16

A re you going to explain this Bone Woods thing, or are you trying to freak me out?" Miles asked once they were on the road back to Thistle and he'd given Gabriel some time to stew. It was the first of many questions he had.

"There's nothing to be afraid of." Gabriel had the audacity to smirk, finding it funny. "It's just the name Edmund and I gave it as children."

"Well, what is it?"

"I told you, it's part of the woods. A specific part my mother forbade us from exploring."

Gabriel was being intentionally vague as to why they'd given it such a creepy name. Miles's mind wasn't taking him to pretty places—skulls nailed to trunks, skeletal hands instead of leaves, thin bones scattered over the ground in place of twigs.

Miles couldn't say he was eager to check it out.

"If Marjorie already told you where the house is, why would she give you Florence's ring?"

"I think she's trying to help." Gabriel turned the pouch over and over in his hands. "It must be useful."

Outside, the rain showed no signs of stopping. Miles turned down a long, tree-lined road. The GPS on his phone had warned him of traffic on the freeway, so it was directing them down the scenic route. Scenic, if you liked views that included cows and boggy pastures.

"So… We're on the same page about Florence killing Jocelyn, right? A sacrifice for some sort of better-gift spell?"

Gabriel gave him an exasperated look. "Yes, I believe my great-grandmother more than confirmed that."

"That's good." Miles winced, cranking up his windshield wipers another notch. "I mean, not good , but now if we find the old house, we can search for her body there." God, it was messed up that sentence didn't even phase either of them.

"I think you're right," Gabriel said quietly. "About Jocelyn killing me. I wasn't convinced before, but now… my family condoned her sacrifice. Profited from it."

"But if Jocelyn's after revenge, she's got the wrong person. Why target you?"

"I don't think it's about revenge. I think it's about righting a wrong. Restoring things to how they should be."

"What do you mean?"

"If the spell can't be removed, the curse can't be broken, there's still a way to end it: stop the Hawthorne bloodline from continuing. Make sure no one else benefits from her death."

It took Miles a second to understand what he was saying. "But your whole family—and your brothers—"

"Bram is ungifted, and Edmund no longer uses his. I'm now the only Hawthorne son with tainted gifts. I might not be the only person in my family she targets, but I am the youngest. It would make sense to start with me."

He sounded so… unconcerned. Like he was explaining a formula in math class. Like he hadn't just figured out the cruel, utterly unfair reason he was going to die.

"We're going to banish her before that happens." They came to a stop sign and Miles hit the brakes a little too roughly, jolting them forward. "I'm not going to let you die because of a dusty old ghost with a grudge."

"It's about more than saving my life now," Gabriel replied solemnly. "Whatever's inside me… it might be too late. But not for Bram. I need to know if I can fix it, for him."

There was an ache down in Miles's chest, clenched tight as a fist. He couldn't fault Gabriel for wanting to save his brother, but he hated the way Gabriel made himself sound inconsequential. Beyond saving. A sacrifice, if necessary. Gabriel would do whatever it took to save Bram, because he loved him with a fierceness that consumed all else.

Miles was going to save them both.

"Maybe your mom—"

" No ." The word was low, thick with fury. "She's a liar. I know she knows—she has to. She's always said that our gifts are a sign of our power, the strength of our bloodline. You should hear how she speaks to Edmund for not using his—she says he's selfish and weak, forsaking the family legacy."

It made Miles wonder if his mom's hatred of Felicity came back to all this, if it was more than simple romantic jealousy. If she knew the truth, would she have confronted Felicity? Did she watch Felicity sneer down her nose at everyone, knowing that their superiority came from dark magic and murder, but unable to do anything about it?

He wished he could ask her. He wished he trusted her to tell the truth. "Okay." Miles attempted to sound soothing. If Gabriel were a wild animal, he'd be clawing at the dashboard. "We'll figure it out. But without the grimoire, there's no way to know exactly what Florence did—if it was a one-time spell or a generational curse, or if it can be reversed."

Gabriel didn't answer. He was finished talking about it. Miles let him have the silence.

The slick pavement flew by, menacing clouds painting the sky black. It was hard to see out of the windshield through the dense sheet of rain. He noticed Gabriel buttoning up his coat, so he turned on the heat. Fans rattled to life reluctantly in Blanche and a second later, passably warm air whistled out of the vents, tinged with the smell of gasoline.

"Don't say a word," Miles warned Gabriel, giving his steering wheel an affectionate pat.

"I wasn't going to."

Yeah, right. Gabriel didn't know how to drive, so he could keep his opinions to himself, and if Miles were a lesser person, he would say so.

