Page 101 of Haunt Me, Maybe

Fenn was already there, plump on the edge of the old trunk. His golden eyes watched our approach, taking us in with that unnerving, ancient calm. He croaked once and then spoke.

You came back sooner than I expected. Good. I was worried you would let the lights fool you into forgetting.

Aven set the crow carefully on the windowsill. Its button eyes caught the lamplight and stared back at us, innocent and absurd.

She exhaled. “Is it time?”

Fenn tilted his broad head and studied her the way one might study a blade before battle.

You are ready for this, he said, words heavy with certainty. Your magic is strong, and the wards are set. Don’t let your fear win before the battle has even begun.

Aven’s fingers flexed at her sides. She looked at me, and something passed between us.

“We’ve got his,” I told her, and meant every word.

She nodded once and lifted her chin. “Then let’s go.”

Fenn hopped down from the trunk and landed on the floorboards with a soft thump. Aven grabbed her satchel, pre-packed with all the essentials—chalk, iron nails, a small glass vial of something dark and shimmering, and the last of her grounding herbs.

Back outside, the night had fully claimed the town. The festival lights were distant stars now and still bright compared to Aven’s Jeep waiting stoically out front. She slid behind the wheel, and Fenn settled on the passenger seat like a sentinel, leaving me to phase into the back as she pulled away from the curb.

Headlights cut twin paths through the dark as we rolled down the empty roads toward the edge of town. No one spoke. We were all lost in our own thoughts, doing whatever we needed to prepare. The old mill eventually rose out of the black like a dark silhouette against the sky, the river whispering past it.

Aven parked on the gravel but didn’t move to get out. She sat locked in her seat, staring at what would be her death or salvation.

“Wes?” she called, her grip on the wheel so tight her knuckles were white.

“I’m here.”

She released a breath but didn’t turn around. Didn’t take her eyes off the mill. Killing the engine, she opened the driver’s door, and cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of river mud and rotting wood and something metallic underneath.

As soon as I phased out of the car, the mill wrapped me in its presence and spoke. Not out loud. Not with sound that carried on the wind.

The words sank straight into my head, old and familiar in the worst way. Like gravel dragged across bone.

You came back.

I stiffened. The words weren’t hostile, but they weren’t welcoming either. They were more…expectant. It knew why we were here—what time had come. Was it going to back out of our deal?

I will help, for what was promised.

Well, then. At least there was that. I wasn’t sure how to fulfill my part of the bargain, but it was a problem for later. Out front, before the open doors on their rusted hinges, Aven froze. I stepped up beside her, ready to comfort her, steady her, or grab her and run if that’s what she wanted.

“I love you,” she said, voice steady despite everything, and I knew we were doing this.

She wasn’t going to back down. One way or another, we’d finish this together. I admired her bravery. I certainly wouldn’t have found the courage to take on a monster like Gideon, not without my need to protect her fueling me like it did now. I definitely didn’t deserve her, but after tonight, I hoped I would.

“I love you too, Trouble. Let’s end this.”

We walked inside, and the mill swallowed us whole.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Aven

We stepped onto the cracked foundation, and I was immediately struck by a primal resonance traveling up through the soles of my boots to lodge in my chest. The mill remembered me. Its broken rafters caught slivers of moonlight, and for one heartbeat, the entire building seemed to draw in a slow, steadying breath.

I pressed my palm briefly to the nearest brick wall, taking the moment to say hello and to apologize for the danger I was about to bring down upon this place. The rough surface was cool and pitted with time, yet beneath it pulsed with a quiet alignment. As though the mill had squared its shoulders and decided, after decades of silence, it would stand with me tonight.