Page 19 of Trick Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve)

Chapter

Eight

ERYNN

“ E rynn! Erynn, wake up! Please wake up!”

Sera’s voice cuts through the darkness like a dagger dipped in panic. Her hands are on my shoulders, shaking me hard enough to dislodge memories I didn’t know I had. My head feels like it’s been used to drum out a war chant.

“Five more minutes,” I mumble, which comes out more like “f’mornins.”

“You’ve been unconscious in the woods for gods know how long! This is not a five-more-minutes situation!”

Woods.

Right. The pool. The curse.

Ash.

My eyes snap open, and I immediately regret it. The low sunrise is offensively pretty, all golden fire and pink whispers kissing the trees like it has no idea what just happened here. My skull pounds in protest.

Sera’s face swims into focus above me, lipstick long gone and her carefully sculpted updo now resembling the aftermath of a stylish lightning strike.

“Oh, thank the ancestors,” she breathes, yanking me into a hug that makes every rib scream.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Rich disappeared, again, because apparently he’s allergic to emotional responsibility, and you weren’t in the mansion, and then I maybe sort of panicked and came out here searching for you. ”

“I-I must have passed out,” I croak. My throat is so raw.

She pulls back to examine me, scanning my face.

“Are you okay? You look like death. More than usual, I mean.”

I push myself upright, everything aching. The clearing looks… wrong. The pool is gone. Not drained. Not dried up. Just… gone. Like it was never here. Like the earth closed its mouth over a secret it wasn’t supposed to share.

My heart stutters.

“Where’s Ash?”

The words fall out sharp and too fast, betraying me.

Sera’s face tightens.

“I only found you. I’m sorry, babe. I looked. I swear. But there was no one else here. Everyone’s left the party.”

“Oh.” The sound is too small, too hollow. I clear my throat. Try again, try for something casual, something cool.

“Oh, well. That’s… that’s fine. One-night stand with a mysterious Alpha in a haunted forest. Classic me. Very on-brand.”

“Erynn—”

“No, seriously, it’s fine.”

I wave a hand like I’m brushing off a bug and not the first real connection I’ve had in years.

I stand, the green dress torn, dirt-streaked.

“These things happen, right? Guy says sweet nothings in the dark, makes you believe in moonlight and magic, and then poof. Gone. Typical fairy tale. With me cast as the girl who gets left behind.”

“If it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem like the type to just vanish,” Sera says.

“I’m sure they never do.” I say it with a sharp little smile.

That’s the trick, isn’t it? They all seem different. Until they’re not.

I brush a few leaves from my dress, tug the hem straight like I can press the dignity back into it. My hand trembles, just once, but I hide it. I always hide it.

“He’s probably halfway back to his pack by now, curled up in some den with his wolves, regaling them with tales of the cursed party and the dumb girl who thought she was something special.”

Sera steps in closer and pulls a leaf out of my hair. “You weren’t dumb. And you are something special.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

Because if I open my mouth, I’m scared all the softness I’ve spent years bolting down will come pouring out.

A flicker of motion pulls my gaze to the trees.

A spirit. A little girl in a tattered Gothic dress drifts between the trunks, her expression lost and confused.

Child ghosts often look that way. I wait for the familiar chill to rise along my arms, the icy whisper of the dead that has always wrapped itself around me like a second skin.

My ability is back, and I smile to myself with the comfort of what I’ve always been accustomed to.

I close my eyes and search inward, reaching for the wolf who’d curled himself inside my head like he belonged there.

But he’s not there. Only a hollow space where he should be.

I can’t stop running my thoughts over it.

Around the edges of that emptiness, something lingers.

A presence. A thread tugging gently toward a place I can’t see. A bond.

No. I’m not doing this.

I am not going to be the girl who builds entire futures around one night. Even if it was a night full of impossible things. Even if it changed everything. Even if it meant something.

My chest tightens. And if Ash is gone… if he chose to leave after everything we just went through…

Then maybe the truth is that I really am better off with ghosts.

At least they don’t leave.

“Rich left too,” Sera says quietly beside me, trying for solidarity. “Come when they want. Leave when they’re done.”

“They’re the same,” I admit. “Ash was just a guy. At a party. Who happened to save me from killer wolves, raise the dead, merge his soul with mine, and help me break an ancient curse. You know. Casual.”

Sera doesn’t laugh, but her lips twitch.

“Let’s go home,” I say, stepping back from the clearing.

