Page 120 of The Cursed Fae

Astrid slammed the door shut with a gust of air, denying the gossip mongers their evening’s entertainment. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession as she pushed past Laz to reach me.

“It’s okay, Winter,” she said in a soothing voice, like I was hurt and hadn’t realized it.

Am I in shock? I wondered.

“Who were you talking to?” Laz demanded.

If looks could kill, Astrid’s glare would’ve dropped him where he stood.

“Archer,” I whispered. “He was just... here.” A part of me must’ve known the truth. I still refused to accept the obvious. “He was standing right there.”

“Do you mean Archer Tycott?” Astrid asked slowly.

I shrugged. “I don’t know his last name.”

“Dark blond hair, charm for days, lackadaisical attitude toward life?”

I managed a nod.

“Oh, sweetie.” She looked so sad, like I should sit before she continued. My stare wore her down, and she whispered words my ears immediately wanted to unhear. “Archer Tycott died five years ago.”

The signs had been there from our very first encounter in the hallway. He had seemed surprised when I’d talked to him. The reaction had been because I saw him at all. Aside from the astrology attic, I’d only encountered him in a few places. It had always looked like he was with friends. Of course, in hindsight, it was easy to make it seem that way when I was the only one who saw his ghost haunting our hallowed halls.

A part of me must’ve suspected something was off when I asked him to show me how to use dimensional magic, and he’d refused. Everyone else used their powers openly, proudly.

All the times he’d stood me up for our study sessions, I’d been wearing Nana’s necklace. With her spell, I wouldn’t have known if Archer came.

How did I not realize that?

Everything was painfully obvious in retrospect. Tina was right—I really was the worst Sable fae ever. What was the point of having the gift of sight if I couldn’t tell the difference between the living and the dead?

In the cemetery, Nana had asked how I knew Missy was a ghost. It had been such a weird question at the time; I’d just assumed all spirits came through equally translucent and icy. How naïve of me... particularly when I had such a small reference pool.

Compared to Missy, Archer had been solid. And warm. His arms had weight when they held me. His muscles had rippled beneath my palm. I had felt something when we kissed, something more than the physical act that shouldn’t have been possible.

Tears soaked my pillow as Laz stroked my tangled hair. Astrid had left to get tea. He was being impossibly nice about the situation, considering he must’ve heard my side of the argument. Most guys would’ve wondered why their sort of girlfriend was arguing with another dude.

“How long have you been seeing him?” Laz demanded, straining to keep the emotion from his question.

At first, I misunderstood. I thought he meant it in a romantic sense. After a mini-panic attack, I realized Laz was asking about Archer’s ghost.

“Since I got to campus,” I admitted, wiping my eyes. “He was just sitting on a bench in the hallway near your dad’s office.”

Laz’s hand stilled. “You didn’t know he was—”

“Dead?” I rolled over to look up at him. “No. He’s not like the others.”

Storm clouds overtook his expression. “What others?” he asked.

I lacked the energy to lie. “This guy I met at the cove when I first tried to summon Ray. He seemed to be a ghost. The night our spell went wrong, all the ghosts that showed up were see-through. And, well... Missy.”

Laz peered down at me, mouth agape. “She’s still around?”

Cold rushed into the room, covering me with goosebumps. From the corner of my eye, I saw Missy’s outline appear. I shouldn’t have looked. Had Laz said even a few more words, I might’ve known better.

He followed my gaze and climbed off the bed. “Hello, Melissa.”

Missy’s beautiful face contorted with rage.

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