My ribs hurt from laughing so hard, and I continued down our path to the library. “I like the scarecrows on the sidewalks this year. Much better than the skeletons from last Halloween.”
Shiloh shook her head, ignoring my autumnal musings. “Why would I ever have done such a thing? I couldn’t fathom seeing you and not just being on my knees at your beauty.”
“Oh, you are such a charmer, aren’t you? I swear it’s true. You were hauling some wooden coffin on a rickety wheelbarrow. I’d dropped my tote of library books and was picking them up off the street. You lost control, going downhill, and yelled at me to get out of the way.”
“I’m such an idiot.” She held her forehead. “I remember now. You fell out of the way, and I ran over your books.”
“And your coffin crashed into a streetlamp and broke into pieces.” I giggled. “You ignored it, though, and rushed over to help me up and see if I was okay.”
“God, you probably thought I was such a fool.”
“No, I thought you had beautiful eyes.”
Shiloh cupped my jaw with one hand, and I leaned into her warm, sunshine touch. She looked as if she were about to saysomething, and a part of me wanted to hear it so, so badly. But another part just couldn’t let myself, so I interrupted the moment. “We’re here. No talking in the library.”
“That’s not a real rule,” she countered, following after me.
It was always an effort not to laugh like a little child constantly around Shiloh. Many nights I went to bed with my cheeks hurting from how much she made me smile and laugh throughout the day. That was wrong, right? Like I said to her once already, I was supposed to be in mourning. Mourning my late fiancé. Mourning the life I thought I’d have as a wife, someone that a person would choose to come home to, someone worth caring for. Alaric was Hollows Grove’s most eligible bachelor. Wealthy, important, and an upstanding citizen and man. He could have had any woman he wanted, but for some reason, he proposed to me. I was lucky, I guessed.
My ghostly companion and I split ways inside the library. The “cookbooks” I pulled from the veiled shelf weren’t providing any new “recipes” for me to experiment with. Really, for as much magical knowledge existed in the realms, not much was documented about poltergeists. There were plenty of books on ghosts, but that’s just because ghosts were more common and frequently occurring. People were always dying; souls were always restless or caught in between their passings. Everyone had a ghost story or knew someone who did. Poltergeists, though, well, I wondered if they were often mislabeled as something malevolent.
Finally, as I ran my finger down an off-colored page in a book of spirits and their charms, I landed on an interesting passage.
“Noisy, unruly spirits or ghosts can often be labeled a poltergeist, though not much is known about this specification of spirit. Their desire uniformly appears to be both seen, heard, and sometimes to touch or be touched. Throughout history,these forces are often difficult to distinguish past what history would call angels or demons.”
“Huh.” I rubbed my chin. The wordangelhadn’t occurred to me. Certainly not the title of demon. Though, historically, us witches knew there wasn’t much difference between the two. Holding the book to my chest, I ventured out in search of the ghost, demon, poltergeist, angel, spirit called Shiloh. I discovered her in the periodical section, holding up a large, unfolded grey page—my dead fiancé’s face staring at me in black and white ink.
“Sir Alaric Benjamin Lonesome,” Shiloh read. “Heir of the Lonesome family fortune. Alaric Lonesome was a prominent member of society and chair of the town’s poker board for two decades. Alaric was a figurehead in local Hollows Grove high society and frequently hosted cards and poker competitions with proceeds donated to charity.”
In that moment, I realized I didn’t even know his middle name.Benjamin. Hm. So plain.
Shiloh tilted the paper downward. “Sounds like a pillar of the community, that Alaric Lonesome. A real stand-up chap with an expertly styled mustache.”
The corner of my lip curved. “Check the back page, yours is there.”
“Ah, yes, I’d love to read my obituary. A gift one does not often receive, right?” She licked her finger and flipped to the last page, her eyes twinkling in delight as she scanned the page. Her smile faded, and her brows furrowed.
“Shiloh? Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Clearing her throat, she folded the paper and placed it back in its file cabinet. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Somewhat… Shiloh, did your obituary upset you?” I pressed, putting a gentle palm on her shoulder. “I can help you find your old life. Your old house, friends, anything you want?—“
With a huff, she shook her head. “No, Lunette, that’s not what I want.”
With a more steely expression than usual, she passed me, leaving me following after.
“The moon’s almost out. Time to head to the graveyard.”
“Shiloh, talk to me. Slow down and let’s talk.”
“Do we need to stop and get your wedding dress first? What am I saying? Of course, we do. Veil and all. Not complete without the veil. Ready for your man. Mr. Upstanding Pillar of the Community, to crawl from the soil and waltz you down a cursed aisle into holy undead matrimony.”
I stopped, my heart dropping. Shiloh turned on her heel and groaned. “Lune, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to snap at you. It’s just…” She ran a frazzled hand through her curls. “All this… ” She gestured around. “All this for him?”
“He was my fiancé. I owe this to him.”
“You don’t owe him shit. Living or dead.”
