Page 80 of Haunt Me, Maybe

You admit it then.

I looked at Aven again. She was wiping down the counter now, humming something under her breath, completely unaware that the ghost in the corner had surrendered the last of his defenses.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I admit it.”

Fenn didn’t mock me. Didn’t even flick his tongue. He watched her, too, throat pulsing in contemplation.

Good, he said after a moment. She deserves someone who knows exactly what she’s worth. Even if that someone is an insufferable pain in the ass.

I didn’t answer this time. I pushed off the wall, moving closer to the counter without making a sound. I wasn’t going to tell her yet—not today, not when she was still learning to trust herself. But I wasn’t going to hide it anymore either. I was hers. For whatever time we had.

Briony—silver hair pinned in a loose braid, black apron dusted with flour, and sarcasm dialed to eleven—reached Aven before I did.

“You’re glowing,” she said, loud enough that the guy waiting for his oat-milk latte pretended not to hear. “Not literally, but like you suddenly figured out how to turn the volume down on your anxiety.”

Aven choked on a laugh. “Gee, thanks.”

Briony tilted her head, suddenly serious. “Really. You’re steadier today, but…” She went silent, her brow furrowed like the café whispered something in her ear. “You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

“I’m fine,” Aven replied, smile faltering.

Not quite a lie, not quite the truth.

The silver-haired maybe-witch reached across the counter and squeezed Aven’s wrist.

“You don’t have to tell me everything. Just know that if you need backup, or a place to hide, or someone to throw hot coffee in a bad guy’s face, I’m here. No questions. No judgment. Okay?”

Aven’s eyes watered, but no tears fell. “Okay.”

Briony grinned, the way she did when she was trying to lighten the air. “Great. Now go restock the oat milk before I have to start explaining to customers why we’re out again.”

The laugh that left Aven was real, and the rest of the shift passed in the easy rhythm of clinking mugs, hissing steam, and the low murmur of conversation. Finally, when the last customer left, and the “Closed” sign flipped. Briony locked the door, pulled the shades, and dragged a stool over to the center of the floor.

“Showtime,” she announced, crossing her legs and propping her chin in her hand like she was settling in for a private performance. “I love this part. What are we practicing?”

Fenn hopped onto the nearest table with a soft thump.

Decoys tonight.

Aven hung her apron on the hook by the door, then reached into her bag and pulled out the spellbook. The worn leather caught the low light, faint sigils dancing like they knew they were being watched. The café took a deep breath, and Fenn readied himself.

Now that her control was solid, there was less tension over practicing here. Aven opened the book to the marked page and skimmed the familiar script before glancing up at Briony.

“Fenn says decoys.”

Briony’s eyebrows shot up. “Fancy.”

Aven glanced at her with a wry smile. “You have no idea what that means, do you?”

“Nope.” Briony leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hit me with the witchy Wikipedia entry. I’m ready to have my mind blown.”

Aven exhaled a small laugh and stepped into the open space between the tables.

“Decoys are illusory doubles. Not full clones, per se—more like echoes. They look like me, move like me, but they’re fragile. One solid hit from real power and they shatter like glass.”

Briony whistled low. “So you’re making magical stunt doubles. That’s…equal parts creepy and badass.”

“Creepy is right,” Aven mumbled, her mouth curving. She set the book down on a nearby chair and flexed her fingers. “Let’s see if I can actually pull it off.”