Chapter Five: Salt, Smoke & Wards
1324 Words
Waiya stood in the center of the room, barefoot on the concrete floor, a circle of sea salt and crushed eggshell powder dusted beneath her. Her students sat in folding chairs around her, notebooks half-full, eyes wide and waiting. The air was thick with burning cedar, the smoke curling upward like it had somewhere to be.
“Home protection ain’t just candles and prayers,” she said, voice low but steady. “It’s intention. It’s layers. It’s knowing when the spirits knock, and when they try to kick the door in.”
A few of them nodded — young women mostly, some older, some looking like they’d seen enough to know this wasn’t just theory. A man in the back shifted in his seat, arms crossed, skeptical. Waiya clocked that. Didn’t press it. Energy reveals itself with time.
She reached into her satchel, pulling out a bundle of herbs tied with purple thread. “Bay leaf for wisdom. Eucalyptus for clearing. Marigold to keep watch while you sleep. Basil to keep your name out of people’s mouths. And salt, always salt.”
She handed the bundle to the woman closest to her — a tired mom with dark circles and eyes that had seen some things. “Hang this above your front door,” Waiya said. “Say the names of the people you love when you do. It matters.”
A phone buzzed. Someone quickly silenced it.
Waiya walked the circle slowly, the hem of her skirt brushing the salt line. “Ain’t no protection stronger than a heart that don’t lie,” she said. “But sometimes? You gotta fight in ways the world can’t see. Spirits don’t care if you got rent due or you tired. They come when they smell fear — or blood.”
She paused, eyes flicking to the window. The wind outside howled like it was trying to say something.
Her chest tightened.
She didn’t show it.
“Now, I want y’all to draw a sigil. Make it personal. Make it yours. Don’t copy mine, or something you saw on t****k. Use what’s in your blood. What’s in your bones.”
The room fell into quiet scribbling.
Waiya moved toward the altar at the front of the room — candles burning low, a bowl of water glinting like it held secrets. She touched the rim and closed her eyes.
Something was off.
Not in the room.
Outside.
Close.
Watching.
She opened her eyes.
This was supposed to be a lesson. A simple class on home protection.
But home didn’t feel protected anymore.
A charcoal pencil scratched lightly across paper as the room fell into a hush of focused creation. Salt lines glimmered faintly on the ground. Wax dripped slow from thick black candles. Everything looked right.
But it felt wrong.
From the third row, Kaia’s eyes snapped up from her half-drawn sigil. Seventeen, quiet, always watching. Most folks thought she was shy. Waiya knew better — the girl had eyes like moonlight and a spirit that came from somewhere old.
Kaia tilted her head slightly, lips parted, like she was trying to hear something just below the noise.
“Miss Waiya,” she said softly.
Waiya didn’t turn right away. She kept her hand resting on the edge of the altar bowl, fingers barely grazing the water. The candles around it flickered — one hissed out.
The entire room stiffened.
Slowly, Waiya turned. “Yeah, baby?”
“You feel that?” Kaia’s voice wasn’t afraid — just sure.
Waiya studied her for a moment. The air buzzed between them.
“You feel it too, huh?” Waiya asked.
Kaia nodded once. “It ain’t in here. It’s just… near.”
Waiya exhaled through her nose, slow and measured. She gave a quick glance to the door, then to the darkened windows. The hair on her arms stood up.
“Alright,” she said, voice calm but sharp. “We’re gonna wrap early today.”
A murmur of confusion rippled through the room.
She raised a hand and they quieted.
“Y’all did good. What you drew? Keep that. Fold it. Place it under your pillow tonight. Don’t show nobody. Not even your mama.”
Someone chuckled nervously.
Waiya didn’t smile.
“Class dismissed.”
Chairs scraped against concrete. Students gathered their things with that Detroit edge — moving fast but pretending not to. Waiya watched the door as they filed out, nodding at each one. When kaia passed, Waiya touched her arm lightly.
“You see anything — anything — you come straight to me. Got it?”
Kaia met her eyes, her own steady as stone. “You too.”
Waiya locked the door behind them.
Turned to face the room.
The last candle went out on its own.
Waiya stood still in the now-dark classroom, the cold creeping in around her ankles like smoke. The silence pressed in thick — too quiet, too still. She moved back to the altar, fingers brushing over the extinguished candle. Wax still warm. Flame snatched by something that didn’t belong.
Before she could light it again, her phone buzzed.
She didn’t even check the name. She already knew.
Justin: You feel that?
Her throat tightened. She didn’t respond right away. She just stared at the screen, like maybe if she held it long enough, she’d get a second message explaining how the hell he knew.
Another buzz.
Justin: I don’t know what it is yet. But it’s moving. And it ain’t friendly.
She swallowed and finally typed:
Waiya: Where you at?
Justin: Near the old train station. Meet me by the busted lion statue. Twenty minutes.
Waiya didn’t ask why. Didn’t need to. Her spirit was already tightening like a wire pulled too far.
⸻
Later that night…
The West Side after dark had its own heartbeat—slow, heavy, and dangerous. Streetlamps buzzed like they were trying to warn someone. Overhead, the moon loomed full and swollen, hanging over the city like it knew every secret ever buried here.
Waiya’s boots crunched over broken glass as she approached the rusted lion statue near the station. The stone was split down the middle, as if something ancient had torn it in half long ago. The air around it trembled with old magic—thick, residual, the kind that lingered long after the ritual was done.
Justin was already there. Leaning against the base of the statue, hood drawn low, arms crossed. He didn’t say a word. Just watched her approach with eyes sharp enough to cut.
“You called me out here,” she said. “So talk.”
He exhaled slowly, pushed off the statue.
“You ever get the feeling,” he asked, voice low, “like something’s sniffin’ around your bones? Not ready to strike… just learning you. Studying your scent.”
Waiya’s jaw flexed. “I teach protection spells for a living. I get that feeling every other week.”
“This ain’t every other week.”
Silence settled between them—unsettled, electric. Not allies. Not strangers. Something in between, held together by a tension neither of them trusted.
Waiya folded her arms. “You think it’s tied to last night?”
Justin nodded once. “Somethin’ shifted when we crossed paths. I don’t know what… but I don’t believe in coincidence.”
She studied him—the weight in his voice, the calm coiled under his stance, the quiet storm pulsing beneath his skin. Not corrupted. Not pure. Just real.
“You still haven’t told me what you are,” she said.
A ghost of a smirk curved his mouth. “Same thing you are. Just in a different language.”
She stilled.
The wind changed.
A dog barked somewhere three blocks off.
And then—faint, distant—the air snapped. Like a thread breaking.
They turned at the exact same moment.
“Yeah,” Justin murmured. “It’s starting.”
- Writer
