The world was lost. He didn't know where he was. He couldn't feel anything. Life continued on around him, but it was blurry and distant, as if he were surrounded by a thick fog. He couldn't see anything. Anything but her.

All he could see was her.

He knew that he was dead. The way that he had once known the difference between waking and dreaming. But this wasn't much of an afterlife. Away from her there was nothingness. He seemed to only exist at her side. Time was infinite. Infinitely slow. Infinitely fast.

He could remember his life. He had scrabbled out a living, working the rough as a laborer. He spent his meager wages at the pub, dulling his aches, his desires, so that he could stomach another day.

He couldn't remember his death. He tried concentrating on it, but it was as much a fog as his current existence. Like the worst hangover he had ever had. He could recall nothing.

In the least, he wished he could remember her. The beautiful redhead. The only one he could see clearly. Had he loved her once? Had he mistreated her? Who was she?

He didn't know how long he had been watching her. It felt like forever. It was boring for the most part. He watched her eat, he watched her sleep, he watched her brush her teeth. He watched her fix her little bird-like meals, and her strange communal exercise routine. He watched her smile at nearly everything. Until she was alone and she wasn't smiling anymore. Until she was crying from a depth of sadness he didn't think he could ever understand.

He could hear her speak, but almost nothing else, listening to half conversations. At times, something other than her would cut through the fog---her lover's arms, one of her drinking companions, her dog---but he had long given up his attempts to connect with anyone but her. No one could reach him but her.

There was only her. His entire world was her.

?Go away.?

He knew the words were meant for him. He could see her blind eyes trying to look at him as she said it, trying to see him. Go away. The words echoed around him, as if she had shouted them into the desolate canyon of his existence. Go away. If he had a heart, the words would have made it ache. Go away.

There was no where to go.

He followed her still, though he tried to keep his distance. Given the choice between nothingness and exile, he would choose exile every time. So he lingered at the edge of her aura, close enough so he could still feel his own presence, but far enough so that perhaps he wouldn?t be a bother.

Yet he felt her reaching out to him, heard her trying to speak with him, as if she wanted to connect. And he wanted so desperately to connect.

Go away, she said.

Help me, he whispered back.

Nothing had changed, but everything had changed. He still felt dead. He knew he was dead. But she could see him! She could hear him! ?I would hug you if I could, love, really I would!?

?You--would hug me?? She looked confused

?I near gave up trying to talk to you. Been so bloody bored. Oof, you got no idea.? He laughed again, his ghostly body pacing back and forth in front of her.

She tried to interject gently. ?So, look--?

?I can?t figure why I?m here with you. I been racking my mind about it, and I got nothing.? Now that he had someone to talk to, he couldn?t stop talking.

?You don?t--you don?t remember me?? She raised a brow, looking up at him in the darkness with her clear blue eyes.

He shook his head. ?Nah. Should I? Do you know me??

She stared a moment, then shook her head. ?No, I?ve never met you before.?

He stopped his ghostly pacing and turned to look at her. ?What?s your name, lovely??

?It?s Lucy. Lucy Mitford.?

He shook his head. ?Doesn?t jog the noggin.?

?What?s your name??

?Can?t remember that either.? He made a move like he was going to put his hand in his coat pockets. ?Last thing I remember is getting pissed on a cold night.?

?So--so--so you don?t remember--how--how--? She couldn?t even get the words out as she watched the ghost.

?How I kicked the bucket? Nah, no. It?s bloody blank, really.? He gestured to his head and then shrugged.

Lucy still stared. ?You don?t remember.? Her eyes filled with tears.

He frowned looking at her. ?Are you crying? Oh no, love. Don?t cry. Don?t--? The ghost moved towards her trying to cross the circle of salt as if his ghostly body could reach for her. But all he could do was kneel before her, outside the circle of protection, and whisper quietly in an attempt to soothe her. ?It?ll be alright. We?ll make it right. We?re partners in this aren?t we? We?ll make this right. Shush now, love. Don?t cry. Please, don?t cry.?

He wanted to hold her. To wipe the tears from her cheeks and brush the damp strands of hair from her face. To wrap his arms around her and keep her steady while she sobbed so hard that she couldn?t breathe.

He could remember his arms. How strong they once were. His muscles made thick from years of labor. But they were useless now. Useless when he finally needed them most. He could offer her no physical comfort.

But he could comfort her in other ways. Whispering quiet reassurances to her. Reminding her to eat, to go out, to keep living in spite of her sadness. Watching over her while she slept. Making sure she wasn?t alone.

