Page 116 of A Witchy Spell Ride

I turned my head and looked at him the way you look at the last paragraph in a book you hated.

“You were never the author,” I said. “You were a torn page.”

Ghost guided me past the altar. I stopped long enough to lift my little golden crown from my hair and hang it on the nail aboveThe Loverscard—the one with the black X over the man’s face.

“Not his,” I said.

“Never,” Ghost said.

Outside, night breathed. The city tuned itself back to the key it prefers. And when the cold hit my cheeks, it felt like a promise.

He thought red meant sad.

Tonight, red meant war paint.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ghost

We dragged Banks into the chapel at midnight.

His face was pale; blood smeared across one temple from where Rattle had bounced him off the cinderblock. Cross stood by the monitors, jaw a hard line, while Reaper paced like a caged beast in a room that suddenly felt too small for all the oxygen we were burning.

“Where is she?” I demanded.

“I don’t know,” Banks choked out, words tumbling over breath. “I swear”

“Don’t lie to me,” Reaper barked. “You disappear from the party, your bunk’s empty, and Selene’s missing? You think that looks clean?”

“I left because I couldn’t take it anymore!” Banks shouted.

Reaper froze. “What?”

Banks’ eyes skittered to me and stuck there like a moth on a hot bulb. “I left because I saw her with him.” He swallowed. “She was laughing. With you. And I couldn’t fucking stand it. So, I left.”

A pulse thudded in my neck. I stepped forward, fists clenched. “You’ve been watching her for months. Lurking. Leaving flowers.”

Banks blinked hard, frantic. “I didn’t leave any flowers. I just… I just liked being around her. She never looked through me. Not like the others.”

“She doesn’t even know you,” Cross snapped.

“She noticed me,” Banks said softly. “That was enough.”

“And you followed her?” I growled.

“Only from a distance,” he whispered. “I never hurt her.”

Bones slid out of the corner, gun low and very real. “But you know who did.”

That made him flinch. His eyes danced, searching the floor for a safe answer that didn’t exist.

“I’m not the only one who watched her,” Banks muttered. “Not the only one who noticed when she wore red. When she stayed late at the shop.”

“Speak,” Reaper said, the word an order and a threat.

“Briggs.”

The name hit like a thunderclap.