Normally I’d bristle at being ordered around or toss out some creative version offuck off. But all protests tangle in my throat. Shame, curiosity, and the strange, magnetic pull I have toward him snuffs out my usual fire.
Everything I’ve uncovered this morning blurs together as I stand. I clutch my notebook to my chest, legs unsteady, heat still crawling over my cheeks. He doesn’t even check if I’m following, just assumes I will.
And the worst part is—I follow. I can’t argue with him now. It’d feel too much like admitting I’ve lost control of the story.
CHAPTER NINE
Declan
Sunlight never gracesthe Hollow like it should. It doesn’t warm the air or scatter the fog. It hangs like a pale veil over the rooftops, useless against the chill that permeates the town.
Emery walks out of the library ahead of me, hugging her notebook to her chest like a shield. Shoulders stiff, jaw locked. Less reporter, more someone who uncovered a ghost in broad daylight.
I don’t need to ask what she found in Baxter’s files. Whose name she discovered. The nervous edge in her silence tells me enough. She must’ve found my sister’s name and made the connection. Whether she’ll dare to say it out loud to me—that’s another matter.
Is she feeling guilty? If I let her stew, maybe she’ll leave town before the curse captures her.
Why does the thought of never seeing her again bother me so much?
She shifts her bag higher on her shoulder. The chain the iron key’s hanging from glints at her throat, unleashing something feral and protective inside me.
“Find what you wanted?” My question sounds more like an accusation than genuine interest.
Her chin lifts but her bottom lip trembles. “I’m not sure yet.”
Yeah, something she learned knocked the nosy reporter right out of her this morning. If her investigation wasn’t so personal, I might feel bad about that.
We walk side by side down the stone steps of the library. Now’s the time to chase her off. Help her pack her bags, gas up her car, and send her away.
Instead, I shove my hands deeper in my pockets. “Baxter’s archives will bury you alive if you let them.”
She tilts her head, side-eyeing me. “I’ve survived worse than some dusty stacks of newspapers.”
Before I can press her for more, footsteps thud behind us on the sidewalk.
“Wait—sorry!” a voice calls out.
A kid—no, a guy, but barely—jogs over to us. College sweatshirt. Backpack. Camera slung diagonally across his chest. Breathless from running with an overexcited, parasocial grin on his face like he’s about to meet his favorite porn star.
Ignoring me, he aims his excited puppy energy straight at Emery.
“You’re Curious Crow, right? The girl from Curious Crow? Emily.”
“Emery,” she corrects. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I knew it!” The guy beams. “I recognized you from your episode on the Raven’s Point ghost. I grew up near there and you…you really nailed it. I’m actually a film major at Cornell. Really like your editing style.”
Emery’s cheeks flush pink. “Wow, uh, thanks. My best friend edits all my pieces. She, uh, graduated from Cornell too, actually.”
He shifts closer, rubbing his shoulder up against Emery’s while he fumbles for his phone. “Can we take a photo?” He heaves in a deep breath, drops the fanboy act and slips intosomething closer to frat boy on the prowl. I’m not sure which one I dislike more.
Emery stiffens and shifts away a fraction of an inch, but the guy just moves in closer.
“Or…are you busy?” he asks. “Can I take you out for coffee?”
My blood runs cold.Absolutely the fuck not happening.
The little shithead’s still running his mouth. “…if you’re not busy tonight. I can pick you up?—”
