Page 12 of A Witchy Spell Ride (31 Days of Trick or Treat, Bikers and Mobsters #15)

Chapter Ten

Ghost

I was posted across the street from the shop, leaned against a rusted stairwell, sipping burnt coffee and pretending not to exist.

It had been quiet all morning.

Selene had opened up like usual, lights on, doors unlocked, calm as anything on the surface. But there was a tension in the way she moved. Like she was waiting. Or worse… pretending not to be.

I hadn’t seen anything suspicious yet. No sedan. No extra shadows. No movement in the wrong windows.

But the gut? It was talking. Low and steady.

Something’s off.

Then Briar showed up. Nothing unusual there. She came by often. Usually bringing chaos and caffeine in equal parts, dressed like she’d just left a crime scene or a music festival — hard to tell which.

But today, the vibe was different.

No dance in her step. No loud hello.

She walked straight in with purpose.

Didn’t come back out. Didn’t reappear in the window either.

And that was the tell. Because Briar never did anything quietly unless someone had just died… or was about to.

My phone buzzed.

Reaper:

Get to the shop. Now. I’m five out.

My jaw tightened.

No way that’s a coincidence.

I tossed the coffee and crossed the street. Didn’t knock. Just rapped once on the glass.

Selene was behind the counter.

Briar opened the door before Selene could stop her.

I stepped inside.

And felt it.

That heavy tension in the air. Like the second before a gun goes off. Or the first second after someone says we need to talk.

Selene didn’t meet my eyes.

Briar crossed her arms and nodded toward the counter.

That’s when I saw it.

The rose. Fresh. Dark red. Perfect.

And beside it the note. Unfolded. Waiting.

I moved closer and read it once. That was all I needed.

You were made to be adored.

Watched.

Worshipped.

Soon, you’ll see.

I’m not the danger.

I’m the answer.

My hand curled into a fist around nothing.

I wanted to break something.

But more than that? I wanted to find whoever left this.

Because this wasn’t some high school crush or late-night fantasy. This was claiming. A warning dressed as affection. A threat dressed as worship.

I knew damn well where that led.

“Tell me you didn’t touch it,” I said quietly.

Selene’s voice was flat. “Just the note.”

“No envelope?”

“No.”

“Where were you?”

“Storeroom. Ten minutes. Tops.”

“Door locked?”

She nodded.

Briar was pacing now, energy sparking off her boots. “Tell him.”

Selene looked away.

“I said tell him, Selene.”

Before she could, the front door opened again. Reaper walked in. Behind him, Cross. Then Bones, dragging a crowbar and looking like he hoped someone needed it used.

“Someone better explain fast,” Reaper said, eyes sweeping the room like a wolf checking his den.

Briar turned to Selene. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. “Enough,” she snapped. “You don’t get to protect him by staying quiet. Whoever he is, whatever you’re afraid of you either say it now, or I will.”

Selene’s hands curled at her sides. She looked at me. Then at her brother. Then at the rose. She swallowed hard.

Voice barely above a whisper: “I’m being stalked.”

The room dropped into silence. No one moved. Even Briar stopped pacing.

Selene didn’t add details. Didn’t need to. The word stalked did the work.

Reaper’s jaw flexed once. Then twice. He looked at me because he knew I already had a file in my head. “How long?” he asked her.

“A while,” she said.

“How long,” he repeated, softer and more dangerous.

“A few weeks.”

I watched Reaper absorb it without coming apart. That’s his trick. He saves the coming apart for later, in a place no one can see.

Cross broke the silence with a pen already in his hand. “Tell me every incident you remember, in order. Dates if you can. Times if you can’t. Anything left at the shop, at home, anywhere in between.”

Briar slid her tote onto the counter and set down three clear evidence bags, each labeled with her too-neat handwriting.

She nodded at me. “We’ve got the note, felt from the bell, stem cut sample.

And…” She leaned over, reached under the register lip, and plucked something from the shadow with tweezers. “And the petal we found this morning.”

Bones leaned his crowbar against his shoulder like it was a cigarette. “You want doors checked or faces broken first?”

“Doors,” I said. “No noise. Not yet.”

Reaper moved to the note, eyes skimming the lines. His face didn’t change. He looked at the rose like it had insulted his mother and then at the bell over the door. “Felt.”

Briar flicked the bag. “He muffled the chime.”

“So, he knew where to reach,” Reaper said.

“Or he learned fast,” I said, scanning the ceiling corners, the camera angles, the blind spots. I pointed at the incense shelf, the black corner above it. “Dead zone. Someone could tuck there if you’re not looking up.”

Selene’s teeth caught her lower lip for half a second. I didn’t like that I noticed. I liked even less that she noticed me noticing.

Cross was already typing notes on his phone. “Camera feed?”

