Page 56 of Haunt Me, Maybe

“That’s it,” she confirmed. “Any object can be an anchor; it just needs to be willing to hold. I find organic material works best.”

None of that made sense, but as much as I’d made a life around exposing fake magic…I didn’t know much about the real thing. I had to take her word for it. Aven smoothed out the ribbon with reverent care, like she was apologizing to it for what she was about to ask. That was what made her different; she treated magic like a conversation instead of a command.

“Why not something stronger?” I asked. “Like metal or stone.”

“Because this will be on you,” she replied. “All the time. It has to move with you. Breathe with you. And fabric remembers touch better than anything else.”

She grabbed chalk and salt, but not for a circle this time. Under Fenn’s watchful eye, she drew a loose sigil beneath the ribbon, and the room rocked with its power. I felt it swell and roll outward, like a wave of pure energy that passed right through me and left a zing in its wake. Fenn began to glow.

I swallowed but didn’t run. “That symbol?”

“Crossroads,” she managed to answer, her brow furrowed as she manipulated the ribbon with magic I couldn’t see. “Not a trap, but a place to choose direction.”

I watched her hands as she worked. They were steady and careful. The slight quiver in her fingers told me she was nervous, but not afraid.

“What happens if I lose it?”

“If it’s after sunset, you’ll be pulled back to the attic. Hard.”

I winced. Don’t lose the delicate ribbon. Got it. I was sure it wouldn’t feel pleasant being yanked like that. It already hurt when the curse forced me to return, and I felt that building before it happened.

“Comforting.”

She winced but didn’t look up. “I won’t let that happen.”

She couldn’t promise that, but I didn’t call her out on it. If the ribbon got lost, it would be my fault, so I’d already mentally cataloged it as my problem. Aven lit a single candle—beeswax by the smell—and warmed the ribbon for it to absorb the heat but not burn. Each action she performed was meticulous and exact. A science as much as an art.

“This is an introduction,” she explained, without me having to ask. “I’m letting my magic say hello.”

I felt when she called her magic forth; it was familiar now. Honestly, I was more worried something would leak past the wards. Fenn sat beside her, glowing like a damn disco ball, and neither of them mentioned the probability of being caught…so I guess it was okay. Aven’s magic brushed the ribbon and settled into the fibers like fallen leaves on a dry field.

She paused and looked up at me.

“This part matters,” she told me. There was a bead of sweat at her temple, and her mouth was pinched, as if holding her magic against the ribbon was a huge effort. “You have to consent again. Out loud.”

I didn’t hesitate. “I consent to the anchor. To carrying it and being tied to it instead of the attic.”

The air tightened—not painfully, but it was definitely noticeable. Aven nodded, accepting my words, and added a drop of water to the ribbon before picking it up and pressing it between her palms.

“This will make you portable,” she said. “But it doesn’t replace your autonomy. If you ever want it gone—really want it—it will unravel.”

An invisible weight lifted off my chest. The ability to shake off the magic whenever I wanted was a gift I hadn’t expected.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

After another few tense moments of watching her work in silence, she stood and held the ribbon out to me.

“You’ll need to wear it. Around the wrist is best.”

I took it from her, and the moment it rested against my palm, something opened in my chest—like a door unlatching.

Aven exhaled sharply. “Okay. That’s—yeah. It worked.”

I glanced up, my free hand rubbing at my sternum. “You sure?”

She nodded, eyes bright but tired. I tied the ribbon around my wrist, and nothing snapped. Nothing pulled. I was still here. But to confirm…

“If I drop it?”