Chapter 27
Third Wheel
E
Night falls in sluggish, cautious shifts over the forest. Amber and garnet leaves dim to deeper shades of wine, rust, and plum.
The last ribbons of sunlight withdraw from the canopy, leaving the vault overhead bruised and shadowed.
The river’s surface darkens to black, its current catching the first hints of starlight between the branches like scales on a snake’s back.
Day birds fall quiet, replaced by the low, throaty calls of unseen creatures and the soft skitter of paws through the underbrush.
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 a hammer,” 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’s exceptional soup,” 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.”
“Oh?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He looks thrilled—so thrilled in fact that my stomach plunges. “I can actually punch you now. Or stab you. You think about that before you move on my sister.”
Max drops her gaze to her bowl, biting back a smile. “You two are impossible.”
Nick brushes the exchange off with an evil grin. “According to Mabel’s map, the path will narrow soon, switching from soft soil to more exposed rock. And we’ll lose most of the tree cover halfway up.”
“What’s waiting for us at the top?” I ask.
“That’s where the rebel camp is.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Right across the border to the Summerlands. The Reds can’t cross into that territory to hunt us, not without starting a bigger war.”
Max’s expression turns serious. “But is it safe?”
“As safe as can be.”
The fire cracks softly between us.
“Then we climb,” Max says, her knee brushing mine.
“We climb,” I agree.
After a second refill of soup, I pace away from the fire.
Unfortunately, having a body again also means dealing with its quieter inconveniences, like the sudden and very human need to pee. I push through the low branches until the glow of the fire fades and Max’s and Nick’s voices are nothing but a murmur.
I draw in the damp hints of moss and riverstone clogging the air. The ground yields beneath the soles of my shoes. Soil compresses. Pine needles shift. I glance down at the faint impressions I’ve left behind.
Evidence of my existence.
Each step is a small declaration that I’m here. I head farther still, into the thicket, and stand in the dark a moment longer than necessary, listening to the night breathe. The strange, heady comfort of being bound to gravity again tickles along my spine.
After I rejoin the comfort of firelight, we chat for a few more minutes before Nick climbs to his feet.
“I’m going to bed.” He raises a brow at his twin. “And you should, too.”
The tent they packed has enough room for me, but there’ll be no way to talk to Max in such close quarters—not with her brother lying right beside us.
“In a minute,” Max answers. “Contrary to you… I didn’t spend all of last night reading,” she teases him.
He smiles at that and heads toward the tent.
The fire burns low, reduced to a steady glow and the occasional soft crack of sap in the wood.
The cold night air slips beneath the flimsy fabric of my shirt, threads through the seams, and nips at my fingers and ears.
Max shifts closer without looking at me, her shoulder touching mine, then her thigh.
I open my arm, and she folds into me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
We go still for a breath. Alone at last.
“Nick is right. We should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow,” Max says.
“I’m not tired.”
I’m a little sore from the walk, but the sensation is divine.
It means I’m grounded enough in life to bear the brunt of a tiring day, and that’s exhilarating.
My skin prickles with excitement. The few and far-between moments I managed to touch Max back at the house were nothing compared to the vividness of our embrace now.
They were nothing compared to our walk here, or to the sensation of the sun caressing my skin.
I feel incredible, almost overstimulated, as we huddle together on the flat rock, our fronts warmed by the coals, our backs claimed by the night.
“You’re shaking,” I whisper, my mouth near her temple.
“So are you,” she breathes back. “You must be freezing without a jacket. I should ask Nick if he brought a spare—”
I pull her tighter against my chest. “Let him sleep. As long as you’re near, I’m perfect.”
The tip of her nose grazes my jaw. Every point of contact is startlingly clear—the press of her knee against mine, the curve of her hip, the slow rise and fall of her ribs.
I could stay here forever, but Max yawns.
“Let’s go to bed, little fox,” I say softly, and she nods.
We head to the tent, arm in arm. Nick’s breaths are already slow and regular at the back as Max shuffles in.
She sits on the thin mattress and unzips her sleeping bag until it becomes more of a duvet. “We only have two of these, but I can share,” she whispers, her tone hovering between timid and playful.
I crawl in next to her, careful not to jostle the tent poles.
Nick is stretched along the far side of the canvas wall with one arm flung over his head.
Max peels off her jacket to make herself a pillow and settles in the middle, leaving the narrow space closest to the entrance for me.
I ease down onto the ground and join her under the cover.
The tight space is delicious.
Lady is curled at our feet in her carrier, her loud purring filling the silence. We don’t speak, but Max’s breathing hitches when I graze the nape of her neck with my lips.
The flames within her glow faintly where our skin meets, and I trace absent patterns along the collar of her shirt, watching the fire respond.
I graze her long, fiery braid, her slender shoulder, the small of her back, drawing patterns on her skin again and again to prove to myself that I’m not dreaming.
She trembles when I follow the shape of her waist to her hip, and I wrap one arm around her midriff to pull her closer.
The silence between us feels different. Almost sacred.
I’ve spent so many nights inches from her, wishing I could do this.
The hungry, reckless need that ends in scorching kisses and ragged breaths burns in my throat, but it’s met with something softer.
This isn’t the kind of hold that spirals anywhere, but a slow, grounding embrace.
The shape of her presses against me, and the raw, disbelieving relief of being allowed to hold her inflates my chest.
My traitorous mind wanders—to a plush mattress by the hearth, to the slow peel of layers that comes before a different kind of embrace. To Nickolas Bloodsinger being far, far away, out of earshot and out of mind.
But this is enough for tonight.