His whole life was just a preamble to this. He had no direction before. No purpose. He worked and he drank. And he drank some more. His life, such as he could remember it, was empty. He didn?t care about anyone, and no one cared about him. He had never been needed before. Never been close to anyone, let alone a woman.

She was nothing like the women he'd known in his life. Women willing to put their backs up against the wall for a drink or a few bob. He?d had no use for women before. Pretty pieces to look at, and warm holes to put his dick. He wondered with shame what he would have said to a woman like her. He?d been a vulgar and useless man.

But in his ghostly form his physical desires were gone. He could see that she was beautiful, but he felt no lust for her. He could remember the relief that liquor provided, but he had no thirst. He could remember the weariness of a long day, but he needed no rest. All of his earthly desires had been stripped away.

He had only one purpose now. To take care of her. Lucy.

It scared him just thinking about it. Lucy, prettied like a princess, late at night in the WestEnd. She was like one of those little Wonderland cakes with an ?Eat Me? sign hanging round her neck. ?What would have happened if Dair hadn?t been there??

?I don?t--I don?t know.?

She was hungover. Reg watched her as she took a tentative sip from her bottle of water. ?You got to bloody think, love. Use your noggin.?

?I was drunk.?

?You were thinking about Dair.? He couldn?t keep the accusation from his tone.

She pressed her lips together and said nothing. He could tell she was uncomfortable, but she wasn?t scared herself, and he didn?t know why. He could still hear the catcalls from the night before. ?Hey pretty pretty? they?d said. ?Hey sweet thing.? Even with Dair beside her. It filled him with a fury he could barely contain.

She got up from the couch. ?We?re done talking about this.?

?Like bloody hell, we are.? He followed her towards the bathroom.

Lucy rounded on him in the doorway. ?Look, this may be the first time you?ve contemplated what it?s like to be a woman alone in this city, but it?s not my first time.? She stared at him. There was something in her eyes he?d not seen before, something he couldn?t read, and he took a step back from her while she took a step forward. ?So you don?t need to lecture me--again--about what I did last night. I got it. Okay?? She looked at him a moment, then slammed the bathroom door in his ghostly face.

Reg lingered there, on the other side of the door, a boundary he promised not to cross. ?Well, bloody alright then.? He murmured it half to himself. From his side of the door, he could hear Lucy breathing hard, as if each breath were a strain. He frowned having never heard such sounds from her before. Then he heard the squeak of the bath faucet, and the sound of her was lost.

?Can you tell me?? Reg watched as Lucy went about the business of cleaning up another failed spell. She returned the spell book to the kitchen counter, and doused out the incense.

?Whatever it is, love, you can tell me, can?t you?? Reg followed as Lucy went to the bathroom and started the water running in the sink.

?Is it about me?? He watched her reflection in the mirror. She dampened a white washcloth under the running water and started to wipe the blood from her face and chest.

?I won?t be upset.? The pig?s blood turned the washcloth and the water pink, as the water circled around the drain. Lucy kept her eyes on her own reflection as she washed herself clean.

?I?m sorry. About Dair. Truly, I am.? He watched her for a reaction, but got none as she bent over the sink, splashing water on her face.

?Listen. Lucy. I can help you, maybe. I can--I can listen. At least. At least, let me do that.? He pleaded, quietly. She dried her face on a clean towel, and again looked at her own reflection in the mirror.

?You can?t ignore me forever.? He followed as she returned to the kitchen, opening the back window to air out the scent of incense. On a rooftop across the narrow alley, a crow sat watching, its head tipping to one side.

?Lucy.?

She looked out at the crow.

?Please.?

?Lucy. C?mon.?

?Lucy.?

?Lucy.?

?Lucy.?

Rage.

He was rage.

He was not physical, he had no sense of himself. No sense of being anything or being anywhere. It was worse than before. He was nothingness. No. He was rage.

He had so many questions. Why? Why had she done what she did? Why did she leave him like that? Why did she lie about it? Why didn't she tell him? Why? Why? Why?

He knew she was calling him. He could feel her pulling at him. Begging him.

But he wasn't ready.

Let her stew in it. Let her be miserable. Let her suffer.

His killer. His betrayer. His friend.

The rage was gone. Like a storm that had blown itself out. Fast and fierce. And then suddenly silence.

He could feel her spells, seeking him out. But he resisted them. Even though it was she who had restored him. It was she who put him back together. A full spirit, back in the world of the living. Lucy?s ghost, once more.

But he kept his distance. He never showed her that she had succeeded. He left her alone.

Her suffering was painful to him. So painful that at times it was almost physical. Whatever she had done that night had released him. It had severed the connection that had kept him at her side. But he could still feel her. Like a twin heart inside of him.

