Page 14 of Ghosted AF
It took him a couple of minutes, but eventually, he found my treasure chest buried at the bottom of the pile and brought it to me.
“Is this it?”
Nodding, I took it from him and unhooked the latch to open the lid. A wave of nerves washed over me, and I hesitated for a moment before turning the box around so Caius could see my collection.
“Is it weird?” I muttered, staring down at my feet.
“Is what weird?”
“My treasures.”
“Not if it means something to you,” he answered easily as he plucked the feather out and held it up to the light by the shaft. “Yep, this is it.”
“Cool.” I tilted my head. “What is it?”
“It’s a phoenix feather.”
He said it as if that should mean something to me. It didn’t. “Mykal was a phoenix?”
“Is,” Caius corrected. “He’s not dead.” Looking away from the feather, he met my gaze and held it. “There is no ghost.”
“I didn’t say anything.” I mean, I’d thought it, but that was different. “I’m still going to need you to explain what the hell is going on, though.”
“You know the phoenix legends, right?”
I didn’t know why he asked. According to him, everything I thought I knew was wrong.
“When they die, they burst into flames and are reborn,” I ventured. “Is that right?”
“Close enough.” Carrying the feather to the bed, he placed it gently in the center of the navy comforter and took a step back. “Every couple of decades, phoenixes go through a renewalphase. It’s kind of like a bird molting its feathers, but more dramatic.”
“That’s interesting and all, but I still don’t understand. What does that have to do with the gh—with Mykal?”
“There’s a sort of transition period. The body burns away, leaving the spirit displaced. Without an anchor, it becomes trapped.”
“And the feather is the anchor,” I guessed. It still sounded like a ghost to me, but whatever. “So, everything that has been happening, that’s just Mykal’s spirit trying to get back to its anchor?”
“Correct.”
“And it’s all my fault.”
Caius looked at me, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know.”
Maybe not, but I still felt like an asshole. “What happens now?”
He rejoined me at the foot of the bed, slipping his arm around my waist and tucking me against his side. “Hopefully, the spirit will reattach.”
Though the temperature of the room had returned to normal, chilled by the conditioned air that pumped from the vents, Caius felt so damn warm. Heat penetrated the thin cotton of my tee where his hand rested on my hip, tripping my pulse and making it difficult to breathe.
Though hyperaware of his closeness, I kept my attention on the feather, watching, waiting for something to happen. I wasn’t disappointed.
A warm breeze rushed past me, tickling my nape and mussing my hair, then swirled toward the ceiling to make the fan blades spin. The gold veins of the quill began to glow, the light soft at first but growing in brightness and intensity until it illuminated the entire room.
Tendrils of red and orange smoke began to curl from the end, and sparks crackled around the edges. As it neared its crescendo, a muffled pop echoed through the room, and a single flame flashed briefly, turning the once beautiful feather into a small pile of ashes on my bed.
Concerned, I turned to Caius. “Was that supposed to happen?”
“Look,” he said, drawing me closer to the mattress.
