Page 51 of Haunt Me, Maybe

I kept an eye out for Fenn, wondering if I needed to pick him up and let him ride in my satchel, but he hopped along like the spongy floor was no different than a muddy riverbank. We moved deeper into the structure until we found a room that felt…right. Enclosed and solid. The walls were intact enough to block the river’s pull, leaving the floor dry.

It smelled faintly of old wood and iron and was stuffed to the brim with all the artifacts that must have been brought up from the now useless basement. Clearing the room became its own kind of ritual: sweeping debris, stacking broken crates, and brushing moss from the floor so I could draw my circle.

My hands shook less the longer we worked, and the entire time, the mill watched. Its magic buzzed in approval every time I touched the walls. Grateful. It broke my heart to realize how deprived this place was.

“It likes you,” Wes said, his voice carrying easily through the quiet room.

I gave him a sad smile. “I think it’s happy that someone’s paying attention.”

I couldn’t focus on how depressed that realization made me. Me and this old mill had a lot in common. When the room was ready, I grabbed my chalk and drew a ward circle, my hands steadier than I expected. The chalk glowed faintly as it met the aged wood, the curves sharpening as the ley lines aligned with it.

It was easier here—my magic flowed smoother, and the circle was anchored in a way it never was in the attic. So far so good. I carefully stepped inside and took a seat in the middle, legs crossed and back straight. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and the resulting goosebumps spread down my arms.

Fear swelled, like a sick muscle memory from Gideon’s reach, from that awful moment of being seen, and my magic recoiled. Breaths shallow, I dug my nails into the soft wood, and some of its fibers came away beneath the force.

“I can’t,” I whispered, voice thin. “What if⁠—”

Wes didn’t interrupt, but I felt him step closer. Close enough that the unique frigid heat of him blanketed my entire back. The grounding sensation moved around my side and then to my front, until I knew he crouched before me.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and my eyes fluttered open. “You’re here. We’re here with you, and this place is loud. Gideon isn’t.”

“I might lose control again.”

“You won’t,” he swore, firm but gentle. “You can do this; start small. Let it surface.”

Fenn croaked in agreement and wiggled across from me in the circle, ready to absorb any flares. I took in a breath, held it, and then slowly let it out. My magic rose, tentative. Flickering like candlelight. It wanted to bolt—to scream, to rage. But I held it tight.

Slow, Fenn cautioned.

More power rose from deep within me, too much too fast, and panic clawed at me with blind dominance. Wes reached across the chalk to hold my hand, and I clutched back with all my strength. His presence threaded through mine; cool against heat, like river stones holding a current in place. Where my power surged, he dampened. Where I faltered, he supported.

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s it. Don’t force it, just let it sit.”

Slowly, the pressure eased.

I trembled where I sat, on the precipice of control—like riding on the crest of a wave and trying not to topple off of it. It helped to focus on the sensations; the way my magic tingled in my palms and how it droned softly in my ears instead of roaring. Outside of all that was an overlaying rumble of approval from the mill.

Now, Fenn said. Push your power out, like a shield. Picture a dome around you.

I swallowed and did as he said, pushing gently. The power responded like clay under my hands and flowed into a thin, shimmering barrier that rippled once it settled. Releasing the thread I’d used to form it, my shield held, and I gasped in shocked delight.

“I did it!”

Usually, I needed a highly charged crystal or Fenn’s assistance to do something like this. Any other time we’d tried, I’d lost control or couldn’t wrangle my magic enough for it to listen.

“You did,” Wes agreed, unmistakable pride in his voice. “And without my help.”

What? I looked down and saw his hand outside the chalk circle. Not holding mine, not touching me. Near, but separate. Holy shit. I did it. Me. By myself. Multiple emotions hit me hard and fast—relief, wonder, pride, something dangerously close to joy. My eyes burned. For the first time, my magic didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like it belonged to me.

I repeated the shield again and again, taking it down, pulling it back up, and each time it came easier.

Baseline established, Fenn announced, pleased. Repeatable. Sustainable. Well done. Now it’s time to try something more intricate.

I knew what he wanted. An actual illusion. Just as big, just as stable. He wanted me to show control over detail and density. The image I created needed to appear tactile and real but use only a small amount of my power, so I wasn’t drained quickly. I’d done them before, but not as consistently. And they were usually smaller too, like with the cop and my driver’s license.

I nodded my head, and Fenn wiggled expectantly. Wes gave me an encouraging grin but didn’t reach for my hand again. In fact, he believed in me so much, he moved further away and leaned against a stone wall to watch. I wanted to drag him back, but that was my fear talking. I could do this.

“This place remembers what it was,” Wes advised. “If you listen, you should be able to find what it wants.”