I exhaled, rubbing a hand over my face. Ayida watched me, eyes soft, cautious. "Y'all okay?" she asked gently. Her presence calmed me and reminded me my life wasn't just mine anymore. But the shadow waiting behind all this softness, was the street calling my name.."We will be," I said finally, pullin her closer. I lifted her onto the table, sittin her down gently but claimin my space between her legs at the same time. My hands planted on either side of her hips, cagin her in. "I'ma leave here in a lil bit to go meet my brothers," I said, voice low as I leaned in to kiss up her collarbone. Her skin was warm, smelled faintly like soap and water. I felt her tense under my mouth, her breath catchin, but she didn't open her mouth. "I probably won't be back until late." I lifted my head, looking her dead in her face. "What you got planned for today?" Her expression went blank. It was plain, cold, unreadable, like she shut the door on her emotions before I even finished talkin. She didn't answer. She just stared. Then she rolled her eyes and pushed off the counter, sliding off the table with that little shoulder shift she did when she was irritated. She brushed past me and walked back toward the bedroom without a word.
I let out a long breath and dragged my hand down my face. Then followed her. "Come on, Yiyi," I said, steppin into the doorway. She stood there with her back to me, arms crossed. "You know I can only do this lay-low, pussy-ass shit for so long, baeeebby." She kept her back to me like she was forcing me to stare at the consequence of my choices instead of her face. Her silence hit harder than any argument she could've thrown at me.I stepped further into the room, voice dropping. "Yiyi... look at me." She didn't, I walked up hugging her from behind before whisperin in her ear. "I'm comin back baeebby, I always will. Your soul and mine entwined remember? Forever."
Ayida
I sat in the cloudy water, staring up at the stained glass on the ceiling of my grandmama's bathroom. The light filtered through in soft blues and soft pinks, bending into shapes across the old tile like it was trying to tell its own story. Steam curled up around me, sweet with herbs and bitter with roots, clouding the mirror and settling heavy on my chest. These baths had become my ritual, my routine when I came to visit madame.
The last month since Noles came out that coma had been complicated. Good, bad, beautiful, scary. It felt like we were getting back close, but even closeness had shadows attached to it.
I told Madame I'd been thinking about going to see a doctor, to see what they thought. She laughed so quick and so sharp the sound bounced off the damn walls. Then she told me point blank she wasn't letting me "pay white people to guess" when we had answers in our own bloodline. "Doctors know nothin' 'bout hoodoo," she said, shuffling around the bathroom. "You try my way first." Of course I did.
Every week, I drove out to her house, sat in this deep clawfoot tub while she mixed herbs only she knew by smell. Basil, hyssop, sarsaparilla, rose petals, something she wouldn't name but made my skin prickle. She'd light her candles, open the window to "let the air breathe," and pour the bathwater straight down my scalp until it ran over my shoulders. I sat in it for hours while she tended to her clients downstairs. when she would finally came back up, she circled that tub barefoot, her gold anklets shining in the sunlight, whispering chants.
Sometimes, when she didn't have clients, she'd sit on her little stool in the corner and talk to me about everything and nothing. What dreams I'd had. What dreams she'd had. Why my plants were dying. Why the wind felt different. Why spirits lingered longer in houses where men came home from the edge of death. She always knew how to make everything sound normal. Like life and death and spirits passing through rooms was just part of Thursday afternoon. In her world, it was.
In mine, it was becoming that way too. I sank deeper into the bathwater until it lapped at my chin. The water was cloudy, milky almost, hiding my body from view. I could feel the herbs floating around me, brushing my skin like little prayers. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth soak into my bones. But the warmth didn't reach all the places in me that needed it. Some parts of me were cold, quiet, scared of the future. Scared of the past too, because I wouldn't admit it out loud, but the past had started bleeding into my dreams again.
