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“You will not win.” I let false malice sharpen my voice. “A snake is still a snake even when it eats plague-ridden rodents.”

“You would know,” she hissed. “Now, if you would get out of my way. You are not my mission tonight.”

My grip tightened in her hair.

She glared, and it was an art form. It was poisonous, far too addictive, and it scorched through me like wildfire.

But it wouldn’t matter, because I was made of stone. I wouldn’t budge.

I hadn’t planned this meticulously for nothing, and I wanted this moment with my ghost.

Her nostrils flared, and her body flickered in and out of existence, yet her neck remained solid beneath my fingers. Confusion widened her eyes, then frustration hardened her features.

I frowned.

Were her powers failing?

Interesting.

I had not seen that in the video.

Her powers exhausted her, yes, but she hadn’t lost the ability to use them.

She gritted her teeth and tried to ghost again. But as she tried, a strand of the hair framing her face turned brown. It was as if the color seeped back into it.

The color was breathtaking: rich, molten caramel threaded with warm chestnut.

The color cut into my soul.

Because I’d only ever known one woman with that particular shade of brown.

But it still couldn’t be her.

Xeniya had died in the restaurant explosion. This vengeful spirit had been trafficked and raped by the Order, just like the blonde we were trying to rescue today.

This was not my Xeniya.

But tell that to my broken, wretched heart. It beat for this woman, coming alive at the sight of her hair.

My fingers brushed the strand as if it were a miracle.

The Ghost followed my movement, her eyes widening and her breathing turning ragged.

“What?” she whispered, staring at the strand. “That’s not possible.”

She drew a shaky breath, and the hand resting against my chest curled as if she wanted to claw my heart out.

And a tear clung to her lashes as the color drained from her face, leaving her pale as moonstone. “What are you doing to me, Severin?”

Her tongue shaped my name into a soft, haunted aria. Beautiful. Heartbreaking. I wanted to hear it again. Because she was so spellbinding, as if she’d cast some impossible enchantment over me.

Then again, I was pretty sure Xeniya had bewitched me with a punch to the face when we were kids. A weird spell, but oh, so effective.

Could this ghost be doing the same thing now?

“Why am I so weak?” she asked herself under her breath, and her knees buckled.

I released her neck to catch her around the waist.