He tried not to think of that night. That first night in which fate had brought them together with its chilling hands. He tried not to remember it. For as long as he could, he held onto his rage, focusing only on her, on what she had done to him, on her sins. But eventually the truth came calling.

His memory was clear. He could remember the numbing feel of the snow beneath him. The smell and heat of his blood. The fire of the blade in his belly. The way the night sky had looked above him.

He had been drunk. He could remember the sight of her. How stunning she had looked in the lantern light, with her glowing red hair, her legs in those high heels, her gold jewelry catching the flames. He had never had a rich girl before. And she was alone. He pressed his face into the scarf she had dropped and smelled her scent. He wondered what a rich girl would smell like, what a rich girl would feel like, what a rich girl would taste like. He was hungry. And her very aloneness was an invitation to him. An invitation to a feast.

He wanted to think he was innocent. He wanted to pretend that all he intended to do that night was return her scarf. But the memory was too strong. He couldn?t know what he would have done had she not brought the blade to bear. Maybe he would only have flirted. Maybe he would only have tried, and accepted failure with a genial smile. Or maybe he wouldn?t. He couldn?t know what he would have done. And he was glad that he didn?t.

He knew where she was now. He knew why she was there. He watched her from afar and felt her from within. The prisoner and her ghost.

He thought he could just step back into her life.

All those months, he had left her there alone in her cell. Hardly any visits, hardly any letters. Day after day, week after week. Had Dair been there for her?

No. Dair had not been there for her. Dair had been nowhere.

It was him. Reginald. He was the one who had been there with her. Watching over her. Watching her suffer. Suffering with her.

Sure, he had kept his distance. True, he hadn?t spoken to her, or even let her know he was there. He had avoided her call, and ignored her pleading. But he was with her at least. He looked after her.

Now, Dair had returned and she just let him right back in. After everything he?d done to her. After the way he hurt her. She just accepted his paltry apology. So eager to be in his arms again. It was disgusting.

He watched them. Together in her prison cell. In his apartment. In her bed. The way he cried to her. The way he weaseled his way back into her life. All tears and piss-poor excuses and professions of love.

And now they were spending their nights together. Sharing a bed. Dair. In his place. Where he should be. Taking care of her. Looking out for her.

Reginald had earned that place with her. He had died for it. And now Dair was trying to take it from him again.

He wouldn?t stand for it. Dair never asked for his forgiveness. Dair never asked for his trust. So he?d follow him. Stalk him. Watch him from the shadows and the light. And if he slipped, if he slipped, even for a second, Reginald would be there, and he would see.

And he would tell Lucy.

?Shhh. Don?t cry.?

?Reg? Are you there??

?Aye. I?m here, love.?

?I can?t see you.?

?I?m lying right beside you. Open your eyes.?

?I thought you?d gone away.?

?I didn?t. I tried, but I couldn?t.?

?Do you hate me??

?You?d deserve it if I did.?

?I know.?

?I needed to go for a time.?

?I know.?

?But I?m here now. I always was.?

?Dair?s gone--he?s gone away again.?

?I know it, love. I know it.?

?You were right.?

?Shh. Close your eyes now.?

?Will you be gone again? When I wake up??

?No. Not again.?

?I don?t know if I?m dreaming. I don?t want to be dreaming.?

?You?re not dreaming, you silly bit. Close your eyes.?

?Stay with me.?

?I?d hold you if I could.?

?Then just pretend.?

?Aye. Just pretend.?

?What if I promise?? Reginald watched Lucy on the other side of her open doorway, held back by the rock salt lining her threshold and protecting her loft beyond.

?Promise?? Lucy looked skeptical, arms around her waist, holding herself as she watched her ghost.

?That I won?t come round when your man?s here.?

?Reg--?

?Won?t bother him none at all. Won?t bother him anywhere.?

Lucy sighed and looked away.

?Come on, Lucy love. He?s not even here all the time, is he? Got his own place and all.?

Lucy pressed her lips together and looked down. Her new kitten was weaving in and out of her legs, rubbing her furry little body against Lucy?s ankles while watching Reginald with disdain.

?You?re still lonely, ain?t ya? I know it. I know you are.?

?I?m not lonely.? Lucy pouted and looked at him.

?Aye, you are. You?re lonely.? Reginald smiled faintly, sympathy and affection in his eyes. ?You think I don?t know you by now??

She looked down again, saying nothing.

?Oi, darling. I been watching you so long. I know you just as good as he do. I know every look you got.? Reginald watched her, the tremble in her lower lip, in her chin, the way her arms tightened around herself, as if she were trying to hold herself together. ?I don?t talk as pretty as he do, but I know you just the same. I know you better.?

