Yet, as I open my mind, widening my subconscious like a net to capture whatever might be lurking in the shadows, I sense a shift. The sudden cold dissipates, and I feel the presence, whatever it is,startto pull back.
As if it’s afraid.
“Wait,” I call out, spinning around and searching wildly, butthere’snothing there.
Still, I can feel that it’s stopped its retreat.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I search the porch for any sign of another person—another ghost. “Are you like me?” I ask. Then it occurs to me, “Is this your house?”
I catch a subtle shimmer to my left, and thenthere’sa man leaning casually against the banister. His jet-black hair appears tousled and tangled, partly covering his eyes.He’swearing a dark gray peacoat, and beneath is a set of dress-slacks with suspenders over a white shirt. His outfit hails from a different time, but his relaxed demeanor and stone-faced expression are so familiar, not unlike the young men Iencounteredat the social club my family frequented.
“You’re a ghost, too.” I don’t ask this time, because I know it to be true.
He nods and crosses his arms.
“What’s your name?”
As he lifts his chin, I finally get a clear view of his eyes, andI’mblown away by the color. Sky blue, so light they are almost clear when they catch the sun. He blinks and the corner of his mouth turns up as he says, “Theodore Vanderbilt, ma’am.”
A subtle southern accent slips out with the last word.He’salmost unbearablycharming.So much so that I feel my cheeks begin to flush, and I have to look away.
I’mstartled as he shifts from the railing, but he walks past me and stops in front of the door.He locks his eyes on me, extending his hand for me to take.The voices have quieted, and Ican’tbe sure ifit’sbecausethey’vegone silent, or becauseI’vestopped listening.
“A lot of people are here to see you,” he says. “You must be important.”
My chest caves as I curl an arm around my middle. “I’m not.”
His hand lingers in the air between us, waiting for me to accept the invitation. He inclines his head and leans closer. “You are to someone.”
Idon’thave the heart to tell him how wrong he is. Still, those witchesdon’towe me anything, yet they followed through on their promise to help me. I at least owe them my gratitude.
My hand trembles as I takehis, and the moment we touch,I’mflooded with warmth.Ihaven’tfelt anything this real sincemy memories of being alive.I instinctively curl my fingers tighter aroundhis,seekingto further capture the heat that feels like a warm blanket ona cold night. His eyes meet mine with an awed expression, and I know he feels it too.
I hold on tight to Theodore’s hand as he turns the knob and opens the door. Holding my breath, I take one step forward into the blinding light.
Chapter Seven
THEO
Ilet go of Kennedy’s hand.
Touching her brought about the strangest physical reaction,similar toa lack of blood flow when a limb falls asleep, so I flex my fingers and clench my fist to rid myself of the tingling sensation. Yet the minute I do, I miss her warmth.
My first impression of her is thatshe’sfearless. Based on the way the others spoke about her situation, I waspicturinga fragile little girl, terrified and alone. But Kennedy is the exact opposite of that. Standing in front of a room full of people, feet planted firmly in the center of the chalk-drawn pentagram, is a confident and determined young woman. Her brilliant red hair drapes over her sloping shoulders and reaches the bottom of her shoulder blades.She stands with one leg bent, hip popped, waiting for someone else to make a move.Her sheer self-possession elicits that same warmth within me I felt from her touch. It spreads like ink spilled on a page,itscurrentreaching to stain every part of my body.
I tear my eyes away and focus on the others. Everyone is gasping and pointing at her likeshe’sthe headlining freak show at the circus. A twinge of guilt passes over me, but I shoveit aside and listento the conversations being had amongst theirOoosandAhhhs.
Simone is grinning from ear to ear with a gleam of pride in her eyes. Calliope taps her lightly on the shoulder as a way of congrats, and though the gesture was clearly half-hearted, Simonedoesn’tnotice.She’stoo caught up in havingaccomplishedher task. But sheisn’talone in her celebration for long, because the other women rush over to hug her enthusiastically.
The sheriff and the older redheaded womanlook a little disappointed, like the performancedidn’tmeet their expectations. What did they expect?Audrey Hepburnor the Beatlestoappear from theGreat Beyond?
Aidan and the other two men who kept to the outskirts of the spectacle, finally join the witches to get a closer look. Meanwhile, Kennedy has finally relaxed her stance. Her shoulders sag as she peers down at her own hands. Slowly, she drops into a squatting position and places her palms flat on the floorboards. A shaky laugh escapes her parted lips.
I might be wrong, butI’malmost certainI’mwitnessinga ghost being able to feel her own body again, no longer unmoored. The happiness on her face feels foreign to me.I’vespent so long out of my physical body thatI’veforgotten what having one feels like, but I have no wish to remember.
For years, I hovered in the periphery of the house’s boundaries, undisturbed. I was both here and not, a spiritual being tethered to the place I was born,but with little connection to it. Much of that time was spentin,what I can only describe as, a coma. I chose to remain in such a state, because it was aplace whereno memories could reach me. No reminders of mypreviouslife for me to dwell over. Justan emptybliss.
Occasionally, there would be sounds: the creaks and groansfrom the natural settling of the house, or the fiercepounding against the windows during a winter storm. In those moments, thenoise wouldremindme ofwhatI was. But the enticing stasis would eventually caress my cheek again, and Iwouldslipback into nothing.
