Chapter 37: Smoke That Stays
1177 Words
The night pressed close around the house, thick with old spirits and things unsaid.
Justin stood near the back porch, his hands braced against the railing. From here, he could hear the quiet hum of crickets, Granny’s wind chimes clinking like distant bones, and just beneath it all… his own heart pacing like it knew something was coming.
Behind him, the door creaked open.
Waiya stepped out, hoodie slung over her shoulders, face pale beneath the porch light. Her braids were loose now, hanging low, her eyes shadowed by more than just exhaustion.
“She’s sleeping,” she murmured.
He nodded once, jaw tense. “Good.”
They stood in silence for a moment. The kind that says too much.
Then Justin turned, voice low but firm. “You gonna tell me now?”
She blinked at him. “Tell you what?”
“About him,” he said, and his voice carried weight now — not anger, not yet — but a simmer. “The one who keeps poppin’ up in shadows. The one Kaia flinched at. The one who touched your damn braid and vanished like smoke.”
Waiya’s face stiffened. “You saw that?”
“I didn’t have to. Kaia remembered enough. And you… you were different when you walked in the house. Like you was tryna hold back a storm.”
Waiya looked away.
“I’m not askin’ to press you,” he said softer, “but if I’m gonna keep protectin’ you, I need the full picture. No more half-truths. Who the f**k is Donquavious?”
The name felt sour on his tongue.
She exhaled slowly, leaning against the wooden post beside him. The porch light flickered once. A breeze swept through the trees like it was listening.
“Donquavious,” she started, “was one of us. Grew up in the same circles. Same prayers. Same traditions. His folks were seers, root-workers, fire dancers. We learned side by side — him, me, and a few others.”
Justin said nothing, letting her unravel it on her own time.
“He was… powerful. Even back then, the spirits answered him quick. Too quick. People noticed. They praised him. But they also feared him.”
Her fingers tightened on the post.
“He didn’t like limits. He wanted more — deeper power, darker things. Started twisting the old ways. Said spirit was just energy, and energy could be bent if you knew how to squeeze it hard enough.”
Justin’s stomach turned. “What happened?”
Waiya’s voice dropped. “When I turned seventeen, there was a ceremony. My initiation into the circle. But that night… he tried to use it for something else. Something that would’ve killed me and bound my spirit to his forever.”
Justin’s breath caught.
“He tried to sacrifice me, Justin.”
The words cracked something open between them.
Justin stepped forward, hands curling into fists at his sides. “You— He tried to—? Waiya—”
“I survived. Barely,” she said, cutting him off gently. “Granny and Nyla found me just in time. But the wound… it wasn’t just physical. He left something behind. That scar you saw, it’s alive. Feeding off me.”
Justin ran a hand down his face, pacing a slow circle like he couldn’t contain the heat rising in his chest. “And he’s still out here? Walking around like nothing happened?”
Waiya nodded once. “He disappeared for a while. But now… he’s back. And he’s stronger. Smarter. And if he’s tapping into Kaia’s dreams, then he’s building something.”
Justin stared at her. “Why the f**k didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“Because I didn’t want to pull you into it.”
“I was already in it the second I saw you glowing on that street corner, Waiya. You think I’d just walk away now?”
They were close now, chest to chest, breath warm in the space between them.
“You could’ve died today,” he whispered, voice rough. “Again.”
“I didn’t.”
“That ain’t the point.”
Her eyes searched his, softer now. “What is, then?”
He held her gaze. “That I care. That I’m not some fool passing through. You keep carryin’ this weight like you gotta do it alone, like no one else strong enough to stand beside you.”
“I’m not used to people stayin’,” she said, barely audible.
“Well, get used to me.”
They stared at each other — the porch quiet, the night thick, the moment stretching.
And for the first time in hours, she didn’t flinch from the closeness.
Justin’s hand slid from her forearm to her hip, fingers flexing like he didn’t mean to hold on, but couldn’t stop himself. Her breath hitched, eyes locked on his, lips parted like she wanted to speak — or scream — or maybe just feel something that made sense.
“You don’t get it,” she said quietly. “I ain’t tryna push you away. But every time I let someone close, they either die or disappear.”
“I’m still here.” His voice was rough, barely a whisper. “You just won’t let me be here.”
She looked up at him, chin tilted stubborn even as her voice cracked. “I’m scared.”
Justin didn’t say another word. He cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw — not gently. Firm. Like he needed her to feel it. Her breath caught again, this time different.
Their lips were inches apart now, and the air between them turned electric.
“You don’t get to carry all this by yourself anymore,” he said. “Not when I’m bleeding right beside you.”
Her hands came up, pressing against his chest like she was about to shove him away — but instead, she curled her fingers into his shirt, pulled him closer.
The kiss hit like a storm.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was messy, hot, desperate. Her mouth opened against his with a fury that matched his — like they’d both been starving and didn’t know it until now. His hands gripped her waist, pulled her flush against him, like he didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care about the porch, the moon, or the quiet house full of spirits and sleeping girls.
Her back hit the porch wall with a soft thud, and he leaned in harder, his mouth trailing down to her jaw, her neck — worshipping, claiming, grounding her.
Waiya gasped, fingers threading into his locs.
“I hate you sometimes,” she murmured, voice breathless against his throat.
“Yeah?” he muttered, lips brushing her collarbone. “But you still let me in.”
She didn’t answer — just pulled him back up to her mouth and kissed him again like he was the only thing keeping her alive.
And maybe, just maybe, in that moment…
He was.
- Writer