The dreams weren't normal, Not anymore. They used to stop after the gunshots, just flashes of light and sound, terror caught between my ribs. But now they shifted and Gained teeth. I would hear the gunshots like always, sharp and close enough to rattle my bones, but then the world swallowed itself whole and turned pitch black. No parking lot . No street. No sky. Just darkness thick like river mud, slow like mourning. Then I'd hear A baby crying. Soft at first, then louder, like she was calling for somebody. Calling for me. And when she finally came into view, my heart would twist itself up. She was cute as ever, slick hair laid, skin smooth, wrapped in a soft blanket inside a white crib that glowed like moonlight.
I'd move toward her, every part of me reaching, wanting to pick her up, to hold her, to hush her little cries. But before Igot close enough, A man stepped into the room, but he wasn't a man, not really. He was a figure without a face, tall and dark like a shadow that grew bones. His edges blurred like smoke. He stood over the crib, looking down at her, and even without a face, I could feel the chill of his attention settle over my skin. My heart dropped into my stomach.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, putting it to where his ear should've been. I couldn't hear the person on the other end, but I could hear him. Clear as day. Giving out the location. the exact lot where Noles and his brothers were. Just like the night it happened. He was the voice. He was the one who called the hit.
The baby kept crying, her little hands reaching up toward him like she recognized something in his presence. That scared me more than anything. A shadow shouldn't be recognized. Not by a baby. Not by anybody. The room started shaking then the walls started trembling, lights flickering, the crib rattling like it was about to fall apart. And right when I tried to scream, tried to run, tried to reach her,It ended. I'd wake up drenched in cold sweat, gasping for breath, my chest tight like somebody had been sitting on it. Tears streaming down my face. The sheets twisted around my body like I'd been fighting for my life.
I lifted my hands out the bathwater and rubbed my face, trying to wash off the memory, trying to scrub away the chill clinging to my spine. The water rippled around me, herbs swirling, steam rising in slow curls like the room itself was exhaling the dream out of its walls. Madame Laurent scooped my hand up off the side of the tub, taking me clean out my thoughts. Her touch was soft but knowing, warm but intrusive. God, she'd gotten nosy as hell these days.
"The dreams worse," she said, not asking, just stating it like she'd seen the nightmare sitting on my shoulders. "You told your husband about these?" I shook my head. My throat was too tight to answer out loud. "So where his ass be when you waking up out your sleep spirit disturbed?" she pressed, lifting one eyebrow at me like she was a judge and jury. I stared back blank, because we both knew where Noles was. She'd seen it in my spirit the moment she touched me. She saw everything. Too much sometimes.
She sucked her teeth and mumbled something in Creole under her breath. It was sharp, irritated, something about stubborn men and blind women, she shuffled toward the counter where her jars of herbs sat. The whole bathroom smelled like old magic. Her perfume of frankincense drifted behind her. "Add Auntie Rosalie to your altar," she said, her tone shifting into something firm, directive. "Li ké fè sé rèv-la vini klè ba'w."She'll make them dreams clear for you.
Auntie Rosalie. The name alone made my skin prickle. My mama's great aunt , dead long before I was born. A seer. A dream-walker. A woman whose bones were still whispered about in this town. Madame pulled down a jar filled with dried corn husks and grabbed another filled with little brown roots that looked like shriveled fingers. "Fry up some of that corn with fatback like I taught you," she said, pointing at me with a root. "And pour her a tall cup of Crown Royal. Not the little shot glass give her a full cup." I swallowed hard. "M'ap koute ou"I'm listening.She grunted like she didn't believe I'd actually do it.
Then her eyes softened barely, but enough to crack something in me. "You need answers, Ayida," she said quietly. "Them dreams tryin' to show you something. Sa sé on bagay enpòtan."That's something important. Her words wrapped around my heart like cold hands. My voice trembled. "What if I don't wanna know?"Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You ain't got no choice," she said, the truth heavy in her tone. "Whatever in them dreams, Li ja sav ou."It already knows you.
