Chapter XX Loren #3
Ghost-Felix froze at the nearness, and moments dragged by, but slowly he peeled his face from where he hid. His eyes, barely visible over his forearms, shone quicksilver. Distrustful mercury. Mist coalesced on either side of his head, fanning in the splay of bird wings. White as doves.
Gingerly, unsure of even his own intention, Loren stretched a hand, then paused until Ghost-Felix relaxed his arms further. Lifted his gaze higher.
Permission.
He cupped the ghost’s cheek.
The ghost’s lips parted in a soft, surprised choke, and the misty wings fluttered and flexed.
For all the cold marble he projected, his skin was soft.
Flushed. Blood roared in Loren’s ears, pulse thrumming unsteady.
Pressure against his palm increased, the ghost leaning in. Shivering, asking for more.
A twinge in Loren’s heart sent an aching reminder that Ghost-Felix had been alone all these years. Since we were eleven , he’d said. No one had touched him in as long.
‘What happened to you?’ Loren whispered, so low his voice cracked. ‘What will Felix remember if he puts the helmet on?’
Silver slipped from the corner of Ghost-Felix’s eye, a damp trail.
‘I will not speak of it. Not on my own.’
‘Tell me how to help. Tell me what to do.’
‘Give me back to him,’ he begged. His warm breath fanned the inside of Loren’s wrist. ‘Give me back. ’
Icy dread replaced the flutter in Loren’s stomach.
He chanced a glance at where the helmet had landed on its side, an arm’s length away.
The pull of its power hummed magnetic, a lodestone drawn to iron.
A knife demanding to break skin. Its silver wings mirrored those framing the ghost’s face, symbols of Mercury and all he represented, the carrying of souls down, down, where light couldn’t touch.
The helmet wanted to belong to Felix, Loren sensed it.
It wanted to make Felix its own, release his memories, let them burst like a busted dam or split artery, and unleash a power he had long been divorced from.
Felix had confessed, not an hour before, that what lay behind his memory block terrified him.
Part of Loren wanted to do anything, give anything, to piece these halves back together, if only to mend the fractures marring the boy whose face he cradled, whose pulse tapped weak against his fingers. But doing so would wreck Felix – the Felix whose realness Loren never needed to question.
He couldn’t take that risk.
Loren swallowed sharp, hot gravel wedged in his lungs. ‘I can’t do that to him. I can’t watch him break.’
Against his palm, Ghost-Felix stiffened. Hope drained from his eyes, the last dregs of it.
Searing steam blasted Loren back. He landed hard, pain ricocheting up his spine, arms flying to shield his face from the burning spray. Stones singed and tore his flesh. The ground trembled again. Holding back a sob, he squinted through the hazy uproar.
The ghost had risen, hovering a foot off the ground.
Another pair of wings flurried at his ankles.
Mist convulsed and took the form of many disembodied hands, grasping at his legs, his flesh, the hem of his tunic.
His lips drew back in a snarl, the rawest he’d been, the least human.
If the ghost’s skin split now, Loren wondered dizzily which would flow, blood or ichor .
Dream-walker. Plane-crosser . Power waiting to be used, and Loren finally grasped what that entailed. A drumbeat pulsed deep in the earth. Dire. Steady. He scrambled to stand, but a gust knocked him down. Misty hands crawled towards him, searching, reaching, and Loren kicked at them to no avail.
‘You never heard my voice,’ Ghost-Felix hissed, sound whirling around the crater in a shivering death rattle, ‘until I showed you turning the knife on yourself. That is what it took to make you listen. Do not pretend this has ever been about Felix.’
Stinging overtook Loren’s vision, tears spilling free, eclipsing all else in a hot sweep. ‘As if you’re better. You lured me here to taunt me, not to help him. Say something useful or vanish.’
‘Always an ultimatum. This or that. But this is far bigger than just you. A haze of death hovers low over the city, and only he can shoulder it. When it breaks and no one can bear the fallout, the guilt will be yours.’ Spectral feet backed away, light as the padding of a fox over empty air.
The helmet hummed, chattering against rubble, then shot into his grip.
‘You stand at a crossroads. Everything you do from here is a choice. Learn to live with the consequences.’
Understanding hit a beat too late. ‘Wait!’
The ghost ducked into the helmet, polished silver against swirling mercury. The instant it settled on his brow, he vanished.
With a hollow clang, the helmet fell to earth.
When Loren came to, he was back where he’d started. Sliding into the pit. Reaching for the helmet. Recoiling his stinging hand. Then he was caught beneath his arms, momentum halting.
‘Loren? Are you with me?’ Panic. Worry, muttered in his ear .
Felix had stopped Loren’s slide, held him, was still holding him.
‘Oh,’ Loren gasped. He twisted to touch Felix’s cheek, skin so much hotter than the ghost’s that it stung the pads of his fingers. ‘You’re still here.’
Felix shot him a funny look. Annoyed, yes, but fond, maybe, too. He brushed sweat-damp copper curls off his forehead, and when his hand lowered, it paused against Loren’s. ‘Where else would I be?’
‘Felix,’ Loren breathed, canting forwards until their foreheads pressed together.
Heady heat rolled through his body, a sweet bloom of warmth that said here and yes and stay.
Forget the sticky mountain and the ghost who stared with such fervent hate.
This was Loren’s Felix. Felix who’d followed him up here.
Felix who’d kissed him back in the quiet temple.
‘We need to go,’ Felix said. ‘I can’t breathe in these fumes.’
‘I’m having an epiphany.’
‘Now? Can’t it wait?’
Loren shut his eyes, lingering in the moment.
A crossroads , Ghost-Felix had hissed. Maybe he was beginning to understand.
Either he told Felix to put the helmet on, learn his memories at the risk of him turning cruel as his murdering, phantom counterpart and using the helmet’s power to destroy the city, or Loren lied to protect Pompeii – and lost Felix anyway when he left the helmet behind tomorrow.
The choice dangled, but neither option tempted.
Night after night, his visions had dictated his actions. Here was his turn to reclaim control.
The helmet, cast against black rocks, struck a more sinister figure than ever.
Ghost-Felix wanted Felix to put it on. Wanted to merge.
But Felix was holding Loren as if he alone mattered.
Perhaps there was a different end to this story, after all.
A kinder end. One where Felix picked Loren over any shiny helmet.
One that kept them together. One that protected Felix from the truth .
This was Loren’s crossroads. Whatever set him on this path had meant for it to end here, with him turning to find that someone had chosen him, too.
Relief sank slowly into his bones. Ghost-Felix had made one thing clear: Loren could change the outcome of his visions. He had a choice. So long as he chose not to tell Felix about the helmet, its power would stay dormant, and they – and the city – would be safe.
‘If I said I could see the future,’ Loren said, words a shaky gust against Felix’s mouth, ‘how would you respond? Would you call me mad?’
‘I’d say you dragged me up here to tell me what I already knew.’ Their noses brushed. ‘You aren’t mad, Loren. Strange. Brilliant. But not mad.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in magic.’
‘I don’t,’ said Felix. ‘But I believe you.’
He withdrew and stood. Gravel tumbled loose as he picked his way to collect the helmet. On the return trip, he paused, offering his hand. Loren blinked, brain turned to mush.
‘Let’s go home,’ Felix said.
It sounded like a promise.