Instead, he asked, "Who's Barnaby? The guy Marjorie mentioned?"

"My great-uncle. I'm not sure what she meant… I was told he died in an accident years ago."

Yet another mystery they could add to the growing pile.

Gabriel studied the pouch again, then opened it and pulled the ring out. Light glinted off the ruby gemstone, and Miles shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat. That ring wasn't right—a thick, tainted aura made the air in the car tacky on his tongue. It tasted of decaying roses, perfume turned sour.

A freezing, slimy feeling ran down Miles's spine right as the charms around his neck gave a warning pulse. "Are you sure Marjorie gave us that ring to help us? Because it feels pretty nasty to me."

"Yes, it certainly does," Gabriel mused. "Interesting."

"Interesting?" Miles repeated incredulously. "Not the word I—" He glanced in his rearview mirror. A pair of obsidian eyes stared back at him.

Something was in his backseat.

" Shit!" He barely managed to keep Blanche on the road as his heart leaped into his mouth. All he'd seen was a flash of a woman's face, her skull showing through her skin in a ghastly mask, and cavernous, hollow eyes.

"What are you doing?" Gabriel demanded, clutching his seatbelt for dear life as they swerved.

Miles twisted around, but the backseat was empty. "Put the ring back right now." Frost was creeping up the edge of the windshield, delicate white lace—a seriously powerful energy was attached to that thing. "We need to—"

The steering wheel yanked hard to the right, out of his grip.

For a split second, Miles tried to turn it back, tried to hit the brakes, but it was too late. Blanche spun off the side of the road, going over the edge of the pavement with a jolt that sent Miles's forehead smashing into the wheel. Everything spun. He had a strange sensation of weightlessness before a loud, screeching crunch and—

Everything went black.

***

His ears were ringing.

Breathing hurt.

Miles blinked frantically as he came to—if he'd even lost consciousness, he wasn't sure—trying to steady his spinning vision. His seatbelt was a vice clamped around his torso and he could taste blood.

He'd hit a tree, judging by the trunk he was getting an up-close and personal view of through his cracked windshield. Poor Blanche, was she—?

"Hnnnggg ." Someone groaned next to him.

"Gabriel," Miles rasped, shaking his head. Spots winked across his vision. That's right, Gabriel was with him. "You okay?"

He turned, the motion making his stomach crawl up into his mouth. Gabriel was slumped against the dashboard, blood dripping from his nose onto the scuffed plastic. He was frighteningly ashen, not moving.

"Gabriel." Miles was about to puke. "Hey, you jerk, wake up."

Gabriel groaned again, blinking sluggishly. "Ouch." He lifted a hand up to his face. It was shaking. "What happened?"

Relief propelled Miles into action. He clicked his seatbelt free, wincing as it slid across his stinging chest, then bent himself around Gabriel, undoing his, too. It took him a few tries to press the mechanism hard enough. "I think Florence tried to kill us. Her spirit is still attached to her ring."

On cue, the locks on the doors clicked down.

Still half in Gabriel's lap, Miles yanked at the passenger door handle and the lock, but neither would budge. Gabriel's hands dove down, working into the space between his thighs and Miles's torso. Warm fingers brushed against the bare skin of Miles's waist where his shirt had ridden up.

He jerked away, narrowly avoiding smashing his skull into Gabriel's chin. His skin tingled like he'd been electrocuted.

"I'm looking for the ring," Gabriel muttered. He must've dropped it when the car crashed.

"Find it," Miles told him, then climbed painfully into the back. He kept an emergency bag under the seats—inside was an iron-lined box, specifically made to hold cursed or possessed objects. They needed to contain Florence before things got any worse.

"I've got it." Gabriel held up the ring. He was smeared with blood where he'd wiped his nose.

"Kick out the windshield, it's already broken." Sorry, Blanche . Miles shrugged out of his jacket, hissing as he contorted his sore body in the small space. "Lay this down on any glass and crawl out."

Whatever Florence was planning, they didn't want to be stuck in here for it.

Gabriel took the jacket. "What about you?"

"I'm right behind you—I have a box that can hold her, I just need to find it."

Low thuds sounded, followed by a crunch. Glass scraped, and Miles glanced up to see Gabriel climbing out awkwardly headfirst through the windshield.

The duffle bag was stuck under the backseat. It took Miles a few seconds to free it, a few more to find the box, which had settled to the bottom. It was about the size of a jewelry box, solid and fastened with a simple latch.

Miles smelled smoke.

Sooty black plumes were billowing out from under Blanche's crumpled hood and as he watched, voracious flames licked at the sides.

