Page 70 of Haunt Me, Maybe

“I don’t know,” I repeated, but softer.

Because the truth was worse: it felt like a narrowing. Like a circle drawing in. Fenn was pragmatic, as usual.

If he were certain, he would strike. This is still testing. Nothing has changed.

Testing meant we still had time. Testing meant he wasn’t sure. But it also meant he was getting warmer, and the town was suffering for it.

Even so, he is closer than he was, and we must adjust accordingly.

Wes reached for my hand, and I felt the brush of his fingers against mine.

“You’re not facing him alone,” he said. “He reaches, we push back. He tests, we fortify. You don’t spiral.”

My throat tightened. “I don’t want him to destroy this town.” To destroy you, I didn’t say.

His gaze softened, as if he heard the words anyway. “We won’t let him.”

We resumed our quick trek and I took it all in. The narrow streets blanketed in fallen leaves, the pumpkins and lights and candles in the windows. I felt something fierce rise up in my chest. Something that felt an awful lot like courage. Let Gideon search. Let him circle. He would not take this town. Not without going through me first.

That meant facing the truth about what these omens meant and properly preparing for the consequences they wrought. Was I ready for that? I feared I didn’t have any choice but to find out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Wes

The attic felt cramped somehow, though it shouldn’t. The ceiling sloped the same way it always had, and there was still a draft that snuck in near the eaves to curl through the rafters.

The same crooked floorboard dipped near the trunk at the foot of the bed. I knew every inch of this room. I’d memorized it in ways the living never could.

But fear compressed a space.

It pressed the walls inward. It thickened the air. It made the gleam from the single desk lamp look like something fragile instead of warm. Aven didn’t turn on the main light; just this small, golden glow to illuminate the room. It was enough to see each other’s faces. Enough to see the truth in them. The fear.

Fenn hopped from her bag and onto the desk with a soft, weighted thud. His throat pulsed once.

Well, we are far past coincidence now.

I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms, and made myself look calm. But I was far from it.

“How bad?” I asked. I knew Aven was keeping the true magnitude from me.

She moved to the window but didn’t look out of it. That’s how I knew things were fucked up. If she were only worried, she’d be scanning the yard. Instead, she looked small and lost—a lot like the woman who first rented this attic.

“It’s bad,” she confirmed. “The orchard rot, the blackened roses, the bells…we know they’re omens, but it’s worse than that.” She glanced over at Fenn, her throat swallowing. “I think they’re feelers.”

Fenn stiffened, and I wanted to shout for them to explain why the word “feelers” made both their eyes widen in alarm, but I held myself back. Overreacting would do nothing but make matters worse. There was enough fear circulating in this small room, and I didn’t need to agitate it. Still, their silent conversation wasn’t making me feel any better. I felt like I was functioning half-blind.

“I don’t understand these omens,” I confessed. “If Gideon is putting in this much effort, why isn’t he walking down Main Street and hunting you in person?”

I winced at the stark fear that came over Aven’s face at the idea, but still, it was a solid point. He obviously knew she was here, right? Why else would he keep testing the town? Aven sat on the bed and drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. Becoming small once more.

“When Gideon searches, he doesn’t look for a person, but a signature.” Her hands gripped each other so tightly that her fingers turned white. “Specifically, mine.”

“And he’s felt you at these locations around town, right? That’s why the omens.”

Incorrect, the toad said.

He was a little too smug over my error, and it was true control that kept me from glaring at him.