?I don?t know.?

?Just let me in, love. On my honor, I?ll be good.?

Lucy looked up at him, into his ghostly transparent eyes. She shifted her weight, and took a deep breath. Then, slowly, she reached forward with the toe of her boot, and she broke the line of salt.

She stepped aside to let in her ghost and closed the door behind him as if he were any other visitor. ?Are you going to tell me how you learned to knock??

?Later, love.? Reginald drifted towards the couch. ?Never seen this episode of Friends before.?

She sniffed a laugh as she watched him settle in, as much as a ghost could, and then she moved to join him.

?Oh, bollocks! This is complete bollocks and you know it!?

?It--it might not be like this forever. It could--it could change.?

?Oh, what? When he?s feeling generous? When he grants his by your leave??

?When things get better--for us.?

?So I?m just supposed to step aside? I?m just supposed to disappear until his balls aren?t in a twist??

?I didn?t--?

?It isn?t right, Lucy. It isn?t---you can?t right get rid of me! You can?t--?

?I?m not trying to--?

?--get rid of me, I?m a part of you. I?m a part--you feel it, don?t you love? You feel me inside you, I know you do!?

?I--?

?Try to deny it, just try. It?s utter bollocks.?

?I?m not denying it. I?m not. I can--I feel the connection between us--?

?So? Then! You see it can?t be done!?

?--I can feel the connection between us. But with Dair--I can--I can actually feel him.?

?---?

?Do you understand? Reg??

?Yeah.?

?It?s not that I don?t--but it would never work--it could never--it can never be.?

?--what if it could--?

?Reg--?

?What if it could? What if I could? I had you--I had you on the carousel. What if I could touch you again??

?It?s not enough. It?s not--it?s not enough.?

?Lucy--?

?I?m sorry. I?m so sorry.?

?--I said I?d never leave you--I gave you my word--my solemn oath--and I won?t--?

?--Reg--?

?--I won?t ever stop. You want me to go away then fine--fine--I'll leave you be--but--but I won't ever stop trying, love. I won't. I won't. I won't.?

She looked like a ghost.

Pale in the dim light of the loft. Adrift in the open space.

He had seen it end. The two of them. Lucy and Dair. Watching them through the window. The way they sat on the couch. Not touching. Her holding a pillow. Him leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Until she was crying. And then they were holding hands for the last time. Saying goodbye.

She packed a box of his things. A pair of boots. A few shirts. Jeans. A book or two. A toothbrush.

He watched her from the inside out. Felt the emptiness. The grief. Another failed relationship. Charlie. Colin. Dair.

She slept in the closet. Turned off her phone. Told Martta not to come.

He lingered at the outskirts. Struggling at the salt barriers that kept him from going to her. Feeling everything. But kept away.

Eat something, he thought. Drink something. And she would. Before retreating to the closet again.

This was what he?d wanted wasn?t it? For Dair to be gone? But not like this. Why didn?t he think it would be like this?

He went to find Fin. Followed him. Tried, somehow to communicate to him. Go to her. Please, go to her. But the bloke couldn?t even bloody see him.

Day one. Day two.

Shower, he thought. And she did. Then retreated to the closet.

He lingered at the windows. To see what he could already feel.

She listened to the album on repeat. Shirley Horn. Softly.

Love brings such misery and pain
I guess I'll never be the same
since I fell for you.

Day three.

Feed the cat, he thought. Feed the fish. And she did.

Day four. Day five.

She looked like a ghost.

Alone. Adrift.

Just like him.

He left the first gift on a Wednesday. On her desk where he knew she?d find it. A shimmering black feather, its hints of iridescent green picking up the light.

Other gifts followed. A fragrant sprig of rosemary, a single blue bloom clinging despite the cold. A shiny copper coin. A pine cone.

This morning a gleaming white stone, worn smooth by untold years of a river?s caress. Reginald watched as Lucy knelt to pick it up from where he?d left it on the doorstep. He liked watching her expressions when she didn?t know she was being watched. Confusion at first. Curiosity. Then pleasure, her pink lips turning up, just barely, at the corners.

He would have left her love notes if he could. But even could he write, he wasn?t clever enough to write words worthy of her. He envied those who could. Jack with his Shakespeare. Fin with his ability to coo her to tears.

?How do you get them here?? She?d asked him once.

?Magic,? he teased.

And in a way, it was magic. He recalled how Serah had described it that night on the porch of the Inn. Seeing beyond the veil, she?d said. He wasn?t sure exactly what she?d meant, but instinctively that seemed to describe his existence. As if he were just there, on the other side of a shimmering curtain from Lucy and the living world. He need only concentrate to reach through. To reach her.

