Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Everything goes dark.
Cold.
Prickly.
Then: “Well, that was entirely too close of a call.”
I blink rapidly, coming to. I feel my wrist stir when Byron’s hand starts moving—the one still attached to mine by a ribbon. We turn our heads towards each other slowly, as if waking from a dream.
The remark came from a weary Mrs. Shaheen, who crouches next to me with a cup of tea. “Here you go, to help with the dizziness.”
I accept the cup, then eye it suspiciously. “Uh …”
“Normal tea, drop of honey, two sugars. No funny business going on in that tiny cup.” She extends another one to Byron, who just sat up himself. “You, too.”
“Thanks,” he tells her groggily before taking a sip.
“The both of you will need to rest for a while. Also, I want a full report later on, simply to ease my curiosity. Was it more terrifying? More fascinating? Or were you far too distracted by your wanton lust to notice?”
Byron snorts in his teacup, then gives her a polite smile. “I … think it was more terrifying than anything.”
Her eyes narrow. “Terrifying. Interesting.”
You’d think she was disappointed by the answer.
I lean back against the foot of the couch, cradling my teacup as I think about what I’ve done. All of our actions seem to roll before my eyes, like some kind of twisted sports replay. I feel shame. Fear. Uncertainty.
But mostly … “I don’t ever want to put Byron in danger like that again. It was foolish. We shouldn’t have done that in the first place.”
“I had to,” says Byron. “I would do anything for you. And though some people only truly mean that to a certain reasonable extent, apparently my ‘reasonable extent’ includes going to Hell and back for you.” He gazes at me fondly. “I love you, Griffin.”
“Also, if I may,” adds Mrs. Shaheen, “you won’t have to do it again, since you’ve returned safely from the task. The ghost obviously cooperated, after all.”
I stare into my tea, which I still haven’t sipped.
My silence speaks volumes.
Byron looks at me with alarm. “Griffin? You did get him to relinquish your whole soul back, right?”
I can’t look at either of them.
I feel like I’m being strangled. How do I say this?
“Griffin …?”
“H-Halloween.”
Byron squints. “What? What about Halloween?”
“The date we agreed to.” I clear my throat. “For him to let go. Of … Of his half of my soul. Halloween.”
A cold silence falls over the room. I swear the cold even steals every last bit of steam that’s trying to emit from the teacup in my hand I still haven’t tasted.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” says Byron.
I still can’t meet his eyes. “I’m not.”
“Why?”
“He … He needs it right now. West is looking for a girl he loved … a girl named Nina, whom he never had a chance to confess his feelings for before he died.”
Byron isn’t letting up one bit. “What the hell does he need half of your soul for to do that?”
“He says it helped him get out of this apartment. Maybe it gives him strength. Or it lets him transport to wherever he wants, like we did. He’s at a library right now. The girl Nina, she died, too. Just this past summer. Westley is … trying to find her, I guess.” I fidget with the teacup. “I told him he has until Halloween.”
“But do you have until Halloween?” snaps Byron.
I turn to him, alarmed by his tone. “Babe …”
He’s on his feet at once, storming away. I rise from the floor, then lean against the couch and almost spill my tea, feeling dizzy and weak. He goes for the closet where he angrily fishes out his jacket he keeps here.
“Byron,” I try again. “Please hear me out.”
He thrusts his jacket on in a rage. “If you aren’t going to do the responsible thing here, then I guess I’ll have to, because I sure as hell am not gambling your mortal soul on the whim of some selfish, lovesick ghost you apparently prioritize over your fiancé.”
My jaw drops. “B-Byron. I didn’t—”
“I’ve put up with Westley for long enough. I’ve put up with him even before I realized I was putting up with him, apparently—when you kept him a secret from me. But no more. It’s gone too far.” He heads to the door.
“Where are you going?”
He opens it, then looks at me, pain in his eyes. “To my dads,” he answers through a shaky voice. “The ones who will know what to do about this.”
I stare at him imploringly, but no words come.
He shuts the door behind him on his way out. I listen to his footsteps fading down the stairs outside.
What do I do now?
I collapse onto the arm of the couch, defeated, cup of tea still in hand. My heart is thrumming and heavy. I am drenched from one end to the other with guilt that has my eyes feeling like lodestones, unable to be lifted off the floor.