Selene exhaled. “Motion alerts didn’t trigger.”

“Because he didn’t cross their fields,” I said. “Or he covered the IR. Or he spoofed them.”

Briar snorted. “The Quarter’s not exactly Silicon Valley.”

“Don’t underestimate obsession,” Cross said. “It learns.”

Reaper nodded once. “Bones. Back door, bathroom window, roof access. Then you sit on the alley for an hour. No heroics.”

Bones thumped the crowbar against his shoulder. “Copy.”

“Cross,” Reaper went on, “pull street-facing footage from neighboring shops, bars, the church across the way. I don’t care if you have to trade them half a bottle of Angel’s Envy and a tax deduction. I want the last forty-eight hours. Get plates. Faces. Shoes.”

“On it.” Cross was already dialing.

Reaper looked at Briar. “You. With Selene. You don’t leave her shadow.”

“You say that like it’s a punishment,” Briar said, but there was a crack under the bravado.

Finally, Reaper turned to me. “You're on point. You already are. I want a pattern. I want a name.”

I didn’t nod. It was already true.

I put on gloves. Something I learned a long time ago: nothing ruins evidence like a protective instinct with bare hands.

I slid the note into a fresh sleeve. The paper wasn’t cheap.

Heavy. Cotton rag. The kind of stock uptown boutiques use when they’re pretending not to bleed money.

No watermark. No imprint. Smelled faintly of rose and…

nothing. Whoever wrote it kept their hands clean.

The rose was cut at an angle, thorns trimmed with care. The base of the stem was damp without a vase. Recently cut. The petal Briar had found under the register lip? Fresh. Which told me he’d placed the rose first. Then tucked the petal out of sight like a signature. Or a promise.

I checked the bell mount. Clean except for the faintest trace of adhesive where the felt had stuck. Industrial, not craft glue. Stronger.

The door frame? Fingerprint dust would have to wait for someone we could trust. In the meantime, I checked for disturbance in the paint lip where a magnet might’ve been taped for a sensor bypass. Nothing obvious. The bolt plates showed normal wear. No fresh pry marks.

“Storeroom?” I asked.

Selene hesitated a fraction too long. “In the back,” she said. “Ten minutes.”

I moved through the bead curtain and into the narrow hallway, letting my eyes adjust to the dim.

The storeroom was exactly what I expected from her, intentional chaos that wasn’t actually chaotic.

Shelves labeled. Jars aligned. A folding table with twine and scissors and a knife that had been wiped recently. I stood in the doorway and breathed.

Nothing obvious. But the hair on the back of my neck prickled. The way it does when a room remembers someone.

I backed out and closed the curtain. “He was already inside,” I said to no one in particular. “He waited you out. He’s practiced.”

Briar’s eyes flashed. “So not a first-time creep.”

“No.” I met Reaper’s stare. “And not Banks.”

Reaper didn’t flinch. “You sure?”

“Sure enough.” I kept my tone even. “Yesterday afternoon he was with Rattle until close. We’ve all seen him drift. Pattern’s there. But this isn’t his kind of careful.”

Cross looked up from his call. “So, we’re looking for someone who plans his nervous breakdowns.”

“Or someone who doesn’t think this is a breakdown,” Briar said. “He thinks it’s devotion.”

Selene’s breath hitched; she tried to make it sound like a cough. I caught it anyway.

Reaper moved closer to her. Not touching. He rarely touched when she was bristling. “You’re coming back to the clubhouse,” he said.

“No,” Selene said, calm and direct in a way that made Cross glance up and Briar straighten.

“You think I’m asking?” Reaper said, but his eyes were on me. He wanted me to argue so he could be the one to give in.

“You stick her in a room with two guards,” I said, “he’ll escalate. He wants intimacy, not a siege. You make it a siege; he’ll manufacture intimacy the only other way he understands.” I let that hang. Everyone in the room understood the word I wasn’t saying.

Reaper’s jaw worked once more. “So?”

“So, we control the field,” I said. “Not the cage. We change her routine before he does. We add noise on our terms. We keep watchers off-book and rotate them, not in kuttes. We lay bait.”

Briar perked up. “Bait?”

I nodded. “Decoy walk at dusk. Same jacket, same hair, hood up. Different woman. He follows; we see his face. If he bites, we take him clean. If he doesn’t, we still learn how he shadows.”

Reaper weighed it, eyes flicking to Selene’s shoulders, her breath, the way she stood like one of her candles, flame steady even when the room moved. “Who’s your decoy?”

“I am,” Briar said instantly.

“Negative,” Reaper said, just as fast.

“Positive,” Briar shot back. “You put one of the club girls in my clothes, he clocks the swap in ten seconds. He’s learning her. He’ll recognize me as her shadow. That’s the point.”