Page 45 of Haunt Me, Maybe

I groaned. “Brionyyyy.”

“When?” She tapped the table softly, thrilled. “Was it dramatic? Was there tension? Did it make you feel like your knees might stop working?”

They had stopped working, but she didn’t need to know that. This girl was too much of a romantic. Between her, the café, and Wes’s determination to squeeze himself between every crack in my armor…my heart didn’t stand a chance.

I pressed my palms to my burning face. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” she said, smugly. “You’re just embarrassed because you like it.”

Another song started, saving me from answering. It was a loud, messy one that apparently everyone in the room knew. People started singing along, and Briony straightened in her seat.

“Oh no. Oh no, I’m going up there.”

“What?” I grabbed her wrist, but she slipped out of my hold. “Briony, don’t.”

“Too late!” She was already halfway to the stage and only stumbling slightly. “If I die, avenge me!”

She butchered the song spectacularly, missing half the lyrics and laughing into the mic when she messed up. The whole bar cheered anyway. I don’t think anyone clapped harder than me. Two drinks in, and I felt like I was split between two personalities: the scared me, who was used to playing safe, and the potential me, who went out with a friend and just enjoyed life for once.

Briony had this twisted way of bringing out the latter personality, and when she winked at me from the stage, I knew it was intentional on her part. She saw that potential me long before I knew she existed and had made it her goal to make her reveal herself. I hadn’t factored in a friend in my small-town escape plan.

I was collecting them like rare spell ingredients. Between her and Wes, I knew it would be impossible to keep hiding away in that attic. Maybe it really was time to stop running and fight. Fight for this life that kept waving itself in my face. If I reached out, I swore I could catch it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Wes

The window didn’t show me what I wanted. It never did when it mattered. My view hadn’t changed from the old oak that dominated the yard, its bare branches spread wide beneath the Hunter’s Moon. The moonlight turned the grass silver and softened the nearby fences into shapes that were almost kind.

Amber Grove in all its glory.

I paced the length of the attic once, twice. The curse tugged at me every time I strayed too far to the edges of my prison; a familiar, nauseating pull that reminded me exactly how trapped I was. Sunset to sunrise. No exceptions.

I hated that I couldn’t go with her.

Briony dragged Aven out tonight, laughing with bright eyes and stubborn insistence, and Aven had gone—because I told her to. Because she deserved to live instead of just survive. But that didn’t stop the worry that built as the hours stretched on.

Monsters didn’t care how charming a town looked under moonlight. They didn’t care about fun or friends or the first taste of freedom. Fuck, why had I encouraged her to go?

The house felt her before I did.

The Harvest Hill Inn stirred, a satisfied groan passing through its beams like a breath drawn in. Sentient energy rippled outward in recognition—the old magic waking with pleased familiarity. She was here.

The sensation sharpened when her foot hit the front steps, and relief crashed through me so hard it almost knocked me off balance. The house all but shouted her arrival, feeding me impressions like we were part of the same conspiracy. Her hand brushing the banister. The faint hitch in her step that she laughed off. A pause on the landing where she steadied herself against the wall.

Not drunk…but tipsy.

I scowled at the still-empty attic. She walked home like that?

Amber Grove was safe, sure, but that safety was a fragile illusion when someone like Gideon existed. When she existed, glowing and vulnerable, whether she wanted to be or not. But I was the one who told her to go. To have fun. To live. So, I swallowed the urge to rage and remained where I was.

The attic door opened, and she slipped inside, the wards flaring briefly. Her shoulders loosened the second she noticed them, and I was happy to know she was still paying attention, despite however many drinks she had. She wobbled once, caught herself, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

The sink turned on. Porcelain clinked softly. I didn’t move.

When she came back out, she wore an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder and thick wool socks pulled nearly to her knees. How could she be that sexy and adorable at the same time? I watched the way the moonlight played off the smooth skin of her shoulder and waited for her to notice me.

She jumped when she finally spotted me by the window.