Chapter 4
Three Wishes
MAX
The kitchen lights flicker overhead as my fear bleeds into the wiring, the way it always does when I’m upset or cornered. Whatever is here is already too close, encroaching on the sacred space I was taught to guard.
“Show yourself,” I repeat.
“I can’t. I’m a ghost.”
I scoff at the absurdity of that statement, my knuckles clenched at my sides. “A ghost? I’ve lived here for more than a decade, and this house is not haunted.”
“Not the house, no. The lantern.”
I look at the lantern again. It gives off no light, yet draws my eye all the same.
It’s beautiful in a way that makes my skin prickle, one of a kind, crafted with a care that borders on obsession.
Ancient. Pristine. Danger often wears the guise of beauty.
For a fleeting moment, I wonder if I should smash it and destroy it, before remembering that I already did.
“I used to live here too, you know,” the ghost says, sounding a little tense, as though he followed my train of thought. “In fact, I stayed in this house for about four decades before Mabel sent me to Devi. I suspect that was around the time you moved in.”
The dejected baritone sends chills down my neck.
Whereas the intruder’s bite of power is barely noticeable, his otherworldly voice carries the weight of his presence, and the more he speaks, the more I can feel him.
The bite of his magic is unfamiliar, unlike ours, and different from Devi’s, too.
A brand I’ve never tasted before, yet oddly soothing.
I blink at the empty living room, trying to pinpoint the ghost’s exact location. The air in the center of the room feels warmer, charged with static electricity. I’m almost certain he’s there. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I inch closer.
“Mabel and Devi know about you?” I ask.
“Yes. They exchange my lantern back and forth every few years.”
Another of Mabel’s secrets, and one that shifts my stance entirely. She might be secretive to a fault, but she would never have allowed some dark spirit to linger in these halls. This house is sacred to her.
Assuming he’s telling the truth.
I hold a hand out in front of me, my fingertips tingling. “Are you there? I think I can feel something.” I gesture toward the warm patch of air.
“I am.” His voice trembles with emotion, tinged with wonder. “I’m right here.”
The tip of my finger buzzes like I’m pressing into hot jelly, never meeting anything solid. The strange sensation spooks me, and I jerk my hand back. “What do you want?”
I can’t get distracted. This might be a trick, a way to lure me outside the house.
“You woke me up when you smashed my lantern last night. I saw the monster that attacked you. Are you alright?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
I bite my upper lip, dangerously close to bursting into a nervous fit of laughter. The ghost wants to know if I’m alright. I pick up the lantern in the middle of the table and turn it over, examining it from all angles. A ghost living in a lamp…
Energy shifts from the lantern, tickling my fingertips, and heat engulfs me in a blast of hot air. The bronze piece rings a bell now that I’m handling it. I recall seeing it among Devi’s antiques, tucked in the back corner of her tea parlor, and my brows raise.
“Are you a genie in a bottle? Should I make a wish?” I joke.
“Maybe. What would you wish for?” he asks.
The warm undertone of the question riles my anxiety up to a hundred, because I’m tempted to answer.
The truth simmers on my tongue. Most days, I wish I’d never been a witch at all.
I wish my mother hadn’t been killed by the Reds, that she hadn’t been a witch herself.
It sounds harsh, ungrateful even, so I’ve never spoken the words aloud.
But if it weren’t for Mabel and Devi, I’d leave this life for good.
And after what happened to Aunt Kerri, I’m even more convinced of that today than I was yesterday.
I’d wish to be someone different, someone who didn’t have to hide, to lie, to scheme. Someone worthy of love.
“Erm, let’s see. I’d wish for last night not to have happened, for everyone I love to be safe and alive, and for the monsters beyond the glass to stay the fuck home forever,” I blurt out instead.
“I’m sorry. I can’t grant wishes, but if I were a genie in a lantern, I’d gladly serve you.”
The ghost’s sheepish tone is almost charming. I’m either being cajoled into a trap, or the invisible spirit Mabel has been keeping secret is flirting with me.
I catch a smile before it surfaces and cross my arms over my chest. “Then why did you ask?”
“I was curious.”
I move to the kitchen to boil a simple antibacterial healing poultice, chatting with my new friend as I gather what I need from the cupboards. A block of beeswax, a jar of powdered clay, and the kettle go on the counter. The softened wax and clay will form the base of the ointment.
“Since we’re asking blunt, personal questions, when did you die?”
Silence.
“Is that a painful subject? For a ghost? I’m rambling here. You’re the first dead person I’ve ever met.”
