Page 16 of Trick Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve)

I go still, breath stuttering in my chest, like my heart is caught between beats. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he murmurs. “Because I meant them?”

I pull back just far enough to look up at him. His face is too close. His eyes are molten.

“Because I might believe you,” I whisper.

The corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s not his usual smirk. It’s quieter. Hungrier. “Then maybe I should say them again.”

His hand shifts on my waist, drawing me in as the music slows again. We move, swaying lazily. My body remembers this too well, his fire, his nakedness, his scent, the way he made me orgasm and scream.

Every brush of our bodies, every turn, feels slower. More deliberate. We’re not dancing anymore. We’re orbiting. Colliding.

I shouldn’t want this. Not like this. He’s a stranger. I met him tonight, under a curse, and yet he feels carved from some forgotten part of me.

I try to force logic into my voice. “This is crazy.”

“I know.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “And yet.”

I laugh, soft and nervous, and glance away. “Come on,” I say, tugging his hand. “I need a drink before you do something worse than raise the dead.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and lets me lead him off the dance floor, his palm hot against mine. We weave between masked dancers and towering candelabras until we find a tall cocktail table near the edge of the room, half shadowed by velvet drapes.

“Sit,” he says, pulling out one of the high-backed chairs for me.

I climb onto the seat, suddenly very aware of the length of my bare legs from the high split in my green dress.

He leans down slightly, his voice close. “What’s your poison?”

“Surprise me.”

He flags down a server. A minute later, a pale pink cocktail appears in front of me, garnished with sugared berries. He takes a whiskey for himself and leans against the table beside me, the glass balanced between his fingers.

“To surviving the night,” he says.

I clink my glass to his. “We’re not done yet.”

We drink. His eyes never leave me.

After a beat, he sets his whiskey down. “So tell me, is talking to ghosts really a full-time job?”

“You’d be surprised,” I say, taking a longer sip than necessary. “Inheritance disputes, missing persons cases, cold-case murders. The dead know things, and the living pay a lot to hear them.”

He raises a brow. “Ever solve any murders? ”

“Three. Well, two and a half. The half was accidental. I was trying to find someone’s missing cat.”

His lips twitch. “Let me guess. Ghost cat?”

“No, living cat. Mr. Mittens. The ghost was the murder victim. Turns out Mr. Mittens witnessed the whole thing and led me straight to the body.”

“Mr. Mittens and Mr. Whiskers,” he says, eyes gleaming. “You’ve got a theme.”

“I didn’t name them!”

He leans in, voice dropping. “Sure you didn’t.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. I shake my head and knock back more of the drink. It’s strong. Fruity with a sharp bite. Like him.

His expression shifts. “How do you make them stop? The ghosts. They’re always talking. Whispering.”

“You learn to tune them out,” I say. “Like background noise.”

I set my drink down and reach for his hand. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate. Just watches me with steady curiosity as I spread his fingers wide.

“Feel that?” I ask. “That buzz in the air? Cold and electric and hungry?”

He nods.

“Now imagine a wall. Not solid. More like mesh. A filter. It lets you know they’re there without letting them in.”

His eyes darken with focus. Slowly, the air around us stills. The pressure fades, just enough .

“That’s better,” he says. “They’re still there, but quieter.”

“It takes practice.” I let go of his hand, but his fingers linger against mine. “The wolf is the same, right? Always there, but you control when it surfaces?”

“Usually,” he says. His gaze drops, slowly dragging over me, from the fall of my hair to the bare skin of my thigh in the slit that goes all the way up to just below my bikini line. “It’s impossible to think around you, you know that?”

My breath catches.

He leans in more and takes a deep inhale.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. The silence between us grows taut and trembling.

“That’s you drawn to your wolf talking.”

His eyes meet mine. “Is it?”

God help me, I don’t know.

A nearby clock chimes. We both turn.

“It’s almost three,” he says, and I had no idea time had passed so quickly.

I nod but don’t look away from him. “Time to check the mirrors.”

He straightens, but not before brushing his fingers against my knee. Not quite an accident. Not quite innocent.

He holds out his hand. I take it.

And we step into the crowd.

We make our way back to the alcove with the most mirrors. The music has shifted to something almost mournful, and there are still lots of people at the party.

“Two fifty-eight,” Ash states, checking his watch.

I pull out the blank parchment from his jacket’s pocket and lift it to the mirror. Still nothing. Though something worrying flares in my stomach. What if this doesn’t work?

“Maybe at exactly three o’clock?”

We wait, watching the second hand tick closer. Two fifty-nine. Three. Two. One.

“Now,” I breathe, holding the parchment steady.

