Page 90 of Haunt Me, Maybe

I scrubbed my hands over my face as frustration burned behind my eyes. “Yes. To feel real. Real magic lingers.”

This epic plan to take Gideon down was already off to a horrible start. But I refused to give up. I would get it right…after a quick recharge. I forced myself to eat lunch—a rushed sandwich I barely tasted—and then tried again. At the orchard this time. This place pulled on my nerves. Even now, stepping onto its soil made my skin prickle with memory.

The sickness here hadn’t lifted. If anything, it felt worse. As if the land knew it would soon be asked to witness something final. It wasn’t safe to be here while my double was meant to be drawing out monsters, so after I sent the decoy off, Wes and I ran back to the attic. Again.

This one lasted longer—two hours and some change—but Fenn’s mouth flattened into a thin line.

It weakened each time it pulsed, he said. As though the signal consumed its own structure.

Like a flare burning itself out. Shit.

“It was supposed to feel more alive,” I groaned. “I wanted it to breathe.”

Then give it breath, Fenn answered. As if it were that simple.

I stared at him and fought the urge to throttle him. Unfortunately, he was right. Later, when the inn had gone quiet and dusk slipped into night, I found the answer in my family’s journal.

Hidden in ink faded by decades and margins crowded with notes. “Illusions of duration required a sacrifice.” Substance. Something tangible. Something of mine.

We had one more chance to get it right. I really hoped this worked.

The maze welcomed me.

I felt it the moment we stepped between its living walls, like a loosening of ties that had once strangled me when I first arrived.

It remembered that girl, too—small, defensive, and furious at a ghost who wouldn’t leave her alone. I glanced at Wes, and he caught the look immediately.

“What?” he asked, one brow lifting.

I shook my head, but heat crept up my neck anyway. He had tried so hard to hate me back then. And now…Now I felt the echo of his mouth on mine in the clock tower. The almost. The interruption. His eyes darkened.

“That look,” he murmured, stepping closer as the maze shifted subtly around us. “What’s it for?”

“Don’t,” I warned, though my voice lacked real conviction. “We have a job to do.”

“Mm.” His gaze dragged slowly over me. “We do. But after?” he asked quietly, and I hesitated. “This is one of the strongest sites,” he continued. “If you send the decoy away from here, the maze will cover if an omen comes looking.”

“And then what?” I asked, folding my arms.

He shrugged lightly. “Whatever we want. And without an annoying toad commenting on everything.”

A laugh escaped me, and he prowled closer, drawn in by the sound.

“Maybe,” he said, voice dropping. “We finish what we started in that clock tower.” A shiver slipped down my spine, and his grin turned wicked. “Do you want that, Aven?”

My pulse answered for me. I was sure it burned a ring around his wrist.

“Let’s get this done first,” I said, breath thinner than I’d like.

Halfway into the maze, I stopped. Looking up at the moon, I let the silence into my bones. Let my heart go back to a normal rhythm, and then I crouched to pick up a sharp stone from the path. Wes’s expression tightened; he didn’t like this part.

“Aven—”

“I’m fine.”

It was now or never. I pressed the point into my fingertip until it stung, and my blood welled bright. Closing my eyes, I called my illusion forward. It rose slower this time, denser and more refined.

Like sculpting something with muscle instead of mist. When I pressed my bleeding finger to its chest, the magic drank. It pulled more from my finger, in what felt like a harsh yank deep in my chest.