Page 49 of A Witchy Spell Ride

We ate at the bar; bowls of gumbo that tasted like someone remembered the exact ache that needed softening. Men drifted in and out, pretending not to look at me, failing at it. Somesqueezed my shoulder, light. Some nodded and moved on. It was too much and not enough and exactly what I could take.

When the bowl was empty, Ghost slid a glass of water over. “Drink.”

I drank. He watched the door and the window and nothing else, except I could feel him watching me too, like I was a page he’d memorized and kept reading anyway.

After, I showered in the tiny bathroom off the office while Briar sat on the other side of the door and narrated an article about pigeons to keep me from jumping at every pipe groan.

“Did you know they recognize human faces?” she said. “Which is why you should never insult a pigeon. They will hold grudges.”

“Like you,” I said.

“Exactly like me.”

The water ran cold too fast. I dressed in the hoodie and jeans from my bag and stepped back into the office smelling like soap and nerves.

Ghost stood by the window, back to me, talking low into his phone. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll walk at dusk. Same plan. Briar decoy. I want two tails behind the sedan if he shows. No kuttes. Clean cars. If he makes me, we break his legs. If he doesn’t, we follow him home.”

He hung up and turned, and whatever he’d hidden from his voice wasn’t hidden from his face. He looked like a man who’d made a promise to violence and intended to keep it.

“You good?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Better.”

“Good.”

We stood there, looking at each other and pretending we weren’t. The air shifted. The office hushed around us, like the building had learned to listen.

“Ghost,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“I found the envelope because I went looking.” The confession surprised me. “I could’ve not opened the drawer. I did it anyway.”

He tilted his head. “Because you knew.”

“Because I knew,” I said, throat tight. “I think I always know. When something’s coming.”

“You’re not wrong often,” he said.

“I hate being right this time.”

“I hate it for you.”

Silence again. A better one.

From the main room, Reaper’s voice rose, not loud, not gentle, instructing, dividing, directing. Cross’s lighter laugh cut once through the bar noise. Bones banged something on purpose tomake sure it still worked. The world outside the office moved like a machine tuned to my heartbeat.

I stepped closer to Ghost. He didn’t step away.

“This part,” I said, searching for the words, “where I’m safe because of you, it scares me.”

He held my gaze. “Why.”

“Because I want it,” I said. “And wanting it makes me feel like I’m losing something I worked hard to build.”

His jaw softened. “You’re not losing anything,” he said. “You’re delegating the part where I stab a man.”

A laugh jumped out of me, helpless and small. “Delegation. I’ll put that on my to-do list.”