Page 105 of Haunted Hearts

We fall silent at this discovery. All this time we’d hoped that Fulton would be weakening if he didn’t have the Brotherhood’s help. Yet, the warlock is doing fine without them. Heat rises in my cheeks as anger blossoms in my chest.

Brock’s jaw ticks. “I’ll go back in a few hours to check to see if the barrier is growing any weaker. Fulton will have to continue to refresh the Death Magic or, just like any magic the living use, it will fade. He’s bound to weaken.”

“The risk to you getting captured increases if he continues to see you,” Kwil scowls, deep in thought. “Maybe you should hold off on returning for a bit.”

Brock had no such desire to wait. He returned to the Realm of the Living five hours later, just as he’d said.

For the next two days, the reaper goes back and forth, giving us updates on his findings. So far, Fulton hasn’t weakened but there is still no sign of the Brotherhood. It’s only a matter of time before Fulton has to leave the house and the protection of his wards.

Today, I ignored all talks of Fulton. Instead, I sit in silence thinking of Willow and what she must be going through. Yesterday, the terror subsided and never came back. The piece of her soul that I hold onto hasn’t given off a single hint as to what she’s feeling. It scares me. At least her terror lets me know she’s here. Without it… Well, it’s incredibly lonely. I half expect the agony that comes with our separation, like when we were back in the Realm of the Living. It doesn’t come. And of course it doesn’t. Willow’s here, all around us, in the Realm of the Dead. She’s notgone,she’s just intangible.

If I’m feeling lonely, even with the others around, I can’t begin to imagine how Willow must feel out there on her own. I hate that the most. With every bone in my body, I wish I could tell her we’re here.

I squeeze my eyes shut and picture my time with Willow when we had been on the run from Theo, Viktor, and Kwil after she’d been stabbed. In those quiet, shared moments together in the dark, I found myself falling deeply, and irrevocably in love with her. Despite the pain she’d been in, she looked out for me, listened to my stories of my time in the cave and before it, and she held me when I woke up shaking and covered in sweat from nightmares. The emotions that had engulfed me then, have grown over the time we’ve been together. I focus on that warm, fuzzy feeling inside of me and try to amplify it.

Willow still doesn’t return. A soft groan escapes from me as my headache becomes too painful to ignore.

“You good over there?”

I jump at the sound of Kwil’s voice coming from the other end of the bed. When I lift my head from my knees, I find him face down in his pillow. It’s nearly noon and sunlight is spilling into the room. Both of us have been up most of the night and should be sleeping, but I guess that’s not in the cards for either of us.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

There’s a pause and I think Kwil’s going to drop it. I bow my head, ready to press my brow against my knees to help with the ache.

“Want to talk about it?”

I frown. “I think we’re all kind of thinking the same thing these past few days. Is there a point to echoing our thoughts?” I sigh. “This feels endless.”

Kwil lifts his head and glares over at me. “Don’t you dare lose hope.”

Quickly, I shake my head in earnest. “Never.”

Content with my response Kwil lowers his head back down into his pillow. I hesitate for a second before adding. “I-I was trying to funnel my feelings to Willow through our connection. You know, like how we can sense her fear?”

Kwil grunts before muttering through his pillow, “Or lack of it.”

So, he’s noticed it too.

“It can’t hurt trying to let her know we’re here and we love her, right?”

Kwil doesn’t answer. He flips onto his back and puts his hands behind his head. His eyes lock onto the tall ceiling.

“No. It can’t, Jonah.” His jaw ticks. “That’s a good idea. I’ll do that, too.”

Good. Maybe with the two of us, she’ll actually get the picture.

* * *

On the tenth day, Willow returns.

As we sit, or pace, around the room trying our hardest to pull her soul back to us, a hard wind rattles the glass in the windows, causing all of us to jump in surprise.

“What in the hell was that?” Viktor demands.

Brock shakes his head slowly, “I don’t—”

“I-I’m home.” The sound of Willow’s voice, though weak, is more jarring than the blast of wind that hit the windows again.

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