“Not painful, no. In fact, I have absolutely no clue how I died. I can’t remember.”
My brows raise. “Didn’t you ask Mabel?”
“Of course, but she always refused to speak about it.”
Typical Mabs.
“Maybe it’s a trait all ghosts share—maybe forgetting one’s death is better for the soul,” I muse.
“If only it were just that.”
“Mm?”
“I don’t even know my own name.”
The admission comes out rushed and shameful, but also bitter. Names and magic go hand in hand. Either my ghost is lying, or he’s truly a lost soul—stripped of self-awareness, magic, and hope.
“That’s brutal. What does Mabel call you?”
There’s a pause before he answers. “Nothing, really. But Devi called me ‘E.’”
My brows knit together. “Just E?”
“Yes.”
“E for Evan? Elliott? Edgar? What should I call you?”
“Just E is fine.”
“Alright, Just E. I’m Max. If I were to believe you and take all this ghost shite on the chin, what are my chances of leaving this house and staying alive?”
“I wouldn’t advise you to leave. Not for a while,” he says quickly. “Those monsters looked creepy as fuck.”
Good answer. Whatever he is, he’s not meant to lure me to my death.
The liquid begins to bubble faintly as I stir, a warm, earthy scent curling upward with the steam.
I add a dash of sage, rosemary, and mint to give it a pleasant scent and strengthen its cleansing properties.
The herbs blend with the wax and clay, turning the paste a purplish green.
Before turning off the gas, I crush the blood fern stems in a garlic press, letting their dark sap drip into the blend until the clotting resin thickens it.
“Have you ever seen anything like the monsters from last night before?” I ask.
Mabel keeps so many secrets. Maybe those creatures are a common sight in the gardens, though I doubt it.
“No. Never.”
I scrape the warm poultice onto a sheet of parchment paper, spreading it thin before sliding it into the fridge.
“What is that for?” E asks.
“It’s a salve for my wound. I’ll apply it morning and night, and it should heal within days.” I slip my phone out of my pocket and drum a nervous rhythm against the black screen. “Now… Any suggestions for what I should tell my boss about missing work today?”
I don’t wait for E’s answer.
“I have to call the hospital and my fiancé. Be a dear and let me do that first. Afterwards, we can figure out who you are, or at least whether you mean to help me or eat me.”
A full-bodied laugh chimes in the air, warm and rich and impossibly sweet. The vibrations ripple across my skin, and heat blooms in my cheeks. Whatever power E mastered in life, it still clings to him now, woven into the very fabric of his spirit.
A flicker of doubt gnaws at the back of my mind.
Am I trusting him too easily? After everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve lost, I should know better than to engage with someone I cannot see.
Especially since he won’t give me his name.
Yet… I can’t bring myself to believe that a magic this bright could belong to something evil.
I know evil. I’ve seen it twice now, in different forms. Evil scratches along my bones like claws on a blackboard, and E doesn’t have that effect on me.
Plus, he’s a male. There are no males in the Red Forest, and what I saw in my memory—a man teaming up with Reds to slay my mother—is highly unusual. I’ll trust my ghost for now, until he gives me a reason not to.
I dial Lachlan’s number first, feeling a little self-conscious about swindling my fiancé in front of my new friend.
“Morning,” I say quickly.
“Morning, beautiful. I just got on the train.”
Hearing his voice after the night I had feels eerie. His familiar greeting soothes my nerves, yet the life we share feels impossibly far away—like a dream I woke from the moment that first monster stalked out of the mist.
“That’s right, you were leaving for London today. When does the conference start again?” I ask.
“We’ve got registration and cocktails tonight. Guy tried to highjack my presentation last minute, but he’s no expert on operating theatres—”
E’s energy creeps closer, as if he’s right there beside me, listening in.
I lose track of Lachlan’s words, goosebumps prickling my skin.
Beneath that first sizzle, a cottony warmth spreads along my right arm, climbing to my chest, my neck, my cheeks—like I’m standing in front of the window, bathed in soft morning light.
“—never going to matter. Can you believe it?”
I missed most of that and cringe.
“Are you alright, luv?” Lachlan whispers.
“Yes, just tired.”
“That’s right, you spent the night at the hospital. What happened?”
With Lachlan, the script is well-rehearsed: whenever I have a witchy emergency, I tell him the hospital called. But in this case, since I have to stay at Mabel’s house, I’ll use option number two and tell him she’s having health issues and needs help with the family real-estate business.