Page 10 of Bear Naked Truth
It was unnerving. And if she thought about it too long, she’d bolt.
Which was why, after their meander through the town square and a brief detour past Everglen Market “You don’t know fear until you’ve faced Celeste’s clipboard,” Dorian had whispered, genuinely spooked.
Autumn excused herself and returned to the inn with the excuse of “ward placement.”
Dorian had offered to help—of course he had—but she needed the quiet.
The kind of quiet only the dead could provide.
She moved through the inn with practiced steps, fingers brushing along wallpaper and wooden railings. Every room had its own feel. The sitting room was dense with regret. The hallway by the back kitchen buzzed with frantic, unfinished energy. But it was the upstairs bedroom, the one with the warped mirror and a dresser that always stuck, that whispered loudest.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The air chilled immediately.
Autumn exhaled slow, grounding herself. She removed the small red jasper charm from her pocket, kissed the stone, and laid it on the dresser beside the cracked mirror. Then she lit a single beeswax candle, inscribed with a runic sigil meant to draw truth from shadows.
“Alright,” she said softly. “Let’s talk.”
At first, nothing.
Just the usual flicker of cool air brushing against her skin, the creak of old boards, the faint hum of something unseen pressing against the edges of her senses. But then the room changed.
Not dramatically or like in movies. Just… a shift.
The wallpaper near the window darkened, the florals bleeding into shadow. The mirror fogged. The flame of the candle leaned sharply to the left. And then, a voice.
Barely a breath, right next to her ear.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Autumn’s spine went rigid. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.
“I was invited,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I’m here to help.”
Another pause. A colder draft, this time curling around her calves like a warning.
“He brings death with him.”
Her fingers tightened on the lip of the dresser.
“Dorian?” she asked. “You’re talking about Dorian?”
The mirror pulsed once—just once—and then cleared. Her reflection stared back at her, eyes wide, chest rising and falling with too-sharp breaths.
The candle flickered violently. And on the wall beside her, a message appeared, scrawled as if by invisible chalk.
GO.
Autumn backed up slowly, grabbing the charm with one hand and the candle with the other. Her heart thudded wildly, too loud in her ears.
She’d spoken with hundreds of spirits. Angry ones. Lost ones. Even violent ones.
But this? This one wasn’t just angry. It was scared.
She retreated downstairs, her boots thudding against the steps with each pace. Dorian was in the front parlor, shirt sleeves rolled up again, sanding a window frame that had clearly offended his sense of symmetry.
He looked up the moment she stepped in, eyes narrowing with concern.
“You okay?”
