Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
“We didn’t mean it to be a secret,” she explains, not aware that there are now bigger issues at hand. “I can heal any injury, so it made sense to volunteer as a blood donor for Nolan. At least until we could figure out how to lift the curse.”
“That’s…really nice of you,” Felix mumbles, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Frowning, I run my fingers along her throat where a huge, hickey looking mark still blooms across her skin.
“Oops, I forgot,” she chirps, a blush staining her cheeks. Closing her eyes, her fine blonde brows furrow low with a slight puckering across her forehead. Moments later, the bruises fade, her skin returning to its normal golden state. “Since my magic was released from the binding spell, I have to actively heal myself now. It’s no longer on autopilot.”
“But you didn’t say a spell or anything,” Felix notes, walking to the other side of the couch and sitting beside her.
She shrugs. “Nope. Like everything else, I don’t know how it works. But all I do is think about it, then I’m all healed up.”
“Handy,” he comments with a crooked smile.
“Very. Though now I’m paranoid what else will happen just because I think of it,” she says, laughing as she runs her fingers along her denim-clad thighs.
He nods sagely. “I know what you mean. That’s kind of how those dream landscapes work. I think of it and then poof, it’s there.”
“So that’s how that works,” she mutters thoughtfully, one hand lifting so she can press it against her lips. “I wonder if I can do it too? Since when we’re together, I know I’m in a dream.”
“One way to find out,” he answers, before I interrupt him.
“Oh no you don’t,” I exclaim, my hands akimbo on my hips. “No hiding in Callie’s dreams until you explain what the hell happened in there. That was your door you just slammed closed.”
Felix shrinks into himself, his hands twisting in his lap. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to mention that.”
“You saw your door!” Callie cries, sounding painfully heartbroken. “I knew it was going to happen eventually…” Her voice cracks and her eyes turn glassy. “This is what…you can now…” Each attempt to say the right words fall flat, getting thicker as they fight their way past her lips, until she can no longer hold back the truth. “I know I should be happy for you,” she whispers, her mouth pulling into a harsh frown, “but I’m not…I…”
“It’s okay,” he soothes, reaching for her, but stopping right before his touch would meet her skin. “I’m not going anywhere. Not right now.” So soft his words are barely more than an escaped breath, he adds, “I wasn’t ready to lose you.” He coughs, which we all know is a lie since he’s dead and therefore can’t have anything blocking his airways, then elaborates, “All of you guys. I wasn’t, uh, ready to lose all of you guys.”
In a dazed heap, I fall back into one of the leather armchairs. “What does this mean? What happens to you if you don’t move on?”
“Don’t know,” Felix responds, his gaze shifting to the floor. “More of the same? Would you mind if I haunted you for a little longer?”
“Of course not,” I answer, a hysterical laugh falling from my lips. “Stay for as long as you want. Stay for eternity. You’re my best friend. Why would I want you to go?”
“Really?” he chirps, his head snapping up with a huge smile plastered across his face. “I had hoped, but I know you didn’t exactly ask to be haunted…”
Suddenly, the space beside Callie is empty. It’s only for a second, not long enough for us to even scream his name before he’s back, but in that moment it felt like I was dying. My heart stopped. The blood froze in my veins. Because, for a single second, Felix didn’t exist at all.
Chapter 8
Callie
“What do you mean he didn’t exist?” Donovan growls, tugging on his hair as he paces the length of Nolan’s den.
“I mean, one moment he was sitting right there,” Nolan points at the couch next to me, since I collapsed onto the same spot I was in earlier, “and then he was just gone.”
For the past few hours, we’ve had to put on our happy faces and pretend not to be freaking out about Felix vanishing out of existence for a second. Sharing a quiet evening with Nolan’s oblivious parents, we ate Nolan’s favorite meal—smoked salmon eggs benedict with a side of asparagus—and sang happy birthday over the wonderful cake I spotted earlier. The strange irony that he hates mornings but loves breakfast foods wasn’t lost on me. Despite the weird pairing, I’m sure in any other circumstance, it probably would’ve tasted delicious.
Now, we’re at the portion of the night where I guess the guys usually pile in here to watch movies or play video games, drowning in candy and junk food until they’re sick. We’re sick, alright.
“Can you not talk about me like I’m not standing right here?” Felix complains from his spot in front of the TV. His t-shirt says, ‘It’s my very, merry unbirthday today’with illustrated teacups and a green Mad Hatter’s hat hanging off to the side.
“Annoying, huh?” I tease, leaning back into Connor because it’s impossible not to since he’s taking up the rest of the couch. He hugs me to his side, his big hand resting on my stomach, and quietly watches, absorbing everything, but as usual, saying nothing.
“It really is. Sorry, pretty girl,” Felix apologizes, then flops down on the floor with a sigh.
