Page 16 of Haunt Me, Maybe

I didn’t know what to make of the small witch attempting to make herself even smaller. Around me, she grew. She fought and bared her teeth. She held her ground and refused to budge. Very different from what walked in front of me now.

A soft smile remained on her face despite the strange body language, and my mouth soured at her perplexing manipulation. I almost fell for it, again. Something twisted in my gut when she quietly laughed at the antics of some kids outside the post office. I flickered violently in response, sending a stack of postcards flying off their display.

The witch spun to glare at me, less than impressed.

“Please stop being dramatic.”

Too busy trying to wrangle my thoughts, I didn’t reply. Something didn’t add up with my little unwanted witch. But I swore to figure it out before it was too late.

CHAPTER SIX

Wes

I used to be so sure in my convictions: magic was fake, and people who tried to take advantage by making you think otherwise were charlatans. Then I died. Now I knew magic was real, and the true danger lay with those who could conjure it. The harbingers of plague and sorrow. Witches.

I’d never met one, until now, and she was plowing through all my reconstructed convictions before I had a chance to see their truths laid bare. I didn’t appreciate how she made me question everything I thought I knew, and my scrutiny of her did nothing more than add to my confusion.

Back at the inn, I hovered invisible, refusing to announce myself so I could take more time to study her when she assumed no one was watching. I remained silent in the slanted shadows near the rafters, arms crossed, observing, while she moved through my attic as if she belonged there.

And therein lay the problem; she kind of did.

Was it a ruse? Meant to make herself seem meek and helpless? Downstairs, she’d been all angles and hesitation. Even while at work. I’d watched from the corner of the café, unimpressed, and hating every second because exactly what I thought would happen, did.

The town didn’t push. They never did. No. They smiled and asked her name. Told her where the sugar was kept and where the clean mugs went. Kindly explained which regulars liked extra foam and which ones pretended they didn’t. They fucking took her under their wing like a lost baby bird.

And the witch⁠—

Was she that lost little bird? She certainly acted like one at first; flinching, shoulders tight, chin tucked. Her body screamed, “Please don’t look too closely.” But her eyes, they watched. They followed the warmth around the room.

Her mouth softened when someone laughed. In my endless observations, I noticed how she always lingered a step back from the counter, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to take up space there yet, despite how Briony kept pulling her in.

But every time someone turned away—that tiny smile. For them. It irritated me more than it should have. What did she want from my town? My eyes tracked her movements, drawn to the slow simmer of her energy.

I felt every shift in the air, every pulse of her presence, and I hated how attuned I was. Her magic felt like static warmth, as if it changed the very density of my form. I wished she would leave. Instead, she set her bag down and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all day.

Her boots came off, and then that giant sweater hung on the coat rack instead of being tossed somewhere. She lit one of her many candles, and a sharp ripple tore through her aura. It felt…wrong, like a gust of cold wind from nowhere. It definitely wasn’t one of mine.

She stiffened and froze in the center of the room, her expression one of fear before she artfully masked it behind a blank exterior.

What was that? Was she losing control?

I eyed the small flame of the candle as anger flashed through me, immediate and visceral. Could this witch not control her magic? This was exactly the confusion about her that was slowly driving me insane. Was she in danger, or was she the danger? I should push her out of the attic entirely, like I’d threatened to do.

Only…she hadn’t hurt anyone yet. She kept to herself—except for the new job, but she had to afford to eat somehow, and⁠—

Fuck! Why was I making excuses for her? It was almost as if I didn’t want her to leave. I shook my head. She was an even bigger problem than I thought. For me. For Amber Grove. For everything.

The witch’s humming interrupted my internal spiral, and my focus was once again centered on her as she unpacked even more things from that endless duffel and set them in seemingly random places. She paused at the window, pushing it open to let in the evening air. The smell of leaves, caramel, and woodsmoke drifted in.

She leaned her elbows on the sill and watched the street below as if memorizing it. Like she planned to stay. My jaw tightened, and I materialized.

“You’re getting too comfortable,” I said with a growl. The statement blatantly admitted how I’d been watching her, but I was too unsettled to care.

The witch jumped again—only a little. She was getting used to my abrupt arrivals and appeared more shocked than frightened by it now. Her body turned first, like her gaze found it hard to leave the picturesque view out the window. So close. I hadn’t meant to put myself this close to her.

“Fenn said you’ve been watching me,” she accused, and I didn’t deny it. There was no point.

“Hard not to,” I confessed. “When you’re in my home.”