Nothing.

“Fuck!” Ash growls, and I don’t blame him.

“Maybe we’re doing it wrong,” I say. “Maybe ‘reflection’ means something else. Self-reflection? Reflecting on the night?”

“Or maybe she lied.” Ash stares at the mirror like it has personally betrayed him. “Maybe this is permanent.”

The wolf in my head gives a mournful whine at the defeat in his tone, and something in me tightens in response.

Not just the wolf. Me. Erynn. The woman who walked into this place with ghosts whispering at her heels and a job built entirely on hearing them.

Who would she be without that? Not a medium.

Not a guide for the dead. Just… ordinary.

The thought lands hard. Heavier than I expected. I’ve always known who I was. What I was. My ability wasn’t just part of me; it defined me. Gave me purpose. Identity. Without it, who would come to me? Who would need me?

A hollow ache grows in my chest, sharp and sudden. If the curse is permanent, I lose more than my connection to the dead. I lose myself.

“I don’t want to be stuck like this,” I whisper, staring at my hands. “I’ve only ever been the girl who hears ghosts. It’s all I know. If I lose that… I don’t know what’s left of me.”

Ash reaches out, his fingers curling gently around mine. Not just comforting, but grounding.

“You’re more than that,” he says. “I know we only just met, but tonight… it doesn’t feel like I’m talking to a stranger.”

I glance up, startled by the sincerity in his voice. He’s watching me with a furrowed brow, a faint crease between his eyebrows.

“Is it weird that I feel like I know you better than half the people in my life?” I murmur. “Like… all those conversations and awkward dinners with coworkers, and none of it felt like this. Like any of it mattered.” Well, except, Sera… She’s like my sister.

“I don’t think it’s weird,” he answers softly. “You see people differently when you’re cursed together.”

I laugh out loud. “So what now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just lifts our joined hands and turns them so his thumb brushes the inside of my wrist. Light touch. Barely there. But it sends heat curling through my belly.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “Together.” He studies me for a beat too long. His gaze isn’t intense. It’s… open. Like he’s letting me see all the thoughts behind it.

“Together,” I repeat. “And after?”

The words that pour out catch me off guard. I blink, trapped between now and then.

“When we’re back to normal?” he adds, still tracing slow circles on my skin.

I want to answer. Want to tell him something hopeful or funny or clever. But all I can do is picture my empty apartment. The silence. The lack of footsteps that aren’t mine. The ghosts that used to be there and might not be anymore.

I swallow hard. “Let’s solve one crisis at a time.”

He leans in. Just enough that his breath skims the side of my throat. “That wasn’t a no.”

My chest flutters again, nerves and warmth colliding. I lean forward without realizing it. The wolf in my head stills, calm and content in a way I’ve never felt before.

Then he lifts his wrist, showing me his watch.

Three thirty.

Nothing changes.

We both freeze. Expecting something. A shift. A sign .

But the silence stretches long and hollow.

Nothing.

Still cursed.

Still stuck.

Still… too close for comfort.

“This is insane,” I say with a broken laugh, but it comes out all sharp, laced with fear. “What if this is it? What if the witch was just screwing with us? What if there’s no way back?”

He squeezes my hand. “Don’t say that.”

I’m pacing now, my shoes clicking against the old tile. “No, seriously. What if it’s all just some cosmic joke? My life is built on talking to the dead, Ash. That’s how I help people. It’s who I am.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then stands. Walks over. Gathers me into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Then we find a new path. Together.”

I close my eyes and let myself fall into his warmth.

“Maybe we missed something,” I whisper against his chest. “Reflection. What if it’s something else completely?”

“Perhaps we’ve been looking for answers in the wrong places.”

Without another word, we rush to the doors. The air outside is colder than before, damp with dew, carrying the faint metallic bite of predawn. We are hurrying into the woods, deeper, when somewhere in the distance, water trickles.

We follow it.

A narrow stone path winds through a hedge maze we hadn’t noticed before.

Around a bend, we reach a shallow stone basin—almost like a fountain, except it’s still. Perfectly still.

And in it, the moon stares back.

Not broken by ripples. Not disturbed.

Reflection.

I exhale sharply. “There. That has to be it.”

Ash takes a step forward, then another.

“I really hope this works,” I say, heart thundering.

“Because if it doesn’t?”

“Then I guess we live here now. Cursed and confused.”

He reaches for my hand again. “At least we wouldn’t be alone.”

I stare down into the water, watching my reflection blur and shift beside his.

And something is wrong.

The wolf in my head growls low.

Ash stiffens.

This has to be the reflection the witch was talking about…