When he concentrated, he could touch things. He could carry them some distance, even. The light feather had been easiest. The stone a challenge. The smaller the item and the lighter the touch, the easier the task.

In the tangled year that had passed between them, he?d thought about leaving her. About finding someone else to haunt. But how could he? His life had been empty. His mum and da gone. No mates. No wife. No one who meant anything to him. In that one act, she?d created the only profound human connection that he had. That one act of killing him.

He touched her as much as he could. Holding her hand as they walked side by side. Kissing her hair in the morning. Stroking her cheek as she fell asleep.

It wasn?t enough though. She shivered sometimes. Or brushed her arm as if a fly had landed there instead of his fingers. His touch was ghostly.

It wasn?t enough.

?Did you ever think about getting married?? Lucy finished retying her hair in a messy bun, then sank back into the hot water of the bathtub. ?Having kids??

?Nah.? Reg watched the steam rise around her, the way the light drew shimmering lines across her wet skin. ?Weren?t that kind of man, love.?

?Really?? Lucy?s brows raised. ?You never thought about settling down??

?Iffin I had a good lass, I might?ve.? He bounced his brows at her.

She laughed, watching him, and then she reached for her glass of scotch.

He could remember the feel of piping hot water. The taste of cheap whiskey, of tobacco. The feel of a woman?s skin. But he didn?t crave it anymore. The world of the living was lost to him.

When he reached for it, when he reached for the living world, he was only reaching for her.

?Can see it with you.? Reg tipped his head back as if he were leaning against the bathroom wall. He felt nothing behind him though. ?Little carrot-topped sweeties running about.?

Lucy smiled, watching him a moment. Then she leaned to trade her scotch with a pack of cigarettes from the small table beside the tub. ?God forbid we have a couple of boys, they?d be nothing but wild trouble-makers.?

?Aye, s?truth.? He chuckled, watching as she tapped the cigarette on the pack. Her hand trembled as she brought the cigarette to her lips, her upper body hanging over the edge of the tub. He frowned at her. ?You shouldn?t smoke so much, love.?

?Helps me keep my figure.? Her smile suggested humor, but Reg knew she was only half joking. She reached for her gold-plated lighter, but it immediately slipped from her damp fingers and went skittering across the floor in Reg?s direction.

Lucy sank back into the water, pulling her unlit cigarette from her lips so she could sigh.

Reg looked at the lighter. Without thinking about the movement, he was there beside it. He concentrated until his ghostly fingers caught hold of the lighter, the small gold object moving with his will towards her in the tub. ?Just trying to keep you healthy, love. Want you living a long life. A good life.?

She reached to take the lighter from him, her fingers capturing it as if from midair, even though she could see their hands touching.

He felt nothing. There was no sensation when their fingers met. There was nothing. He looked at her.

?Reg.? Her fingers closed around the lighter, her eyes shimmering with emotion.

?I know, love.? He sank beside the tub. ?I know.?

She was dreaming about Dair again.

Reginald hovered. He watched while Lucy dozed, a fashion magazine fallen to her chest, her hair ruffled by a spring breeze. And he could see the dream too. He could watch and feel her sleep-filled thoughts. And there. There was Dair again.

It was always something small. The smallest of desires. Dair appearing to complete a simple task. Unhooking her dress. Handing her a cup of coffee. Brushing her cheek.

He had thought, hoped, that Dair would fade away. But for every single dream Reginald shared with Lucy---dreams of love, of the fiery passion they couldn?t share in the living world---there were three dreams of Dair just holding her hand.

Reginald retreated, letting Lucy sleep, watching as she shifted on the couch. The magazine shifted with her, threatening to slip. He watched it, his brow furrowed. It would be so easy to take it from her, to set it aside, where it wouldn?t fall and wake her. So easy, if he were alive. Such a little thing. A little task. And he couldn?t do it.

There were two things he could feel. Two things Reginald could feel in a living, physical sense. He looked down at the first, the bracelet on his wrist. He turned the woven silver with his fingers. It was a gift from Shae, so that Fin could see him, so Fin could speak to him.

?So wha? be yer plan? To hang around her, twistin? her heart more an? more around yer finger until the separation between ye hurts too much to even look at each other??

?I don't have a plan.?

?Ye just want to carry on until? wha?, exactly? Because ye must know tha? this will only end in hurtin? the both o? ye.?

Fin was right. How long could this go on? He could already feel it. The way she ached. In her dreams, he could drown her in love and warmth. But when she woke, it was gone. She was empty. Clinging to a ghost.

