Page 69 of Haunt Me, Maybe

My pulse pounded in my ears, and my leg bounced up and down with barely restrained dread that drew the attention of a few seated nearest me. Fenn’s voice was quiet, but I still made it out over the roaring in my ears.

Do not react.

I was really trying not to, but anyone who looked at me right now would think me sick I was so pale.

Mayor Pritchard spread his hands. “Now, now. We’re not jumping to conclusions. But we are forming a volunteer committee to investigate.”

Investigate what? They didn’t know what they were looking for. They were cataloging symptoms without understanding the illness. Could they also feel it in the air? What about the wrongness beneath the floorboards? Like the ground had swallowed a breath and forgotten how to release it.

Fenn’s voice was low and controlled as he spoke from my bag on the floor.

Are you keeping track? How widespread?

“At least five reports,” I whispered under my breath.

Briony glanced sideways at me, concerned, but the rest of the room continued talking. No one took notice of us. No one ever did.

“That’s two more than before,” I breathed.

Wes didn’t answer because he didn’t need to. I already told him the signs. He knew what black roses meant. What split and rotted fruit meant. What bells rung without wind meant. It wasn’t random. It was searching magic. Probing magic.

Warped and hungry and wrong. And this volunteer committee? It was going to get in our way. You couldn’t investigate this with flashlights and clipboards.

“Does this feel like random fallout?” Wes asked quietly.

I shook my head because random fallout was sloppy. This was patterned and strategic. Fenn’s small, cool body shifted at my feet.

If he is searching, he said calmly. Then he does not yet know where to look.

“And when he does?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer, and that was worse. I wanted nothing more than to run back to the attic and hide under the blankets, but when the meeting ended, people lingered. Of course they did. There was cider. Gossip. Debate about whether the festival should include tarot this year.

“We did that in ’98, and three marriages ended,” someone muttered.

The charm of small-town drama was definitely lost on me.

Briony leaned close. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.”

She took my word for it, but I could tell she wanted to argue. Wes’s hand hovered at my lower back, not touching but near enough that I could almost feel it. Fenn poked his head out of the satchel.

We need to leave.

I nodded. There was a lot to discuss. Making my goodbyes to Briony, we slipped out into the cold night air. The wind hit hard as soon as we left the square and stepped onto the residential streets, but I’d take that over the suffocating false warmth back at town hall. Once we were clear of the crowd, I spoke freely.

“He’s closer,” I said.

I wasn’t dramatic about it. I didn’t say it with the overwhelming panic that fueled my every step, but with certainty. Wes moved in front of me, blocking my view of the inn further up on the corner.

“How close?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” My breath fogged in sharp bursts. “But this isn’t stray magic anymore. It’s directional.”

“Toward you?”

That was the question I didn’t want to answer. The one that sat like a stone in my ribs.