tried, and whatever stopped them… scared them off.
Drawers were open, papers scattered. The couch cushions slashed like someone thought he’d sewn secrets inside. They didn’t take the obvious stuff. Not the records, not the books. Just tore through anything that looked hidden.
They were looking for something important.
Too bad Justin never kept the real important things here.
He crouched by the altar in the closet. Still intact. The carved wooden box that held old bone charms, photographs, and small jars of river dust hadn’t been touched.
They didn’t know what they were really looking for.
He exhaled and stood.
Waiya flashed in his mind again—eyes closed, braid resting across her chest, soft breath curling from her lips as she slept. The memory settled in his chest, calming the slow burn of rage crawling up his throat.
He packed what he came for—extra clothes, his backup blade, two warded stones from the closet, and his grandmother’s old tin of black salt. Then he dipped.
Whoever had come looking wasn’t from the block. They moved like people with power. But not the kind that lasted.
Not the kind that scared him.
⸻
Back at Waiya’s
When he pulled up in front of her place, he noticed the shift right away. The house didn’t just feel safe—it felt alive. Like it had drawn a line between this world and the next and dared anything to cross it.
Justin stepped up to the porch, boots heavy on the old wood. He saw the wind chime twitch just as his hand hit the door.
Inside, laughter.
Not Waiya’s.
He opened the door slow.
Three heads turned at once from the living room.
Waiya sat on the arm of the couch, mug in hand, eyes immediately locking with his. And next to her—two women who shared pieces of her face, her fire.
The older one—bun tight, arms crossed—eyed him like he was a walking puzzle she’d already half-solved.
The younger one smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Sisters,” Waiya said, answering his unspoken question.
Justin gave a nod. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Lily stood up, strutting toward him like she ran an interrogation unit. “You must be the one with the boots.”
“Depends who’s askin’.”
“I’m Lily,” she said, sizing him up. “And this is Nyla. We’re protective.”
“I figured.”
Nyla’s gaze was sharper than her sister’s—quieter too, but more dangerous. Like she could see beneath the skin if she wanted to.
Justin didn’t flinch. He looked back at Waiya, then down at the worn floorboards. “I need to talk to you. In private.”
Waiya stood, eyes sharpening. “Everything okay?”
“No. Someone hit my spot.”
The air dropped.
Nyla stood now too. “Spirit work or street work?”
Justin answered honestly. “Little of both, maybe. But they didn’t find what they were lookin’ for.”
Lily crossed her arms. “You sure?”
“They tore through the place but missed everything with real weight.”
Waiya stepped closer to him now, worry etched in her face. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. But we need to talk about who might be watching.”
Waiya looked back at her sisters. “Give us a minute.”
Lily sighed, snatched her purse, and Nyla just nodded like she already knew what would be said. “We’ll be out back.”
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving just Waiya and Justin in the stillness of the house.
He reached into his jacket and handed her the note she left folded on the counter earlier. “I meant every word.”
She took it, thumb brushing it like it grounded her.
He stepped closer, voice low. “We ain’t safe yet, Waiya. But I’ll die before I let anything touch you again.”
She didn’t step back.
She didn’t argue.
She just looked at him like he was becoming something important.
Something permanent.
- Writer