He wouldn't be getting out that way.

"Miles!" Gabriel started yanking at doors, pounding on the windows.

Smoke was creeping into the confined space. Miles coughed, kicking at the backseat window. It rattled but didn't break. Gabriel's face peered in, distorted through the glass, as Miles's throat burned.

He kicked again. He refused to die here. He still needed to chew Gabriel out for taking that stupid ring in the first place. His parents didn't even know where he was right now. They'd be so mad if he died in the middle of nowhere while they were out of town.

It was getting harder to breathe.

"Get back and cover your eyes," Gabriel instructed, his voice muffled through the window.

Miles did as he said, pressing against the far door and folding his arms over his head. A second later, something hit the window and the glass cracked. Another hit broke it open, a whoosh of fresh air rushing in. At the front of the car, flames roared.

Gabriel knocked out a few lingering pieces of glass with the rock. "Come on!" He reached inside, grabbing Miles's arms, and pulled him through the window. Miles dropped the box out first, flinching at the splash of mud.

It was a tight squeeze and required a bit of desperate wiggling to get his hips through. Small shards of glass caught at his clothes, stabbing through the fabric. Gabriel had handfuls of Miles's shirt, yanking and muttering as if the whole situation was a minor inconvenience.

His hips free, Miles dove from the window, dragging Gabriel down onto the soggy ground with him. He didn't know who was holding onto who and suspected he was partially on top of Gabriel, but he needed a second. That had been too close.

"You're crushing me," Gabriel grumbled.

"Sorry, sorry." He rolled over, too freaked out to be embarrassed. Icy rain soaked through his thin shirt, running down the collar. "Where's the ring? We need to get it in the box."

"I dropped it by the window." Sure enough, silver glinted by the back tire. Lurching unsteadily to his feet, Miles stumbled over, reaching down.

The ring shivered in the mud like a living creature. Before he could grab it, it shot into the air, as if summoned by an invisible force. Almost faster than he could follow, it was in front of Gabriel, who was still sitting wet and disheveled on the ground.

"What the—?" Gabriel flinched back, hands flying up to shield his face. In a flash, the ring thrust itself onto his pointer finger.

Energy crackled. The reek of scorching summer pavement and melting rubber filled the air. Miles's protection charms gave a hot pulse.

Gabriel went unnaturally stiff. As he lowered his hands, Miles saw his eyes were pure black, glossy marbles.

Before Miles could move, Gabriel lunged, tackling him at the knees. He fell back, narrowly avoiding hitting Blanche, and landed hard, the air punching out of his lungs.

He wheezed, trying to suck in a breath, but then Gabriel was straddling him, his weight pressing down agonizingly. In any other circumstance, Miles would be blushing, but this was all so wrong—pain and adrenaline and fear clenched around his heart.

With a surge of desperate strength, Miles bucked his hips and flailed around, managing to roll them over in the slick muck so he was on top, hand fisted in Gabriel's sodden coat. He froze—what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't hit him. Gabriel wasn't in control anymore.

"Florence." Gabriel's head cocked at the name, going rigid beneath Miles. "Let him go."

"Warren ," Gabriel spat in a guttural voice that wasn't his. " The stench of your blood is still the same ."

Charming. Florence and Felicity could be twins.

"Let him go," Miles repeated. "He's my friend."

" I know. He's in here, begging me to stop. How about a deal? Let me go, and I'll tell you all the interesting little things he doesn't want you to know. Wouldn't you like to hear what he's hiding? What he truly thinks about you?"

Miles refused to let her words register. His fingers curled into the rough wool of Gabriel's coat, keeping him pinned down.

"He's your family," he tried again. "A Hawthorne. You don't want to hurt him."

"A Hawthorne?" Gabriel's expression froze, then split into a frightening grin straight from a nightmare, teeth smeared pink with blood from Gabriel's nose. " A second son ," he hissed, bone-chilling triumph in the words. " Finally ."

What?

Miles's confusion cost him. Gabriel's knee jerked between them, kicking him off. He'd barely hit the ground before Gabriel was over him again, hands wrapping around his neck.

"Florence, stop." Miles pulled at Gabriel's wrists, the sharp bones biting into his palms, but his hands slipped on wet skin. Gabriel was blank, obsidian eyes unblinking. His slender fingers were pressing bruises into Miles's throat.

The iron box was still next to Blanche's tire, close enough to reach. He could grab it and hit Gabriel with it, knock him off.

No . He couldn't. He couldn't hurt him.

Miles had never worked a possession case, but he remembered something his dad had said once, tired but victorious after freeing a mom from the clutches of a malevolent spirit: if the person trapped inside was still fighting, there was always a chance they could regain control.

