Knowing Tharuzel has broken the first of Sebastian’s wards and will inevitably break through the next at any moment, and knowing we have no way to stop him, injure him, or send him back to Hell, has anxiety prickling like electric nettles under my skin.
What will it mean to be bound to a major demon once he has a physical presence in this realm? What does having a blood contract actually mean?
That worry has taken root in my skull as a sick, tribal rhythm that's been growing louder for days. In my worst moments, I worry that it’s Tharuzel's heartbeat syncing with mine.
And I hate it.
When I emerge, Tanner is up front with Marty, plating a piece of coconut cream pie for Miss Edna. He finishes what he’s doing, sets the knife behind him on the back counter, and lifts his chin. “Remember what I said, Poppy. Take care of yourself, or you’ll be no good to anyone else.”
I exhale a long breath, committed to try. "Thanks. I’ll do my best.”
He winks. “You can only do what you can do. Leave anything beyond to the goddess.”
You hear that, Birdie? You’ve got to pick up the slack. I can only do so much.
I wave to Marty on my way out. He's polishing one of his snarky mugs—the one that saysI'm not arguing, I'm justexplaining why I'm right—and gives me a two-fingered salute without breaking focus.
The brass bell jingles as I push through the door.
And the world outside feels wrong.
Birds erupt from the trees lining Main Street, a chaotic storm of wings and panicked cries. Adeer—an actual deer—bolts past the post office like something's snapping at its heels. It doesn't even slow down at the crosswalk.
I stand frozen on the sidewalk, scanning the street. The storefronts look normal. The sky's overcast but not threatening. Yet everything feels... hollow.
Since the night we went on our ghost tour, I’ve begun to see them. Faint outlines of old Emberwood ghosts drifting along the sidewalks, lingering near their favorite haunts. The baker who died in 1947 still hangs around the corner bakery. The little girl who drowned in Crescent Lake sometimes sits on the bench near the fountain.
Today? Nothing.
The spirit world feelsempty.
A horn honks, and I jump. Asher's beat-up gray truck pulls up to the curb, Orion in the passenger seat and Rowan lounging in the backseat. I yank open the door and slide in beside her, fumbling with the seatbelt.
"Tell me you feel it too," I blurt.
Asher twists to look at me. "The weirdness? Oh yeah. I was staring out the back window at home earlier and a whole family of raccoons justsprintedthrough the yard. In broad daylight. Like they were fleeing a forest fire."
"The shadows are off, too." Rowan has her arms wrapped around herself, fingers tapping restlessly against her ribs. "Sluggish. Like they're... distracted."
Orion shifts in his seat, his silver-blue eyes scanning the street. "Animals have been losing it all day. And the air—" Hepauses, nostrils flaring. "—smells like ozone. Like right before a big storm rolls in."
"Except there's no storm in the forecast," I mutter.
"Exactly."
The thrum inside me pulses again. Stronger this time. It's not pain, not quite—justpressure. Like someone's inflating a balloon inside my ribcage.
"So, what are you saying?" Asher pulls away from the curb and heads down Main Street. “Do you think these vibes are less 'cozy autumn afternoon' and more 'final boss music just started playing’?"
Despite everything, Rowan snorts. "Did you just compare our lives to a video game?"
"Our livesarea video game. We've got quests, side missions, a sketchy villain monologuing from the shadows?—"
"Don't forget the random loot drops," Orion adds dryly.
"Exactly! Although I'm still waiting for my legendary weapon."
The banter cracks the tension just enough for me to breathe. But then the bond pulses again—harder, deeper—and the words slip out before I can stop them.
