Page 57 of Haunt Me, Maybe

She grimaced. “Don’t.”

“I’ll be careful.” I snorted, and to prove a point, brushed a thumb over the fabric.

Warmth. Emotion. There was a whisper of a feeling that wasn’t mine. I took my thumb away, and it all stopped. Pausing, I waited a breath and did it again. Resolve, exhaustion, fierce concern. Those weren’t mine.

“Aven,” I said slowly. “Did you mean to do that?”

She blinked, looked at the ribbon around my wrist, and frowned. “Do what?”

On the floor, Fenn hopped closer, still glowing obnoxiously loud, but his eyes, too, were on the ribbon now.

“This,” I said, lifting my wrist and rubbing it a third time. “I can feel you.” Her breath caught, and Fenn’s back foot smacked the hardwood in outrage. “That wasn’t part of the plan?”

I assumed it wasn’t; she would have warned me. And I doubted she wanted me to have access to her emotions like this.

“No,” she admitted. “But…anchors sometimes echo. Especially early on.”

We stood there for a moment, quiet and stunned. Then Fenn let out a long, put-upon sigh and hopped onto his cat tree with the attitude of royalty.

Well, this is fantastic. The two of you, emotionally tethered together. I can’t imagine what could go wrong.

I smiled despite how strange it was to feel Aven’s emotions like a shadow of mine. She wasn’t ripping the silk from my wrist and setting it aflame…so maybe she was okay with it too? I looked at the anchor. It was ordinary and unassuming; powerful in the quietest way.

“So,” I said, breaking the tension. “When do we test it?”

Aven smiled, nervous and hopeful all at once. “After sunset.”

Perfect. I turned to look out the window, at where the sun was already beginning its descent, and actually looked forward to the dark.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Aven

Night made the orchard feel like a different realm. By day, it was orderly—rows upon rows of apple trees trained into obedience, their branches pruned back, the ground kept clean. A place meant to feed people. A place meant to be harmless. At night, it remembered the feral land it used to be.

I felt it the moment I stepped through the broken gate, the iron latch hanging open like a pulled tooth. My boots crunched softly against fallen apples; their skin split and browning, the air steeped in the scent of rot and sweetness turned sour.

Wes slowed beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. Fenn lingered a few hops back, watchful even as he examined the omen. I practically choked on the heavy decay in the air.

“This place feels wrong,” I murmured, and tried to breathe through my mouth.

Wes hummed in agreement. “Feels…bent.”

I nodded. That was one word for it. I had another—warped. The orchard was pressed down and twisted into something that throbbed with resentment. Deeper in we wandered, until the trees leaned close together, their branches sagging under fruit no one picked. The apples were swollen and dark as if they’d ripened too fast.

That feeling of wrongness increased. I crouched and brushed my fingers over one of the fallen apples, and the skin gave way under the lightest pressure, collapsing into mush.

“Blight doesn’t work like this.” I rubbed what was left of the apple between my fingers. They came away tacky and a little slimy, like something was oozing from the fruit rather than derived from it. “And rotten fruit doesn’t stain your fingers,” I added, holding the offending digits up for them to see.

I casually wiped my hand on my tights, but only a little of the…stuff…came off. So gross. My stomach turned, and I fought off a gag at the smell that lingered. Straightening, my eyes tracked the orchard as a whole, noticing how every tree bore fruit, heavy and black. Nothing was spared. This wasn’t random.

“It’s an omen,” I confirmed.

Wes remained silent but ever watchful at my side as he kept an eye out for unexpected threats.

“An omen of what?” he asked.

I closed my eyes and let my magic reach. I was using it more to listen rather than attempt anything; it was completely safe. The response was immediate. The orchard pressed back, its pain bleeding through the magic layered over it, and I shuddered.