He stopped clawing at Gabriel's tightening grip. "Gabriel, please, it's me," he rasped out, pressure starting to build. "Listen to me."

Not even a flicker of recognition across Gabriel's mud-splattered face. Miles moved his hands to the bare skin of Gabriel's wrists, holding him there, feeling the steady beat of his pulse. "I know you're in there. Fight her. Don't let her kill me."

He let the words echo in his mind, imagining them as loud as he could. Yelling for Gabriel to listen.

"She can't make you do this." Gabriel's pulse picked up beneath his touch. "I know you don't want to hurt me. That's not you."

He could hear Gabriel's words from the car— if that means I'm evil, then so be it . He'd been so ready to accept that he was a lost cause, that whatever darkness was inside him made him beyond saving.

Gabriel's fingers loosened enough for Miles to suck in a painful gulp of air. His words were getting through. "Good, keep listening to me. Focus on my voice. Push her out."

His eyes flickered, turning back to their normal gray. "Miles," he ground out, voice rough as gravel and splintered glass. "I can't—My hands—" He shuddered violently. "I can't move them."

Miles met his gaze, trying not to show his panic. "I know it's not you. I know you wouldn't. It's okay."

Gabriel let out a low, pained noise. He convulsed, straining until the tendons of his neck stood out, on display like an anatomy drawing. A string pulled taut, almost to its breaking point. But his grip didn't budge.

"It's okay," Miles repeated. He needed Gabriel to know, if this went wrong, if he—

Gabriel shook his head viciously. " No . I won't." He shifted atop Miles, leaning closer. "I think I can—"

He dipped down and for an absurd, heart-stopping second, Miles thought he was going to kiss him.

But Gabriel bit the ring around his finger, pulling it off with his teeth. His breath was hot against the raw skin of Miles's throat, nose grazing his jaw. He straightened, silver glinting in the middle of his triumphant, feral grin, and spat it to the ground.

Immediately, Gabriel went limp, a puppet whose strings had been snipped.

Miles tried to roll him off gently, snatching up the box the moment his arms were free. Inside were twine-wrapped bundles of dried herbs—rosemary, dill, and lavender—and a layer of black salt.

The ring gleamed in the dirt where Gabriel had spat it out. Miles grabbed it, dirt and grass coming with, shoving the whole filthy handful into the box. The ring pulsed; his protection charms burned against his skin, a white-hot brand.

"Nice try." He slammed the lid closed and flipped the latch.

The charge in the air immediately vanished, making Miles's ears pop. It was still pouring with rain, freezing water pounding against Blanche like a drum, the only sound in the now-silent space.

"Well, that was thrilling." Gabriel's voice was low and humorless. He was still lying on the ground. Miles stumbled over, pulling him to his feet with clumsy, frozen hands.

"Are you okay?" It was a foolish question. Gabriel was a mess—soaking wet, mud-caked, blood-smeared.

But he nodded, sallow and solemn. "Better than you." He reached towards Miles's neck then stopped, fingers hovering a few inches away. "I'm sorry." Miles had never heard him apologize before. "I didn't mean—"

"Don't ." Too much had happened. Miles could feel the adrenaline wearing off, exhaustion turning his limbs to lead—there wasn't any room for post-possession guilt. He would lecture Gabriel about the importance of protection charms later. "It wasn't you."

Gabriel looked away. "She was going to kill you; I could feel it." He seemed bewildered. As if he'd expected her to be lucid and up for a chat after being a spirit for so long.

It wasn't the first time a ghost had tried to kill him, but it was the closest call. Miles was trying not to think about that too hard or he might puke. "She's just a shadow, warped and faded by anger and hatred. All she wants to do is hurt." He handed the box to Gabriel. "Jocelyn might be even worse. She's been dead longer, her rage and desire for revenge turning her into a monster."

He staggered over to the front of Blanche—the fire miraculously out now that a vengeful ghost wasn't fanning the flames—to survey the damage. Her front was crumpled and singed, the windshield and passenger-side rear window both knocked out, glass gleaming in the muck like fallen stars. The acrid stench of singed plastic hung thick in the air.

Blanche was totaled.

On her hood, his jacket was still smoking slightly. When he picked it up, glass was stuck all over, tears slicing straight through the jean material.

Heat rose in his throat.

Gabriel came to stand next to him. "I'm sorry," he said again. It sounded wrong coming from his mouth.

It wasn't his fault, not really. But Miles couldn't bring himself to say so.

"I'll call Charlee." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned away.