The wind dies down, and we follow the riverbank until we find a flat, dry spot between the trees where pine needles and leaves offer cushioned ground.
Up ahead, the hill slants upward, the small inclination soon to turn steep. Max and her brother set their packs down without speaking, as if they’ve had a quiet conversation I’m not privy to.
I reach for Max’s bag. “Here. Let me help.”
She doesn’t fight me this time. Her bottom lip stays tucked between her teeth, watching me unpack the camping gear.
We unfurl the canvas together, and I drive the stakes into the soft soil while she steadies the poles.
“I can’t believe I’m doing all this. By the Flame, I’m holding ahammer,” I say softly.
“I’m impressed,” Max teases. “I’ve always wanted a handy-ghost.”
Nearby, Nick crouches and stacks rocks in a circle, building a tight fire pit before striking a spark.
Max slides Lady out of her pet sling and rests her furry head in the crook of her neck, petting and whispering to her until the animal relaxes. I suspect, now that the drugs have left the feline’s system, that Max herself is enchanting the beast, for the cat starts purring and never tries to flee.
The fire catches and steadies.
I flex my fingers and walk closer to the flames, half-expecting not to feel their warmth. But I feel it all—the tired muscles in my limbs, the press of earth beneath my boots.
Max thinks we should wait for answers, for my memories to return before we take our connection any further, as if some forgotten life might rise from the grave and claim me. But I don’t feel tethered to anyone. When I think about my forgotten past, no lingering devotion stirs in my blood. My heart beats for no one but Max.
Part of me wonders if her caution is just that—caution—or if it’s an excuse. A way to delay what she wants as much as I do. Or worse, a way to soften the truth that falling for a ghost is too much for her to handle.
“Are you hungry, Casper?” Nick asks.
Now that he mentions it, my stomach grumbles. Eating. I haven’t eaten in… I don’t know how long. I can’t even remember the sensation of it.
“I think so.”
“We’ll have to split our rations. Good thing I packed extra,” Nick says.
Max hands me a bowl of soup, fragrant steam rising from the mixture.
I take the bowl, and it vanishes from view, confirming my suspicion that small objects are swallowed by my ghostliness, much like my clothes.
The weight and heat of the bowl remain in my palms, my fingers still curled around something unseen. We all sit around the fire, bowls in hand, Nick and Max looking expectantly in my direction.
I hesitate, then lift the now invisible spoon to my mouth.
Tastes and textures and warmth flood my mouth. Barley, tender and nutty. Shreds of lamb, steeped so long they fall apart at the slightest bite. Carrots, turnips, and leeks soften into the stock, their sweetness deepened by salt and bone. A whisper of thyme. A hint of black pepper.
Awe fills my blood at the first mouthful, and I chew slowly.
A fierce, almost wicked satisfaction hums through my body. It’s raw and deeply satisfying to finally eat, to break down food, to swallow and feel it settle inside me. I can’t help wondering what it would feel like to sate other, far more powerful hungers now that I have a body, but this isn’t the appropriate time or place to daydream about such things.
“This is incredible,” I say after another mouthful. “The best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Nick snorts. “It’s just soup.”
“It’sexceptionalsoup,” I correct.
Max’s spoon pauses midair, heat flooding her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Nick clears his throat with deliberate force.
“Congrats on the whole corporeal upgrade, Casper. It’s a big milestone,” he says lightly, tossing another twig into the flames. “Just remember—it comes with consequences.”
