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“Come in.” I throw off my blankets and sit upright. It will make them feel better if they don’t realize I’m in bed at… whatever time it is. The sun is still up.
My mom has been too nice. She doesn’t make me join them for dinners or go out; she doesn’t even suggest I go to work. She brings me food and potions and chats with me. But nothing helps.
She isn’t the one who appears now, though. It’s Sterling.
From the corner of the room, where Wendy has been lurking for days, she scoffs.
And when he shuts the door behind me, his face crumples. “What happened to you?”
I touch my hair, shaking my head. “You’re—I told you I’m sick.”
“Sick? Is that what you call this?”
“Uh-oh,” Wendy says. “He thinks you’re ugly. Start a fight.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
Sterling’s face crumples. “I’m sorry.”
“Not—not you.” I let out a sound between a laugh and devastation. “I don’t know. I don’t know why it turned my hair, but stranger things have happened.”
Magical illnesses are common. I’ve known witches who caught a cold that made them sneeze out literal bubbles. Why is he looking at me like he’s terrified?
Why is he here at all?
If Wendy was right, he should be running far away, afraid his magic is making me sick. I was counting on it—counting on being able to avoid a goodbye. He won’t even let me have that, and I should be relieved to see him, but I’m not.
“Aurora, I’m not worried about your hair.” He takes my hands slowly, and I let him. He flinches. “Gods, you’re freezing.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He rubs his thumb against the back of my hand. “I don’t know if you can see them, but you’re surrounded by ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
“Duh,” Wendy says, gesturing to herself.
He nods. “Spirits. They’re attached to you. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Do you see her?” I ask, looking away to lock my gaze with Wendy. “She’s right there.”
“No,” he says slowly. “I’m sorry. I just see the ones attached to your lifeline. I’ve met people who have a spirit or two attached to them, but this… is this why you were avoiding me?”
“I wasn’t avoiding you.” My lower lip trembles. “How long has it been?”
“Days.” He presses his hand to my forehead. “I-I don’t know if I did this to you, but if I did, I’m sorry. I can go—”
“Just like you did with Wendy?” I let out a scoff, but it turns into a laugh. The words that come next don’t feel like mine—it’s as if she’s speaking through me. “That’s right. She told me you left her when she was dying. You should have been there.”
He looks down. “I should have. But I’m here now, and gods… your eyes are turning white.”
Like his were, when he woke me up with his nightmares. How strange.
The stress in my shoulders releases a fraction. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
“About—about the ghosts.”