Reginald didn?t belong here. Jack had told him. One late night in the winter woods, he had told them both.

?You are here because I allow it.? Behind Jack and all around came the baying of hellish hounds and the snorting whinnies of supernatural horses. Flickering shadows amongst will-o-wisps conjured images of Fae riders and their cu sidhes readying themselves for a hunt. ?I command the Wild Hunt, and you are astray and out of place. Do you understand??

Lucy backed towards Reginald. ?Don't hurt him, Jack. Please.?

The door slammed shut. The window closed. The switch turned off. It was all gone, the trappings of the other world. Sound and fury signifying nothing. Before the pair stood the tall and terribly thin Ribbon Man, whose grin split his face from ear to ear. ?I stay my hand. I fail at my duty for you, dear Lucy. But I watch. I will have my due in time.?

When would it be time? Would there be a time when Jack would come for him?

Reginald pulled the white cashmere scarf from his jacket pocket. He could feel it. This was the second thing. The second thing he could feel. It was soaked in blood. The red as deep as it had been the day he died. He brought the scarf up to his nose, the motion itself a memory of his living body. He couldn?t physically smell it. But the scarf smelled of her. He was sure of it. It smelled of her perfume. Of Lucy.

Reginald knew why she dreamed of Dair. It wasn?t love. It wasn?t because she still loved him. It was life. Dair, for the brief glimpse that they had loved one another, had been alive.

This couldn?t go on. If he loved her---and he did---it had to end. He had to cross the veil. He had to reach her. To touch her. To be alive for her.

And if he couldn?t, he had to go.

By summer?s end, if he didn?t live, he would give himself to Jack, his king, and let him have his due. By summer?s end, he would let go of Lucy.

She was frightened. Reginald watched Lucy across the circle. The furrow of her brow. The pale twist of her hands wringing together. She was frightened. And determined.

?One. Two. Three.?

As soon as he entered the circle, the world was lost. The ash burst into a wall of cold, white flame that roared around them and along the line that divided him from Lucy. He felt a pull on his presence. A drifting that he hadn?t felt since his first days as a ghost. He had to concentrate on holding himself within the plane. Holding himself to his existence.

?Lucy!? He couldn?t see her through the wall of burning light.

?Throw it!? Her voice sounded distant amid the roar. ?Throw it, Reg!?

He remembered the scarf in his hands. The real world feel of it, the scent of it, anchoring him to the living world. He held onto one end, wrapping it about his ghostly fist, and threw the other end through the wall of flames. Immediately, the scarf pulled taut.

He had thought it would be easy. That he?d feel a tug from Lucy and go bounding across to her.

But it wasn?t anything like he thought.

Reginald felt her pulling but he couldn?t move towards her. Rather he was being thrust away, pulled away from Lucy, the two of them forced into a game of tug of war. She was trying to pull him through to the land of the living. But he, unwillingly, was pulling her towards the land of the dead.

?Lucy, stop! Let go!? Reginald strained at the forces pushing him away from her. He could just make her out on the other side of the veil. She held the scarf with both hands, leaning back to try to pull him towards her.

?No!? She shook her head, her blue eyes wide, her arms trembling.

He had seen that look before. Once before. A look of wild terror, hanging by a thin string of bravery. He had seen that look. The night she killed him.

?Let go, love.? He reached for her, releasing the scarf with one hand. His hand passed through the veil. He had to comfort her. He had to tell her, show her, that it would be alright. ?It?s alright love. Don?t be afraid. Just let go.?

She was just close enough. His hand touched her hair. He could feel it. Soft and silky. Then her skin. Her cheek. Flushed with heat and damp with tears. She was crying.

?Reg, no. Please.? She kept straining at the scarf between them. Her body leaned back, rolling her hand up in the scarf like he had, tighter and tighter, drawing them both nearer to each other and the wall of licking white flame between them. ?You have to try. Please try!?

?It?s alright. Let go, Lucy.? He reached deeper, trying to touch her more, but she leaned out of reach, trying to use her body weight to pull him over. With everything he had, every power he had, he reached for her.

And as he reached across the veil to touch her one more time, the soft white cashmere slipped through his fingers.

Lucy stumbled back, and then fell. The entire scarf landed on her chest.

The roaring stopped. The flames disappeared. For a moment, there was no sound. Only Lucy, panting for breath. The forest silent around them. The birds singing no more.

?Did it work?? Lucy pushed up to her elbows inside the circle of ash.

?Don?t know.? Reginald frowned. He crossed to her and offered his hand down. She reached to take it. But she couldn?t. He was still a ghost.