My stomach flipped. She leaned over the tub again, placing her palm flat against the water. The surface stilled under her touch, like the whole bath held its breath for her. "You keep pretendin' like you don't feel it," she murmured, eyes locked on me. "But that spirit followin' your husband? Li koumansé maché dèyè'w osi."It's starting to walk behind you too.The air in the room thickened. The water around my body seemed to warm and cool at once.
___
When I made it home, I saw Noles' car parked out front, and my heart stuttered a little. He was never here at this time of day. Not for the last month at least. He should've been out there somewhere with his brothers, with the streets stirring trouble in his head. But his car sat there still, quiet, sun hitting the windshield.
Inside, I heard his voice drifting through the house, deep, low, that tone he used only when he was talking business. Not loud, but firm. The kind of voice that made a room sit up straight even if the room didn't have ears. I rounded the kitchen corner and saw him standing at the counter, shoulder pressed to the phone, scooping food off a half-covered aluminum plate into his mouth. Grease smudged on the foil. Steam still rising from the rice. He looked over at me and gave me a half smile that was lazy, tired, and soft around the edges. The kind of smile I didn't see often anymore. He didn't stop talking, just finished chewing and kept listening to whoever was on the other line.
I leaned against the counter and let myself take him in slow. His braids were frizzy, loose in places. I hadn't had achance to redo them since he came home. His eyebrows were thick, drawn low, his jaw clenched the way it always was now. His necklace, the one I made for protection, sat snug against his collarbone. That warmed something inside me. He wore it every day without me asking. Without complaint. Without pretending he didn't believe what I believed. I appreciated him for that. Respected him for it and Held onto the feeling when the rest of him felt like he was slipping away piece by piece.
"I miss you," I mouthed at him, pouting just a little. His eyes softened. He put his plate down, grabbed a paper towel, wiped his mouth slow, then opened his arms to me, pressing his phone back to his ear, conversation still going, but his body already reaching. That was all I needed. I walked into his arms, letting his warmth wrap around me, laying my head flat against his chest. His scent hit me, clean sweat, soap, the faint smell of whatever he'd been eating. Familiar. Home. Needed.
I listened to his heartbeat thump steady under my cheek as he kept listening on the call, one arm wrapped tight around my waist, the other holding the phone steady.
I breathed in. Let the tension melt for a second.
His thumb found the small of my back, rubbing slow circles mindlessly and instinctively as if his body remembered how to comfort me even when his spirit was miles away.
He didn't say a word, but something in the way he held me. the way his hand slid across my spine. the way he rested his chin on the top of my head. It felt like an apology he didn't know how to speak. I didn't fight it,I took it. I always took whatever softness he gave me, even if it came in crumbs, even if it was borrowed time, even if it was wrapped in secrets he wasn't ready to share. Because as much as he was lost out there chasing shadows, calling vengeance, hunting for answers. I was losingmyself too. His arms, tight around me, chest rising and falling against mine. that was the only place I felt like I could breathe. For a moment.
"Where you been?" he mumbled, resting his chin on top of my head, dropping the phone on the counter behind us with a dull thud. "Madame Laurent," I said simply. He nodded against my hair, slow and uninterested, but present enough to let me know he heard me. "Stay in with me tonight," I said softly. "We can drink and play games like we used to." When we first met, getting drunk and playing dumb board games was our little ritual. It was intimate. It was easy. It was ours. The place our love lived before all the darkness and gun smoke. He didn't answer, so I leaned back, tilting my face up, letting my bottom lip poke out in that pout he always pretended he hated. He looked at me then finally nodded. Relief loosened something in my chest. "Only if you make that pasta salad," he said, his voice low, the corner of his mouth twitching. I giggled, nodding. "I'll make it."
"You head to the grocery store and get what you need." His tone shifted, slipping back into business. "I need to meet up with my bruddas. I'll meet you back here." My smile faded. I stepped out of his arms. "Why can't you go to the store with me?" I asked, crossing my arms, rolling my eyes harder than I meant to. He picked up his phone again, avoiding my gaze. "I got somethin to do," he said, dismissive. "I'm sick of this shit, Noles. For real." The words slipped out before I could swallow them down.
