18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

“ W here is the book?” Caroline demands. “Show it to me.”

In the aftermath of Henry not being gone, we’ve turned on the lights, snuffed out the lantern, and I’ve tried not to both cry and throw myself on Henry in relief. I’m still a ghost girl—but Henry is still here.

Caroline, though, is all business. She’s not going to let my heart run me into the veil if she has any say in it. I point to the table where the cigar box of items is, distracted still by the overwhelming state of Henry being here.

I’ve decided that he’s experiencing both emotions: anguish and relief, together. As Caroline flips through the book, he approaches me. We don’t touch, and I know it’s because we said goodbye already, and what is this moment but a sudden prolongment of that goodbye? He told me how things had to be; I agreed—promised even.

But can’t that promise be put on hold, just until we do part? Until I have to be brave all over again?

“Guys, I think you did the spell wrong,” Caroline says, pulling me from my desperate musings.

Henry frowns and we both walk over to where Caroline has the book opened in front of her.

“Impossible,” Henry says, even though she can’t hear him. I relay his message to her and stand close enough that our arms touch. “‘Reversing a curse is as simple as performing the ritual again but switching language polarity,’” Henry quotes, verbatim. His memory is shockingly good. If this was a less serious moment, I would make a joke about him fighting old-age dementia with language learning, but it hardly seems the time or place.

She taps a page. “Yes, but on the next page, it continues.”

“The next page?” I echo.

“Yeah. Here, look—it was a bit caught, but here on the next page the instructions continue.”

I groan. “The pages were stuck together?” I’m an idiot.

“Apparently so,” Caroline agrees. Henry and I both peer over her shoulder as she reads aloud.

“Performing the ritual for reversal is a careful orchestration of all original elements,” she reads. “The woman who casts must be present as well as the object of the curse. Time and place should be approximate to the original casting as to increase the likelihood of the reversal being successful. In cases of love potions and other spells with connection rituals, both parties must be in attendance with parallel entwining of their elements included. Be warned that all affected parties will return to the state in which they should be formed, in life and in love.” Caroline pauses, looks to her left at me and then to Henry, now visible at her right. “Is this making sense to anyone?”

“I think so,” I say slowly. “Time and place—that would be the little house in the woods, at night, yes?” Henry nods. “And… parallel elements? Two flames?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Henry muses. “I think the element here isn’t the fire but the hair.”

“So… snip snip?” Caro says, miming scissors on my hair.

“But it wasn’t a love spell,” I point out. “Or a connection ritual.”

“Does that really matter?” Caroline asks. “I mean, you clearly are connected now, and not just because of the paper you signed.” I think of what Henry told me before: about how the things he is attached to follow him into the veil.

“Good point.”

“And that first part? ‘The woman who casts must be present as well as the object of the curse.’ Henry, you’re the object, so this means that, to break the curse…?”

We exchange a look. “We need Mallory,” he says grimly.

Caroline spends the night but leaves in the morning, promising to come back after Grandma Lydia leaves for her Lake Michigan trip on Monday.

“I have to tell him,” she says through her car window. “Javier. He’s not going to believe me, but I’m going to make him come back with me. To see you. If this… if you… well, I need him. And he needs to know. You’re flickering, Rency. I can’t see it, Grandma can’t see it, but you are. So, don’t go into town, okay?”

“I won’t,” I promise. The idea of driving has started to scare me—the consequences of my inconsistent form holding a steering wheel and then not. The idea that I could be there and gone the next, that I could disappear in front of someone while buying groceries or in a parking lot, freaks me out, too.

So, I wait. I spend the rest of Sunday with my grandma, helping her pack and make apple pies to bring with her to the lake house. Henry texts me to tell me that he has a plan, but I don’t text him back yet, wanting to spend time focused on my grandma and our relationship. If I wasn’t so scared about disappearing, I might have tried to go home to see my mom and dad. Instead, I call them again, just to hear their voices. My brother doesn’t pick up, so I leave another voicemail, making sure to tell him that I love him at the end of it.

When the sun goes down and Grandma goes to bed, though, I can’t stay in the house any longer. Instead of waiting and pacing or sending a text, I pull on my sandals and walk through the dew-damp grass to Henry.

The little house in the woods is lit up, windows glowing in the summer evening’s early dark. It’s not scary to me or creepy, regardless of the gloaming light and the knowledge that it doesn’t really exist. Instead, it’s like magic. A film, a beautiful dream I want to remember. Fireflies wink in and out of my periphery, and the moon is nearly full. It’s only when I step into the overhang of the forest that I struggle to see, and even then I don’t pull out my phone’s flashlight, unwilling to shatter the swirling enchantment that has been cast.

When I tap on the door of his house, Henry calls out a “Come on in!” Upon opening the door, I’m greeted by Spectre and the soft sound of a record playing.

Henry’s sitting in the chair I almost always find him in, and when Spectre begs me, twining between my ankles to be picked up, he smiles softly. I scoop the small creature up, cuddling him close to my chest.

“Hey there, Rency.”

