Elira’s mouth curved. “You don’t keep a Bingo card for the week, Maeve.”
“That you know of,” I muttered.
She took a step toward me, hand lifting in the same familiar gesture she’d used a dozen times in the Academy, about to brush my hair back, or pinch my chin, or tap my forehead. Her fingers reached the edge of my shoulder and then… slipped.
Her hand went through me like cool mist.
She froze.
Then she laughed, soft and rueful. “Sorry. I keep forgetting I’m a little ghostly.”
A bubble of wild laughter rose in my chest, then popped as a sob. “You…are you?”
“Complicated,” she said gently. “Still. But less dead than you feared.”
“Oh, that clears things right up,” I said, swiping at my eyes.
Footsteps thudded behind me on the stairs.
“Maeve?” Keegan again, closer now. “Talk to me. If you don’t talk to me, I’m assuming the worst, and—”
He reached the bottom step, took in the room, took in the glowing pedestal, then the silver-haired woman in front of me.
I heard his breath leave him, like someone had punched it out.
“Is that?” he began, but stopped.
“Elira,” I said, still half disbelieving it myself. “Grandma Elira.”
She lifted her hand in a little half-wave, more solid this time, though still edged in light.
“Keegan,” she said. “You look awful. I’m glad you’re here.”
He huffed out something between a laugh and a choked sound. “That tracks.”
“Might want to work on your compliments,” I whispered.
He edged closer until he was at my side, shoulder bumping mine.
“She gets a pass,” he murmured back. “On account of being… less dead.”
“Thank you,” Elira said dryly. “You’re both speaking out loud, by the way.”
Heat flooded my face.
“Excellent,” I muttered.
Above us, the cottage groaned softly, but it was the good kind of groan, like the beams were letting out a long-held breath. The hum of magic settled a shade, no longer rising, just… present.
“Oh stars,” Miora’s voice floated down faintly from upstairs, thin but there.
She could speak again.
“Elira?” she called. “Elira, is it—?”
“Yes, my sweet one,” Elira called upward, louder. “It’s me. You can come down. The stairs won’t eat you.”
Miora made a sound I’d never heard from her before—a half-sob, half-laugh that made my throat ache in sympathy.
