She nods quickly.
“What’d you see this time?”
“A montage of images but the clearest was a black horse galloping through fog.”
“And? Was someone riding the horse?” I clear my throat. “Or something?”
She frowns and squeezes her eyes shut as if she’s trying to replay the scene in her mind. “I don’t think so? It had a black, glossy coat and seemed very…strong. Sorry, I don’t know a lot about horses.”
Horses or her lack of knowledge about them isn’t the problem. “That’s okay.” But it’s not okay. None of what she’s sharing is okay.
“I’ve never heard of that happening before.”
She tilts her head in a way that suggests she doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. “How many victims of the curse have you actually spoken to? And isthatkind of detail something they would’ve shared with you?” she asks gently.
The last person taken by the Rider was my sister, so no, that’s not something she would’ve told her little brother.
My jaw locks. I run through everything I’ve ever been told. Everything I assumed. The oath. The rules. The warnings. Things I never questioned because no one in my family bothered to fill in the details before it was too late.
She reaches for the pendant at her throat, twisting the iron between her fingers. “I’m still wearing this every day.”
My eyes lock on it. Before, I just liked seeing her wearing something I made against her skin. Now it feels essential she keep it close. “That should help.” At least I think it will.
Silence stretches between us as I try to slot this new information into what I thought I knew.
I reach for the stove and twist the burner back on. The pan slowly sizzles back to life.
“Well,” I say, keeping my voice even, “I’m glad you finally told me. Let’s keep an eye on it.”
She watches me closely, then nods. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Normal. Practical. Emery in her element.
She hops down from the counter and leans against my side, peering into the pan. “So,” she says lightly, “are you going to tell me more about thisSlayride you’re narrating tonight? I love the name, by the way. Cute.”
I flick my gaze to the ceiling but can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Harper, our waitress the other night, she came up with it at one of the planning meetings.”
“Really?” Emery raises her eyebrows in earnest admiration. “Clever woman. Maybe she can help me market my channel better.”
“You don’t have…people for that?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. Just Wren and me. Sometimes, I hire out stuff or try to collaborate with other YouTube channels. But there are a lot of men in the paranormal space already.” She shrugs. “And most of them are dicks.”
I choke on a laugh. “Doesn’t surprise me one bit. You should see how many assholes want a ‘consultation’ with Lucy to see if they can get her to handle their junk.”
“Ewww.” Emery wrinkles her nose.
“That’s why I don’t let her schedule male clients when she’s there alone. Most of them are good customers?—”
“But you never know which one will be the creep?”
“Exactly.”
“And they wouldn’t dare try that if you’re there standing guard.” She slants a look at me. “None ofyourclients try to ‘handle’ you, do they?”
Laughter rumbles out of me. “Fuck no. I’ve had a few ask me out and once had a client,” I pause and clear my throat. “Uh, orgasm during a session—but it was an involuntary reaction. I think it was embarrassing for both of us. But I just stayed professional and assured her it happens.”
“Really? Wow.” She bites her lip. “I’d probably melt into the floor from embarrassment.”
