I rest my chin on my knees and wait for Theo to continue. As he gets to his feet, I can tell the story is about to take a turn. Why else would the memory be so difficult for him to recall?
He clenches his fists at his sides, sidestepping the gilded frame on the floor. “It was years later. Moira was twelve.She’dbeen interacting with melessas she got older, but that day she wanted to play hide andseek.Her older sister was upstairs in her room reading Genevra’s magazines.She got a lot back then—more than just the editorial ones.” He lookstothe ceiling, hopelessness andregretflooding his features. “When their mother came home from the grocery store, she found me hiding in the pantry. I thought it was Moira, having found my hiding spot. But the look on Genevra’s face told me she knew exactly what I was. She was Head Witch - she knew a ghost when she saw one.”
I continue to listen intently as Theo rehashes the difficult memory, fighting the urge to go to him.
“She tried to banish me from the house—usedeverything in her arsenal—but it only sent me into the void. I was tied to thisplace, becauseit’swhere I died.” His voice goes quiet. “I still am.”
I drop my feet to the floor and step slowly toward him, no longer able to holdmyself back. His hair covering his face like a shield, I reach out to tuck the strands behind his ear. Hedoesn’tflinch, but hedoesn’tacknowledge me either.
“She wanted megone,” he says somberly. “And when that didn’t work, they packed up and moved away.”
A feeling ofdejavu threatens to knock me over. I know that feeling—like the rug is being pulled out frombeneath you. The thingyou’vegrown to care about, the constant youthoughtwould never change, suddenly disappears. I was the family that left in Theo’s story, and I can almost guarantee that Moiradidn’twant to go. Because Ididn’t.
“But why?” I ask.It’sthe first wordsI’veuttered since he started divulging. Ihadn’twanted to interrupt him in fearhe’dstop talking altogether. “Why would a witch be so fearful of a ghost in her house? Why did she want you gone so badly?”
Theo faces me, the hairI’dtucked behind his ear falling out of place and back into his eyes. “Finding out a grown man has spent years alone with your youngest daughter? I thinkyou’dbe a little upset too,” he says with a scoff.
I shake my head. “I don’t believe that.”
“Yeah, well, she had every right to be angry with me. I was stupid to think I had any right befriending that family. I should have known better.”
Somethingisn’taddingup. Theo just dumped a huge part of his trauma on me, andI’mso happy he felt he could do so, but still, Ican’tshake the feeling that a major detail was left out ofthat story. This might have been a part of the history he shares with the ShadowHillscoven, butit’scertainly not all of it.
But Iwon’tpry.As long as Theo is willing to talk, I have to be willing to listen.He’scome this far.Sooner or later, I hope to earn his full trust and hear the rest of the story.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, placing a hand on his back. I rub small circles below his shoulderblades,and I noticegoosebumpsrising along the back of his neck.
“I shouldn’t have gotten involved,” he chides himself.
“It sounds to me like you gave that little girl a friend when she needed one. Youprobably madewonderful memories for her. I bet she still remembers you.”
“She’s dead,” he states heavily, and I’m taken aback.
“Oh…I’m sorry.” I swallow hard. “When?”
“Last year. But this all happened over fifty years ago.”
If Moira and her mother are no longer alive,what’sstopping him from going into town? I seriously doubt Calliope or the rest of her family is still holding a grudge for something so trivial. Ifhe’sthat afraid to face the people of Shadow Hills,there’sgot to be more to it.
Idon’tthinkI’mgoing to be getting anything else out of him tonight, so Ichangethe subject. “So that’s who I have to thank for the lovely decor in the bedroom.”
Theo visibly relaxes. “Genevra had unique taste.”
I thought the antique bed and vanity were from Theo’stime, but clearly Genevra’s style clung to the past. Other than the updated appliances in the kitchen, the rest of the housescreamsVictorian era.
I grab the portrait from the floor and place it back against the wall, this time facing the opposite way. “Sorry, G. This place is about to get a serious home-makeover.”
Theo opens his hands at his sides. “What did you have in mind?”
Ibeam. “I can’t wait to tell you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
THEO
Kennedy and I continue to converse for several hours until the sun drops to thehorizonand the front room of the house is bathed in an orange glow. The temperature outside must havefinallyrisen abovefreezing, becausewe’vebeen continuously serenaded bythedripdripdripofthe tree limb’smelting icicles.
Kennedy looks like a fiery goddess as she lays flat against thefloor,her hair spread out around her and the luminescence of the sunset acting like a filter over her skin.Her sockedfeet are propped on the mound of blankets, andshe’sdeep in a dissertation aboutwhethercalories matter whenyou’redead.
