Page 60 of A Witchy Spell Ride

That afternoon, Daisy dragged me to the storage room to sort costumes. “You’re a witch,” she declared, scandalized that I might be anything else.

“That’s stereotyping.”

“It’s branding,” she said, holding up a black corset with a flourish. “Trust me, you’ll look like vengeance.”

I chose a black silk slip and a velvet jacket instead. Witch adjacent. Functional. Easy to run in.

Briar picked a silver sequined jumpsuit and a cloak that made her look like if a disco ball learned profanity.

Ghost walked past the open door, clocked the pile of clothes with one glance, and kept going without a comment. I watched his shoulders and decided that was a comment.

After dinner — gumbo heavy enough to hold you down if you forgot to float, Vex brought in a cardboard box from the gate with a face that saidyou’re going to hate this.

“Delivery,” he said. “No sender.”

Reaper opened it with a box cutter. The room’s oxygen thinned a notch.

Inside lay a pumpkin. Carved. Not cute. The ridges turned to teeth. The eyes too round. The wordMINEslashed across the side like someone carved with fury instead of a knife.

The scent of fresh pumpkin hit the back of my throat like nausea.

Briar swore, a delicate, vicious word. Cross put on gloves. “Residue,” he muttered, bagging the lid. “Blade scratches. Depths. If he carved it rushed, the motion marks will say something about his hand.”

Bones leaned a hip against the bar like he didn’t want to grab the crowbar and demolish something. “Trash day’s going to be fun.”

Reaper’s gaze cut to me. A check-in, not a question. I lifted my chin. “He’s running out of ideas,” I said, and if my voice sounded steadier than my insides felt, no one called me on it.

Ghost carried the box to the back room without comment. When he came back, his eyes found mine and held.You good?he asked without words.

No, I answered, also without words.

But I’m standing.

He nodded.

Later, when the clubhouse had softened into the quieter hum it saved for after midnight, I stood at the sink in the ladies’ roomand stared at my reflection. My hair was shorter now; Briar had cut it into something intentional. It bared my throat. I didn’t hate it. It made me look like someone who wasn’t waiting to see what would happen next.

The door creaked and shut. I didn’t have to turn to know it was Ghost. His reflection arrived in the mirror behind me, big, quiet, inevitable.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I said.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said.

We stood like that for a second or three. I watched his face in the mirror, and he watched mine and the room shrunk to the two of us and the sound of water in pipes.

“How do you do it?” I asked. “Carry this much anger and still… not drown in it.”

He thought about the question like it mattered. “I make it useful,” he said. “And when I’m done, I put it down where it can’t find me.”

“Where’s that?”

He huffed a laugh. “Ask me after Halloween.”

I turned to face him. We were too close and not close enough. The space between us felt like a dare. My pulse climbed into my mouth.

“Selene,” he said, low.

“Ghost,” I said, lower.