?Damn.? She flopped back onto the pine needles. ?Damn, damn, damn!?

Reginald knelt and reached for the scarf still piled on her chest. With a little relief, his hands closed around it. He still had this. Even if the spell hadn?t worked, he still had this. He still had this piece of Lucy.

Lucy lay there, watching the lightening sky beyond the trees overhead. ?Why did you do it? Why did you let go??

?Lucy--? he stepped towards her but stopped when she interrupted.

?Go away. Just go away for a minute.?

Reginald watched her a moment. At the way the pine needles clung to her red hair. The way she threw a pale arm over her eyes. Her sharp elbow. How small she looked in the circle of ash.

He retreated. Back towards what had been his side of the circle.

It was then that he noticed. It was then that he saw. That the line of ash that had divided the circle, the line that divided the land of the living from the land of the dead, the line that divided he and Lucy, was gone.

?Lucy, wha' be happenin' to ye??

The three of them had been sitting on the beach, Lucy, Fin, and Ketch, watching the sun give up the last of its light before dropping below the horizon. Reg was there too, watching from the opposite side of the small bonfire, lurking in the ghostly way he was used to doing.

Lucy pretended not to hear Fin?s question, rattling on about a different topic, and reaching for the joint Fin had been sharing.

He puffed once more (to make sure the joint hadn't gone out) and then passed it to Lucy. ?I still be waitin', lass.?

Ketch rose to his elbows. When he cut his eyes around the gathering, he spied Reg, just the outline of him, no detail, that cued an internal 'huh' before he looked aside to Fin. ?She doesn't want to answer you.?

Lucy looked at Fin, then Ketch, then back. ?It's not a big deal. I just--haven't been feeling very well. That's all.? She raised the joint to her lips and drew in a breath.

Or at least she tried. She didn?t cough as she drew the smoke into her lungs. Rather the sucking sound of her inhale seemed to go on longer than the moment the joint was at her lips. She held it towards Fin, but it slipped from her fingers and fell to the blanket almost immediately.

Fin blanched as the joint dropped from...no, not from. Through. Through her fingers to fall on the blanket. He glanced down, picking it up swiftly before the ember caught on the blanket, but when he looked up, he nearly dropped it again.

Lucy?s mouth was open, her eyes widening in a slowly growing alarm, and she leaned forward over her folded legs. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. The smoke she'd breathed in seemed to puff from all around her instead of from her nose or mouth on an exhale.

Ketch frowned. Trying to track what was unfolding slowed his reflexes. He could smell the singe of the blanket beneath them as the joint smoldered against it, the heavy cloud of smoke that seemed to hang too long before dispersing.

?Lucy? Lucy!? Fin tried to place a hand to her shoulder as he leaned forward but it passed through her form and hit the blanket underneath her. The Scot jerked back, staring in horror before eyes darted to Reg. ?Wha' is wrong wit' her?!?

Reg watched the moment unfold with a horror of his own. He tried to move towards Lucy, only he couldn't move. Gravity was suddenly bearing down on him, the weight of his all-too-real body dragging him to the sand.

?The fuck is going on?? Ketch?s voice was sharp with dawning concern. His whiskey glass tipped over onto the blanket, the spill unnoticed as he rose to his knees, adrenaline spiking his pulse as his eyes pinged around the trio.

Reg struggled towards Lucy, and then fell to the sand, holding himself up on his hands and knees. ?Don't try to breathe! Don't try! Just let go, love.?

As Reg spoke, Ketch's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the man, seeing much more than an outline now.

Fin?s eyes were on Reg too. The look of feral violence he offered the male ghost was vicious, teeth bared and a low growl thrumming at the base of his throat where it coiled, ready to loose itself should the need arise.

Lucy raised her eyes to Reg and nodded slowly, the usual in-and-out movements of her chest slowing as she resisted the impulse to breathe. She straightened back up again holding her hands in front of her, open so she could see her palms.

?She don't know how to talk like that just yet.? Reg kept his eyes on Lucy while he explained to Fin and Ketch, then reassured her again. ?It'll pass. Just give it a moment, love.?

?Talk like wha'?? Fin enunciated each word like a bite to the neck, the threat of blood real. ?Wha' will pass??

Reg held up a hand to Fin and Ketch, a plea for patience, for a moment of reprieve before anything happened. ?She'll be back, I swear it. I swear it.?

Lucy knew she was back when she felt her eyes welling with tears. She dragged in a shuddering breath, her narrow shoulders shaking. She leaned forward again, trying to hide her face in the shadows, too afraid to look at either of them, to see the looks on either of their faces. ?I'm alright.?

