Oh. He’s doing this for me.
Without a physical body, Theodoremust not have areaction to the bitter cold.But until the summoning spell wears off,I’mstuck in mine. The drafty house settles around me, and it occurs to me that this is whereI’llbe sleeping tonight.
At least our exchanges feel more natural now, butthere’sstill a lingering awkward pause between each one. I fill the silence by making a show of sitting next to him, grabbing a decently cushioned pillow from the moth-riddensetteeandsituating myselfon the floor. What little stuffing there was inside escapes through the burst seams from the weight of my ass.
He fights a smile.
“How much longer do I have like this?” I ask.
“Anyone’sguess,” he tells me. “Spells depend on a lot of factors, including the witch’s strength. That young witch whoperformed the seance seemed new to her magic, so you might start to feel your physical body fade any minute.”
A beat passes. “I guess I should take advantage of it while I can.” Ifinda rock that has settled into the grooves of the floorboard andmakea show of flicking it with my index finger.
Theodore’s smile is clearer this time; he doesn’t stifle it.
I lean back on my hands, the rough wood biting into my palms. “You know an awful lot about witches.”
“I’ve been around a long time.”
No hesitation. He’s had that answer in his back pocket for a while. Hell, he’s probably used it before.
I imaginethere’smore to that story, andthere’sdefinitely aconnection between this reclusive ghost and the coven in Shadow Hills, but Idon’tfeel like prying tonight.I have more questions about my own state of affairs.Like, do ghosts sleep? BecauseI’mexhausted.I’malsoworried about the state of any bed available in this house.
It feels like my body has been in a physical state of alert for hours, and the thought of crashing out in a warm bed makes my eyelids droop.
“It’s adrenaline,” Theodore mutters softly.
My eyes shoot open, realizing he must have caught me dozing. “What?”
He’sstill focused on the fire in front ofus,the flames now engulfing the rotten lump of wood that sits on the hearth.
“While you’re inyour physical body, youwillfeelthe residualeffects of being alive,” he explains. “If you stub your toe, it will hurt. If a witch summons you to your body,you’llfeel more alive than you did before you died.” His head drops. “But it will fade. Just like everything else.”
Watching him speak is like watching an old black and white film play out in front of me. The way he talks, and even the wayhe holds himself is so out ofbody. Hedoesn’tlook real,even thoughhe’sright here.
“You’re holding on to that feeling,” he adds.
I shake my head, dislodging my wandering thoughts of Singing in the Rain. “Holding on to what?”
Theodore places thepokerback in its holder and sitsback;firesufficiently poked.“Here’sanother lesson for you.It’sstill important for your spirit to rest. It takes a lot of energy tomaintaina physical body, whetheryou’reputting concentration into it or not. Your spirit is running on autopilot right now, because of the spell, butit’sworking hard tomaintainthe connection to this plane.”
He shifts so that he’s fully facing me, his eyes nearly iridescent and reflecting the dancing flames.
A moment passes between us, like he’s taking me in for the first time. Those blue eyes scan my entire face, searching for something, but he doesn’t seem to find it.
“You should rest,” he murmurs, barely moving his lips.
The fire crackles in the quiet.
“How?” I ask him.
“Just trust your gut, and drift. This house is your buoy.”
I close my eyes and imagineI’mon a boat out at sea, waves lapping against the sides and rocking me to sleep. I feel myself starting to let go, buthimbeing here, watching me, keeps it from happening.
“I think this would be easier if I had a bed,” I tease, eyes popping back open.
Theodore’s gaze shifts to thestairwell,tucked behind the corner. “You can have mine.”