“Hey there, Henry.” I linger in the entryway, not sure of Henry’s mood. He looks pensive. Sad, even. Is he disappointed that he didn’t get to cross over today? Is he worried about heaven and hell? What will happen at the pearly gates, how he’ll explain over a century of existence?

Spectre purrs, and the rhythmic noise is soothing, suffusing me with the sort of warmth that I associate with little joys and the simple pleasures of being alive. It firms my resolve.

Because maybe this is just a half-life, but it’s a half-life that today exists at the same time as Henry.

And I don’t want to waste that.

When the dust cleared and Caroline had left, I had some time to myself to realize that I’d rather hurt more now than regret not taking advantage of this moment. So, with a boldness only built up in the face of oblivion, I set Spectre down and stand in front of Henry.

“I want to talk to you about something.”

It’s rare that I’m taller than Henry. I feel as if I positively loom over him this way, and the way he looks up at me casts him in a more vulnerable angle than I can recall ever seeing him in before.

“Anything, Rency,” Henry replies. “Talk to me about anything.”

I want to show him why I came here tonight. To slide onto his lap, to kiss him, bury my hands in his hair and show him how my heart has been completely tied to his. I can’t stay away from him if I know he’s here, can’t hold myself back from wanting to be near him, can’t fight back the desire when he’s here for an unknown amount of time.

“I know I agreed that it was better for me not to stay while we try to break your curse,” I say. “I know I agreed to move on. I know that I said that I agreed that we shouldn’t get too attached. But I also promised to live the best life I could, and I can’t imagine that I won’t look back at this and feel like I regret not telling you that I—”

Henry had sat up in his seat when I began talking, but by the time I get near the end of my sentence he’s on his feet and I’m no longer gazing down into his eyes but up. I’m about to confess to him, to tell him how much I love him and how I don’t want to be scared of fully feeling all of the emotions I have for him, when he touches my lips, softly cutting me off.

“Rency, no. Don’t say it.”

“Why?” I nearly beg. “Why not? I feel it. I know you feel it too. Why can’t I say it?”

“If you say it,” he says, longing and sorrow swirling in his eyes, “how could I ever let you go?”

Don’t let me go, I want to say, even though it’s impossible. Don’t make me send you away. It’s not just about that, though—his existence is my death sentence. If we can’t break the curse, I will be cursed, too. He knows it and so do I.

“I won’t say it, then. But I can’t not be near you, not now. Not after…” Not after thinking I killed you with the counter-spell. Not after the experience of relief and joy at seeing you in front of me still. Not after knowing what I will have to do again and maybe again until we get it right.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Henry confesses. His hands are safely at his side, although the way his fingers dig into his thigh might indicate he’s more affected than he wants to let on. “Hurt you more,” he amends. “Because I know I’ve already hurt you, that when I leave, you’ll be heartbr—”

“Now you stop,” I say, cutting him off. If I can’t tell him that I love him, then he can’t use my future heartbreak as a talking point in his argument. “If I am not allowed to say that I—to say how I feel about you—then you’re not allowed to project your own experience of loss onto me. I’m an adult, I knew better than to let my heart run away with me. I’m responsible for who I… for who I let in. Don’t take on more than you have to, Henry. Let me just… let me actually feel whatever this is fully so I don’t regret it later.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want us to stop fighting what we are feeling for whatever time we have, even if it’s just for a few hours or a few days. I don’t want you to hold back. And fine, you don’t have to say that you feel the same way about me, but I know you feel something for me, and I don’t want you to hold that part of yourself separate anymore.” Henry’s fully focused on me, eyes tracing my features. “I want you to kiss me, for starters. And I—”

It’s as if that is what Henry was waiting for—for me to say it first—because I’ve hardly finished my sentence before his hands are coming up to bury themselves in my curls and he’s both bending to press my mouth against his and tilting my chin up to meet him.

I don’t believe in some cosmic energy. I can’t say that I’ve ever thought about if fate was real. God? Yes. But karma doesn’t seem to exist; good things and bad things happen to everyone. I certainly don’t believe in soulmates.

But the feeling of being embraced by Henry has me questioning… everything. Are stars not aligning? Are the sun and the moon not eclipsing, an overlapping of shadows and reflections for just this brief moment when our lives have overlaid, layer on top of cosmic layer?

“Rency,” Henry murmurs against my lips. “Why torture yourself this way?” His thumb comes up to trace my cheek, a delicate, intimate touch.

“Because I would rather torture myself with this memory than never have it at all,” I tell him. Henry’s hands drop to my hips, and before I can question what’s happening, he’s pulling me down towards the chair, arranging me on his lap exactly how I wished I could’ve been arranged just minutes ago. Henry’s gathering up my curls in one hand, kissing down my neck on the opposite side, and I can’t help my hands from running up and down his neck, his shoulders, past his collarbones. To touch him—to have permission to do so, to make tangible this desire of my heart—is overwhelming.

