Page 30 of Haunt Me, Maybe

I could do this. No flares. No lingering signatures. I could cast my magic and leave nothing behind. Pulling on a tiny thread, I gently shaped it. Something simple to start. Tiny leaves fell through the air in various shades of rust and amber. They drifted lazily, never quite touching the floor before cycling to the top and falling again.

It was beautiful, and my shoulders loosened. This was what my magic was supposed to be: natural and…fun. I played with changing the tree to different seasons, flexing my illusion a bit—like stretching a muscle I hadn’t used in a while.

Careful, Fenn guided. Ease your way through this next part.

He meant when I grew the illusion. Small tricks of light were cute, but the sign of true control was casting large magics as realistically as possible. Reaching for more of my power, I grew the little tree into two, then three…then an entire park. The attic transformed into a lush forest stuffed with plant life of every color; rich evergreens next to bright orange leaves, and some with bare, brown branches.

Good, Aven! Hold it a bit longer; don’t let your concentration wander.

It was easy to get distracted by moving objects in one’s own illusion, but I liked to think I was past something as trivial as that. I added snowflakes for fun, and the air tightened. Spine straight, I searched for the snarl in my threads, but it wasn’t coming from inside my illusion.

There was a tug, sharp and wrong—a hook brushing my magic. I froze. There it was again, more persistent.

No! No, no, no.

It wasn’t a lock. Not yet. This was curiosity, a predatory search maybe, like fingers trailing through water and waiting for resistance. The panic took over anyway. I clamped down immediately, yanking the threads inward.

It was too late. Whatever tugged on my illusion already noticed me. My heart slammed so hard it stole my breath. There wasn’t enough oxygen. My fingers and toes went numb as my beautiful park shredded before my eyes, turning stunning foliage into wisps of color in the air.

I tore at the wards too fast, my hands shaking, and chalk smeared beneath my fingers. The attic lights flickered violently. That presence flexed, still distant but far more focused than before. Pressure built behind my eyes. It filled my ears. Pressing. Probing.

“Fenn!” I cried, terror eroding all my training.

Aven! Get out, let the magic go!

It was Gideon. He was triangulating.

I clutched my head; the pain of keeping him out was unbearable.

“No—I can’t⁠—”

Knees hit the floor in front of me, and strong fingers closed around my wrists, firm and gentle in a way that brooked no argument. They pulled my hands down, breaking the frantic spell I’d locked myself into, revealing Wes—solid and real and here. His face was all sharp focus and barely-leashed alarm as his gaze swept over me, taking in my obvious pain and the scraps of magic leaking from my grasp like blood from an open wound.

“Easy now, Trouble. Hey,” he said, voice soft and roughened by urgency. “Look at me. Stay here. With me.”

His thumbs brushed the inside of my wrists, sliding beneath my sleeves to bare skin. The effect was immediate and devastating. My magic silenced. It finally responded to me, pulling in like the tide answering the moon. The ringing in my ears dulled, and I locked in on Wes’s eyes, lungs shuddering as I tried to match his breaths. I gripped him back, my fingers digging hard into his forearms and my nails pressing like mini hooks, as if letting go would send me spiraling straight out of my body.

He didn’t comment on it. Didn’t tell me to let go.

Next to us, Fenn croaked sharply and doubled in size, his massive body swelling as his skin flashed with absorbed energy. He sucked in the last jagged edges of my flare and swallowed it whole, eyes glowing faintly as the presence pressing against my skull weakened…slid…and finally vanished.

The pressure lifted so suddenly I pitched forward, but Wes caught me. One minute I was falling, the next I was hauled against his chest, his arms locking around me with a solidity that stole the air from my lungs. He held me like he’d been waiting for that exact moment, like he’d already decided he wasn’t letting me hit the floor.

My face pressed into his shirt, and his chin settled on top of my head. I clutched him harder.

For a long moment, there was nothing but breathing—mostly mine, ragged and uneven, dragging its way back into my body, gasp by gasp. Wes didn’t rush me. Didn’t speak. He just stayed, anchoring me with his quiet, unyielding presence.

“Who was that?” he finally asked, quietly.

He shook too, and it wasn’t in reaction to the full-body tremors that had taken over me. This was his own adrenaline. His own fear. I hesitated. Old instincts screamed at me to shut down, to lie, to run. But he’d seen too much.

“That was…” My throat tightened painfully. “The reason I’m hiding.”

The attic temperature dropped, a familiar chill rolling outward. I barely noticed it. I’d learned his moods well enough to recognize it for what it was.

“Someone’s hunting you.” Not a question.

I nodded into his chest. “He kills witches and takes their magic. He murdered my entire line.” My voice cracked. “I’m all that’s left.”