She starts tracing symbols in the air, her fingers glowing with blood magic. Crimson sigils spark in the rising sunlight. Portal magic is delicate work. You need blood. Intent. And the kind of insurance that covers accidental transport into a stranger’s bathtub.

“You sure you don’t want to wait?” she asks softly. “Maybe he’s just?—”

“He’s gone, Sera.” I stare at the patch of dirt where the pool used to be. Where he and I were. “It was what it was. A weird, cursed night that’s already over. We’re back to normal now. Everything’s fine.”

“You keep saying ‘fine’ like if you say it enough times, it’ll turn into truth.”

“It’s a legitimate coping mechanism.”

“It’s denial with extra steps.”

The portal begins to form. A tear in the air opens, revealing my apartment’s living room. My couch. My coffee table. My poor, dead plants that I forgot to water for two weeks straight. Everything just as I left it. Dull. Ordinary. Mine.

“How do you do it?” I ask, suddenly tired. “With Rich. How do you handle him leaving all the time?”

Sera pauses, one hand still glowing in midair. “I don’t make attachments. Not the kind that hurt. I care about him, yeah. But I don’t let myself need him. You can’t lose something you never let yourself hold.”

I nod slowly. “I didn’t think I made attachments either. It was just one night.”

She looks at me, sympathy softening her eyes. “Give yourself time.”

“It was a mistake, apparently.” My voice catches in my throat. “He left.”

“Maybe he didn’t.”

“Can we just go? Please?”

She finishes the last symbol. The portal hums, its edge shimmering with quiet power. “After you.”

I look back at the clearing one last time. At the space where everything happened. Where nothing will ever happen again. Some ridiculous part of me still expects to see him crashing through the trees, panting, explaining. Telling me it meant something.

But the forest only offers ghosts and silence.

I turn away. And step through.

T he Nordic Institute of Posthumous Communications is exactly as I left it, aggressively modern, intimidatingly expensive, and full of people who deal with death like it’s a particularly annoying customer service issue.

It’s afternoon now. I managed maybe two hours of broken sleep, haunted by dreams of wolves and water and amber eyes. My third cup of coffee sits cooling on my desk while I stare at my calendar.

Mrs. Lindqvist. 2:00 p.m.

I sigh.

“Erynn,” the receptionist’s voice crackles through the intercom on my desk. “Your two o’clock is here.”

“Thanks,” I say, pushing back my chair.

The open-plan office hums with the usual blend of keyboard clicks, hushed conversations, and the occasional rustle of snack wrappers. I pass clusters of cubicles and glass-walled rooms. One of the meeting rooms has no glass walls, and that’s the one I use .

Mrs. Lindqvist is waiting inside, seated on the low velvet couch like a queen on her throne.

She doesn’t rise when I enter.

Today’s outfit is different from the last time, less grieving widow, more victorious divorcée. Blood-red designer suit, diamonds around her neck and fingers, and a thin smile.

“Shall we begin?” she asks, crossing one leg over the other.

“Whenever you’re ready.” I close the door behind me and settle into the armchair across from her.

The air is warm, too warm, but the moment I reach for my gift, the temperature plummets. The veil parts easily, and the cold rushes in like a wave.

He appears instantly.

Mr. Lindqvist.

More solid than last time. More faded, too. Like someone crumpled him down and tried to smooth him back out.

Death has a way of stripping people bare. Turns out Erik Lindqvist was a very small man wearing a very expensive life.

“Tell her about Cyprus,” he snaps without preamble.

“She already knows about Cyprus,” I reply coolly.

Mrs. Lindqvist just smiles. “Oh, let’s keep this short.

” She straightens on the couch. “I found everything, Erik. Cyprus, Cayman, Switzerland, even that little account in Malta you thought was so clever.” She examines her manicure with satisfaction.

“It’s all mine now. Every penny you tried to hide and give to your other girlfriends. ”

Erik’s ghost pales, which I wouldn’t have thought was possible, considering how translucent he already is.

“That’s not—she can’t?—”

“I also found out about Natasha,” Mrs. Lindqvist says, casually brushing an invisible speck from her skirt.

“Who’s Natasha?” I ask, though I already have a sinking feeling I don’t want the answer.

“His other wife. In Monaco. Married her two years ago, apparently. Which makes our marriage technically invalid, but the lawyers say I still get everything, since he’s dead and she’s not legally recognized here.”

Erik has the audacity to look sheepish. His ghost flickers, the edges of him sparking with indignation.

“It didn’t mean I loved you any less,” he says, his voice softer now, and I relay the words to his wife.