The way I feel when I’m with Henry is a sensation of rightness . Of completely being at ease while also being hyper-aware of his presence. He was cursed, but I’ve been charmed. Having him this close to me is like drinking some sort of love potion. I feel intoxicated.

Henry’s hands glide up my lower back, the pads of his fingers skimming against my bare skin, when an alarm goes off. Spectre, who had been curled up on the nearby sofa and not paying us any mind at all, lets out a yowl and darts away from us. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the alarm is mine—the one I have set for every night, reminding me to Go to sleep, Rency! After a week of not crawling into my bed until well after one in the morning, I’d set a daily reminder alarm for midnight. My grandma did well at not asking me too many questions about where I went and what I did—in part because I was careful to make sure that I was around when she was around, not wanting to make her feel ditched after I promised to help her and spend time with her this summer—but even she had asked a few questions when I could hardly drag myself out of bed by nine every morning.

Henry laughs against my shoulder as I fumble for my phone and toss it across the room towards the now-abandoned couch. His light kisses on my neck make me shiver, and I want to pout, to break my own rules about going to bed at an appropriate time.

Henry, though, shoots down the idea. “You need to wish your grandmother goodbye tomorrow morning,” he tells me, running his fingers through his hair. “And I need to pull myself together. I think it might be a bit too late for that, but…” His eyes skim over me, and his grin is a bit boyish. “I was not expecting this evening to go this way, I can say that.”

“Your text!” I gasp, belatedly remembering that he had texted me about having a plan for us to review together. “I completely forgot that we were going to talk over the plan!”

Henry smiles before pressing a kiss to my lips. “Distracted, hmm?”

I don’t answer, rolling my eyes instead. “I’ll stay longer. Tell me what you were thinking?”

“Oh no,” he replies, shaking his head. He places his hands on my hips, shifting me so that he’s standing and I’m coming along with him. “I’m not going to be the reason you sleep in and don’t say goodbye to your grandmother.”

The statement washes over me like a bucket of ice water. Say goodbye to your grandmother.

What if it was the last time I would say goodbye to her?

What if this is the week I flicker out entirely?

I must freeze in place, or look particularly stricken, because he pulls me into his arms. “I didn’t mean it that way, Rency,” he tells me, one hand rubbing soothingly against my back. “I just meant that she’s going on vacation and you should be there to help her pack and give her a hug and wish her well.”

I nod, but the damage is done: whatever moment of oblivion I’d found from embracing the moment with him is muted now. The cold reality of my situation lingers. I still was absurdly pleased that Henry’s arms were around me, but now I’m reminded how temporary it is.

“Don’t worry about the plan,” he continues, stepping back from our hug. “I’ve already put some things into motion. Tomorrow, come to find me when you can. I’ll be in the barn office. I have some… some work to do. I’ll fill you in on it tomorrow,” he adds, noting my curious expression. “Come on now. Let me walk you back home.”

The forest is a shadow world of inky outlines as we walk hand in hand back to my grandmother’s house. Every sensation I feel reminds me that the physicality of this world is temporary for me if I don’t break the curse. And already, when Henry kisses me goodnight in the doorway of my grandmother’s house, my heart starts to break, a foreshadowing of what is to come.

“You’re looking a bit brighter today, darling,” Grandma Lydia says. I’ve just hauled all of her luggage into her car for her—I only ghost-dropped one bag, but when I picked it up, I was fully corporeal, so no harm no foul, I suppose—and I can feel the sheen of sweat on my forehead. August in Michigan is hot and humid, and today is the sort of cloudless blue-sky moment that is perfect for the beach (and less than ideal for packing a car to go to the beach).

“I’m feeling better,” I tell her, watching her fill up her travel mug with coffee. It’s not a complete lie.

Am I filled with deep existential dread that threatens to overwhelm me?

Yes.

Am I also still completely delighted that last night I got to run my hands through Henry’s hair and feel his lips against mine?

Also yes.

What can I say? I contain multitudes.

And while I tossed and turned last night, a replay of the same curse dream playing over and over again in an endless and swirling refrain, today is a new day. Today, I will hold Henry’s hand as we plan. Today, I will hug my grandma. Today, Caroline and Javi are coming over. Today, I remind myself, is a good day to be .

“Better because you feel better, or better because you and your… not-boyfriend made up?”

More like me and my ghost husband-not-husband made out, I think. Obviously, I keep that thought to myself.

“Better because I am happy to be alive,” I tell her, not wanting to be dishonest. “And I want to embrace every moment.”

Grandma Lydia’s face brightens as she smiles. “That’s lovely, Rency. Really just lovely. And when you are old like I am, it sometimes feels like the only thing to hold on to. People come and go, places fade and memories slip away. But if you are living your life right, if you see the world as a place to find joy, to be someone who can help others, to live a life that is lived right… well then, it’s just a gift, isn’t it.”

I swallow thickly. “It is,” I agree.

Grandma Lydia and I walk to the car, and as she pulls away onto the dirt road, I wipe away a few stray tears. Bravery, it seems, waxes and wanes.

I hope mine holds out for a little bit longer. After all, my life depends on it.