The flashlight flickered like it knew this was a bad idea. Tasha waved it around dramatically, casting jittery shadows across the attic walls. Dust hung in the air like lazy ghosts, and a pentagram, poorly drawn in glitter glue, sparkled unevenly in the center of the rug.

  "Okay," she said. "Final roll call. Who brought the demon?"

  "Not it," Marlee muttered from her sleeping bag. "I only brought snacks and trauma."

  Sienna, cross-legged beside the candles, held up a rolled parchment. Its title shimmered in pink foil lettering: "Infernal Icebreakers for Girls Who Dare (2nd Edition, Lightly Cursed)."

  "It's not even real," she said, snorting. "It came from the back of a bargain-bin bridal magazine. Next to the 'Summon Your Soulmate' column."

  "Which is why this is dumb," Marlee added. "We should be watching ."

  "Too late," Tasha said, striking a dramatic pose. "We are officially mid-ritual. You can't back out of a ritual. That's how you get ghost wedgies."

  The candles were scented, and . The air was warm and bored.

  Sienna cleared her throat dramatically.

  "We call to thee from this realm of vapid desire and problematic media," she intoned. "We open our souls, our snacks, and our general availability to—uh—?"

  She squinted at the spelling.

  "It's probably French," Tasha said. "Just go with it."

  Sienna continued:

  "Come forth, O demon of charm and power, and grant us thy presence, thy wisdom, and—if you're hot—a ride home from school."

  The candles flickered. Just once.

  No thunder. No smoke. Nothing exploded.

  They laughed. Marlee rolled her eyes and reached for the chip bag.

  Then the flashlight snapped off

  The attic dimmed. The air thickened—no creaks, no shifting floorboards. Just a silence that felt , like the room was holding its breath.

  "Okay..." Tasha said. "You guys feel that?"

  Sienna turned slowly toward the mirror in the corner.

  It wasn't a magic mirror. Just a normal one, propped up from when Tasha's older sister used to live up here.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  But something moved in the reflection.

  Not them.

  And just for a second there were four girls in the attic.

  Somewhere far below the mortal realm, Tucker-Geist sat alone beside a crumbling wall of scorched thistlewood, absentmindedly polishing the jagged edge of his mirror shard. He had been practicing for years. Speaking carefully. Watching the reflection warp and twitch as he twisted phrases into shapes they were never meant to hold.

  "The truth doesn't spread," he muttered. "It waits to be challenged. But a lie... a lie wants to travel. It needs a host."

  The mirror trembled.

  Then it pulsed.

  Tucker paused.

  It didn't show him anymore. It showed .

  Flickering lights. Glitter glue. Mortals. Girls. Chanting his name.

  Sort of.

  "Taykr Gahst?" he mouthed. Then he snorted. "Oh. I see."

  Some mortal girl had cobbled together a summoning name from the back of a snack box——and the others had mispronounced even that. And somehow, thathim.

  Just enough syllables.

  Just enough spite.

  Just enough want.

  "Close enough," he said as the air split open and pulled him through.

  The flashlight was back on.

  The candles burned low, their wax puddled into uneven, yawning faces. The mirror stood quiet. The girls didn't talk about what had just happened.

  Not directly.

  Tasha sat flipping through her sketchbook. Sienna was brushing her hair and humming off-key. Marlee curled up in her sleeping bag with a tight, distant stare.

  "So, Brian's totally into me," Sienna said suddenly.

  "You mean brother?" Tasha asked, not looking up.

  "Uh, yeah," Sienna replied, frowning. "Obviously."

  Marlee blinked. "What are you talking about?"

  By morning, it had become a full-blown collapse.

  Tasha and Sienna were no longer sleepy and giggly, they were . Accusing each other of betrayal, of sabotage, of breaking the unspoken rules of "girl code."

  "You told him I still sleep with a nightlight!"

  "You said I have foot sweat issues!"

  "You sent him that screenshot of my cosplay fail!"

  "YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE HIS SCRY NUMBER!"

  "You don't even know his last name!"

  "It's... it's "

  Marlee sat in the kitchen, quietly eating dry cereal with water. Her eyes were rimmed red. She hadn't slept.

  "You're both being insane," she muttered. "He's not like that. He... didn't mean to cause this."

  "Maybe if he didn't lead us on," Tasha spat.

  "Maybe if had warned us what he's really like," Sienna added.

  The box crumpled in Marlee's hands.

  By Sunday, they had all gone home early.

  Tasha left with a dramatic slam of the front door.

  Sienna wouldn't stop muttering about how Marlee had betrayed her.

  Marlee sat in the attic for two hours after they were gone, staring into the mirror.

  Waiting for .

  He never came.

  Because Brian never existed.

  No pictures. No mentions in yearbooks. No family records. No texts. And yet, Tasha and Sienna would swear

  Ask them today, decades later, and they'll still insist the other "broke girl code."

  They'll describe Brian in different ways.

  Same name. Different memories. No facts.

  As for Marlee...

  Some endings don't get retold.

  Some endings are too horrible.

  Tucker-Geist walked barefoot down a cracked suburban sidewalk behind the girls' neighborhood, twirling the mirror shard between his fingers.

  He felt good. Not full, exactly, but energized. Sharpened.

  "Three girls. Two lies. One fake brother. Zero evidence," he said with a grin.

  He'd barely done anything. No curses. No flames.

  He'd simply when something was said. Something .

  And now? Now he was .

  "This world is fertile," he muttered. "So many mouths. So little patience." He didn't look back. "You don't need fire to start a war," he whispered. "Just a name no one wants to question."

  And Tucker-Geist disappeared into the hedge-line.

  He had work to do.