Emery rolls her eyes, but her mouth twitches, betraying a hint of laughter. “I think I like her.”
“She grows on you,” I mutter.
“Sounds like she’s worried about you,” Emery says. “You make it seem like the curse is contagious.”
I exhale slowly and gesture to her arm. “It kind of is.”
She scowls and yanks her sleeve up, staring at the pulsing green mark. “That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
The silence stretches, uneasy and charged. The Rider’s mark prickles beneath my shirt, a faint burn like static against my skin.
Emery tilts her head, studying me. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I shake it off and force a grin. “Lucy brings out my best side.”
“Uh-huh.” Emery’s lips curve. “And here I thought that I do.”
It’s meant as a tease, but her voice dips low enough that it hits deeper and spikes my pulse. “Careful,” I warn. “You’re already good at it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “At what?”
“Getting under my skin.”
Before she can answer, the lights overhead flicker—just once—but long enough for both of us to glance up and share matching what-the-hell looks.
Lucy calls from the back room, “If that’s the power again, I’m going home!”
“Probably just a glitch,” I call back.
Emery’s eyes stay on me, unblinking. “You sure about that?”
No. Not even close.
But I nod anyway. “Sure. It’s an old building. Happens all the time.”
She scowls but doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. “Maybe I’ll head out.” She turns toward the door. “And leave you two to your electrical drama.”
I take a step toward her before I can stop myself. “Emery?—”
She pauses, glancing over her shoulder.
“Stay. I’m going to close up soon,” I say. “Let me take you to dinner.”
Her cheeks flush and she glances down as if she’s suddenly shy. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like that,” she says, still not looking up at me.
A knot of tension in my chest loosens. I don’t want Emery out of my sight. And not just so I can protect her from the Rider. She’s so damn stubborn, though, that if I tell her that, she’ll probably march right out the door and go twirl around in the cemetery just to spite me.
“Good. There’s a little place right down the street. Doesn’t look fancy from the sidewalk but it’s good. Real food.” I lift my chin at the bag of fudge in her hands. “Not sugar.”
“Sugar’s my favorite food group.” She tilts her head in an endearing way. “But you have my attention.”
Lucy reappears in the hallway, drying her hands on a rag. “You taking off?”
