Page 41 of Haunt Me, Maybe

I held back a sigh. This was going about how I expected. His distrust of me was understandable, considering the drawn-out tantrum I’d impressed upon his charge since their arrival. But he saw me help her that day.

“That’s not what I meant,” I growled. “Aven wants to live. She wants to stay. But you know as well as I do that her magic is—” I gestured vaguely. “A lot. She needs help. Real help. Not this suppression and avoidance game she’s been running.”

Fenn watched me in silence, mud still dripping from his chin. He didn’t comment, nor did he disagree. He sat there, in silent judgment, as I pleaded my case.

“We learned something last night,” I continued, carefully. “My touch calms her magic, steadies it. Enough that she’s able to get her footing even when it’s raving out of control.”

His eyes sharpened.

And how, he croaked, voice rough with earth and stone. Did you learn that?

“That doesn’t concern you.” I scowled, but he matched it with just as much ire. “She’s a grown woman. What she chooses to do—or not do—with me is none of your business.”

His body swelled slightly in warning. It becomes my business when she’s at risk from a smooth-talking phantom she has no defenses against.

Ah. So that was his real problem with me. He knew I was no danger to her physically, even if we could touch. But now that he knew there was something there between us, that emotionally she was at risk, he threw whatever trust I’d gained out the window. His words stung.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” I said, low and firm. “I want to use what’s between us—whatever this connection is—to help her access the parts of her magic she’s been too afraid to touch. The parts she locks away because every time she opens the door, someone notices.” Fenn’s throat pulsed softly as he thought it over. He knew exactly what I was talking about. “Between the two of us, we can help her learn how to reach those places without losing control. Without sending up another flare.”

He was quiet for a long time. Even the woods held their breath, waiting for his answer.

I’ve tried, he finally said. But every time she truly taps into her power, he’s right there.

“I know. That’s why we need to change the rules.”

Explain.

I glanced back toward the house, toward the attic where Aven was probably fretting and overthinking through her lunch. Then I looked at the land around us: the trees, the soil. All the old bones of this place.

“What if we don’t practice here?” I asked. “What if we do it somewhere that’s already loud?” Fenn blinked. “There are places with old magic. Deep magic. The kind that’s been soaked into the ground for generations. If she practiced there and her magic blended instead of flaring, would it mask her?”

His gaze sharpened again, but this time with something like interest. He studied me for a long moment.

You’re thinking of anchor sites, he concluded. Ley intersections and enchanted structures.

I smiled thinly and nodded. Now I had his full attention.

You have a place in mind.

“I do.”

The old mill near the river was the perfect place. Its basement was flooded, making it unusable, but it was registered as a historic site, so the town couldn’t tear it down. Couldn’t use it, couldn’t get rid of it…the only attention it got these days was from teens looking for a place to party or hook up. It radiated power. More than my attic or the café. Even more than that damned maze. It was the perfect spot to hide Aven while she trained.

The land around us rustled softly, the leaves shifting though there was no wind. The whole property took a breath as we waited for the toad to decide. Fenn studied me for a long, measuring, very uncomfortable amount of time before reluctantly dipping his head.

If you hurt her⁠—

“I won’t,” I cut in.

If you lie⁠—

“I won’t.”

Another pause, and then grudgingly, We try it your way.

Relief loosened the bind around my ribs. We stood there in uneasy accord; the dirt-streaked familiar and the ghost who was never supposed to care. Behind me, the house sighed. Fenn turned, already starting to hop back toward the tree line.

You better be right about this, ghost.