Chapter 67 THE HAUNT BEGINS
Chapter 67 THE HAUNT BEGINS
POV: Amara
The first thing I do after I see Malachi is disappear into motion.
I pull Noelle through the crowd before anyone can stop us, out the side door, into the cold. My breath fogs as I speak, words clipped and urgent. “He was here. Just now. Watching.”
Noelle does not question me. He never does when my voice sounds like this. He only nods and presses his palm to the small crystal at his collar, the one that still links him to the North Pole. “Santa,” he says aloud. “We need you. Now.”
Minutes later we are standing in the council chamber, light shimmering as the portal seals behind us. Helena is already on her feet. Ember looks alert, eyes sharp. Santa listens without interrupting as I explain exactly where Malachi stood, exactly how he looked, exactly what he did.
“He wanted me to see him,” I finish. “He wanted me to know he could walk right through a crowd and leave untouched.”
Silence settles over the room.
The head elder, new and younger than the last, exhales slowly. “Then we assume he is hiding in plain sight.”
“Yes,” Helena says. “That has always been his favorite game.”
Orders are given quickly. Wards are strengthened. Watchers are posted across the city. Spells are woven into cameras, streetlights, subway tunnels. Noelle and I split our time between Manhattan and the North Pole, checking reports, following leads that dissolve into nothing.
Malachi leaves no trail.
Days pass. Then weeks.
January settles in, quiet and gray. Snow comes and goes without ceremony. People take down their lights. The community center keeps hosting dinners, movie nights, small gatherings that glow softly against the winter. I visit often, letting the warmth anchor me.
At night, Noelle and I sit at the kitchen table, maps spread between us. “If I were him,” he says once, tapping Central Park, “I would wait. Let you relax.”
“I’m not relaxing,” I reply, though my shoulders are lower than they were in December.
We chase rumors. A cold patch on the Lower East Side that turns out to be a broken boiler. A frozen fountain in Queens caused by a prank. Every time my magic flares, it fades again with no answer.
Malachi does not rush.
By the end of January, the Council begins to murmur. Not panic. Worry. Fear thrives in uncertainty, and Malachi understands that better than anyone.
“He’s testing us,” Ember says one night as we stand on the roof of our apartment, city lights flickering below. “Seeing how long you can stay sharp.”
I stare out at the skyline. “Or seeing how long before I stop expecting him.”
February arrives quietly.
Life starts to feel almost normal, and that is what scares me.
I go back to work part time. I meet Ivy for coffee on a Tuesday afternoon, laughing about nothing important. She complains about dating apps and bad coworkers. She looks alive and ordinary and safe.
On Valentine’s Day, she texts me a photo of a heart shaped cookie and writes, You’re my favorite love story this year.
I smile and send back a joke.
That night, Noelle is late. I cook dinner and let it go cold. I tell myself it is fine. That the city is just a city again. That Malachi lost.
My phone buzzes at 11:47 p.m.
Unknown number.
I almost ignore it.
The message loads slowly.
I have your friend.
Come alone to Central Park at midnight, or she freezes to death.
No Christmas Guardian. No immortal boyfriend. Just you.
M
The room tilts.
I read it again. And again. My fingers go numb, then painfully cold.
“Noelle,” I say, already moving.
He appears in the doorway, breathless. One look at my face and he is crossing the room. “What happened?”
I hold out the phone.
His jaw tightens as he reads. “It’s a trap.”
“I know.”
“We can’t let you go alone.”
“I know.”
He grips my shoulders. “Amara. He wants you isolated. That means we do the opposite.”
I swallow. “He has Ivy.”
The name lands between us like glass breaking.
Noelle exhales slowly, fighting for calm. “We tell Santa. We bring the Council.”
“He said alone,” I say. “And he meant it.”
“We don’t bargain with him.”
“I will,” I reply, voice steady in a way that surprises me. “Because Ivy didn’t choose this. I did.”
Silence stretches.
Noelle steps closer, forehead resting against mine. “You’re not doing this without me.”
I close my eyes. “If you follow, he kills her.”
His hands curl into fists. I feel the tremor in them. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” I pull back just enough to look at him. “He wants me scared. He wants me choosing. This is how he works.”
“No,” he says. “This is how he wins.”
I kiss him once, quick and fierce. “Trust me.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“You have to.”
We stand there, breathing the same air, knowing the argument has no solution. Finally, he nods once, sharp. “I’ll be close. Hidden.”
I hesitate. Then nod. It is the only compromise we have.
Central Park is quiet at midnight. Snow crunches under my boots as I step through the gates, heart steady in my chest. I do not call magic to me. I do not glow. I am just a woman walking into the dark.
“I’m here,” I say aloud.
Laughter echoes softly through the trees.
“Good,” Malachi replies.