Page 82 of Haunt Me, Maybe

Her eyes were bright, pupils wide with the rush. I gave her the smallest nod, one that said I was proud without needing words. She turned back to the wisps that remained of the decoy.

“One more time. Same thing. Then maybe…two?”

No. One at a time. Fenn’s voice was calm but firm. Master the pulse on a single decoy first. When you can make it last for an afternoon, then you can multiply. Greed burns witches faster than fear.

She nodded, determined. “One at a time.”

Aven raised her hands, and a decoy appeared. She attached the thread smoother and faster, then released it. The pulse rolled out again in a violet wave that brushed across my skin like cool electricity. Briony tipped out of her stool.

“Do it again!” she squealed. “Please. I want to feel it in my toes this time.”

Aven laughed and complied.

Again.

And again.

Each pulse a little steadier. Each flare a little longer. Here deep in the quiet of the closed café, with Briony watching in open wonder and me keeping silent guard, Aven danced around echoes of herself; shining exactly as bright as she was meant to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Aven

I woke before dawn to an attic washed in faint gray light. Fenn was sprawled on his perch, flat on his back and limbs flung wide, as his small chest rose and fell in the careless rhythm of sleep.

Must be nice. Easing off the bed, I noticed Wes’s side was empty. There was no lingering chill. He probably slipped out hours ago to patrol or brood. Most likely both.

I didn’t wait to see when he’d return. Now was my chance. I dressed quickly in jeans, a soft sweater, and boots before creeping downstairs. The inn slept on, undisturbed. Even the front door opened without protest. Outside, Amber Grove was beginning to wake.

The air carried the bite of woodsmoke and fallen leaves. Streetlamps cast a soft glow along the sidewalks toward the main town square. Frost traced the edges of shop windows and iron benches; it even coated the pumpkins lining the stoops of the hardware store and bakery.

A few early risers moved through the quiet with me—the florist sweeping leaves from her awning and the newspaper boy pedaling past with a basket full of rolled papers.

I walked with my hands in my pockets and let the town breathe around me. For days, I’d trained until my magic felt like an overworked muscle. I was stronger now. My decoys held. My pulses fired clean.

Even simple stabilization no longer left my jaw aching. I had more control than I’d ever known. And still, a sick churning in my gut told me I was going to fail. That it wouldn’t be enough.

I studied the square before me, this haven ringed by brick storefronts and maples blazing every shade of fire. The diner’s windows glowed. String lights winked along the gazebo. Paper ghosts clung to the glass doors of the town hall. Guilt tightened in my chest. If I screwed up, if Gideon slipped through before the trap was ready, none of this would survive him.

He’d burn it all down.

Last night, Fenn, Wes, and I agreed on the final step of our plan. This weekend, at the Harvest Festival. The veil would be thin, the ley lines wide open, and the town would be distracted and out of harm’s way. I’d let out one strong pulse. Enough to call him. Enough to draw him exactly where we wanted.

I kept walking. A few early risers noticed me and offered friendly waves and sleepy smiles. I returned them, something I never would have considered doing when I first arrived. This place changed me. Gave me safety and confidence I’d been sorely lacking.

A prickle ran down my spine, and I stopped under the big maple at the edge of the green, leaves drifting slowly around me.

“You can come out,” I said quietly. “I know you’re there.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air distorted near the trunk of the tree, and Wes stepped into view. Solid to me. Invisible to everyone else. He didn’t look amused.

“What are you doing out here alone?” he demanded, already closing the distance between us. “You can’t walk out without telling anyone.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes but folded my arms despite how flimsy the gesture felt under the weight of his stare. I wasn’t a child.

“I’m fine,” I said, hardening the word. “I’m here every day. It’s not like it’s far.”

“That’s not the point.” His jaw tightened. “Gideon doesn’t need distance, remember? He only needs opportunity.”