Fin felt like his heart had stopped until Lucy started to tremble and pant. Any vitriol for Reg was muted, transformed into wild-eyed concern as he hesitantly touched fingertips to her shoulder, blowing out a breath when he made contact. ?Lucy, love, please tell me wha' be wrong,? pleading quietly.

Reg straightened, his hands and knees no longer resting on the sand, just floating there. ?I been begging her to tell you. Begging her.?

Ketch had gone silent and still as a slab of marble.

?We tried something,? Lucy finally confessed. She brought her knees up and rested her chin on them. ?It was a spell for bringing--bringing Reg over to the land of the living. But it didn't work.?

?We thought it didn't work.? Reg corrected.

?We thought it didn't work,? Lucy repeated in acquiescence. ?But it--it did work it just--it worked wrong or something.? She sniffled, her voice thready as tears gathered in earnest. "Something is happening to me. And to Reg."

Fin straightened, the weight of her truth settling heavy across his brow. Eyes closed and he remained silent for many long minutes while a sick realization had his stomach sinking low and lower. Had to take a slow, deep breath before he was able to open his eyes. ?Yer tradin' places?? That's what it seemed like, or Lucy was being pulled into the land of the dead or...whatever it was called. ?How long ago did ye do it??

Ketch reached aside for his pants, pulling his cigarettes from his back pocket and tapping out one of the hand-rolleds, lighting it, drawing in until the cherry glowed and then extending it to Lucy in silent offer.

?A few weeks ago.? Lucy lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek, then she reached for Ketch?s cigarette. It shook as she brought it to her lips. After what had just happened though, she was too afraid to inhale. She closed her eyes to keep from crying.

?Certain hours of the day, it's worse. When the veil is thin. Sunrise, sunset.? Reg nodded towards the dusk light, the sun now officially gone. ?Think Jack knows. His bird, the crow, he seen it. But she won't tell him. She won't tell you. Couldn't get her to tell anyone.?

Ketch lit another cigarette for himself as he digested Reg's explanation and sank back to the blanket.

Fin raised an accusing stare to Reg, then looked back at Lucy. ?Why would ye no' tell anyone, Lucy??

?I thought it would go away on its own.? She sniffled, her lower lip trembling. ?I thought--I thought everyone would think I was stupid.? She thumbed the end of the cigarette.

Fin frowned deeply, twisting to look at her. ?Stupid? For wha'??

?I did a--a sigil, to protect myself.? She gestured with one hand towards her forehead. ?Cause--I mean, I know what people say about--about magic having a--a cost.? She shook her head. ?But I forgot that--that I was looking in the mirror when I put it on.? Gesturing to her forehead again. ?So it was backwards.?

?Why did ye try this alone??

?Who was I supposed to ask? You hate Reg and--and Jack does too--and--and Shae and Salome are--are busy and--and Mesteno didn't think--he didn't think something like this could be done--and--and Cris was gone. Who was I supposed to ask for help??

?I do no' hate Reg but I do no' trust him.?

?Fucking Christ.? Reg glared at Fin and the fire snapped and crackled.

Lucy said nothing, just lowered her head back to her knees.

Fin sighed heavily and shook his head, raking fingers through his hair with a rough tug. Taking a breath, he supposed it didn't really matter. Some of the fight went out of him, his voice a little hoarse when he spoke. ?An' wha' will ye do now? Ignore it until ye fade away? Is tha'...wha' ye want??

?I don't know.? She took another shaky breath and finally remembered to ash her cigarette into the sand.

?You're going to talk to Jack and get us straightened out and send me back where I came from, love, that's what you're going to do.? Reg answered for her, glowering and shifting back and forth over the sand, the fire crackling wildly any time he neared it.

Lucy closed her eyes on tears welling afresh again.

?How is it progressing? How fast, I mean?? Ketch could see Lucy's hesitation, the difficulty she was having with an admittedly complex situation.

She kept her head resting on her knees. ?It didn't happen much the first week. Once, twice. Then... then once a day... and... and now twice... three times a day.?

?When will ye be gone?? Fin murmured.

?Gone?? Lucy raised her head.

Ketch knocked Fin sharply in the elbow and glared at him for that. ?What do you want to do?? This for Lucy.

?I have to fix it, I--I know I do. I just--I don't know how. I don't know what to do anymore. I--I--I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.?

Fin didn't react to the jarring hit at his elbow, didn't stir until Lucy spoke again. ?Are ye goin' to speak to Jack or Salome??

?The solution is probably there,? Ketch gestured towards Fin as he mentioned Jack and Salome, ?But it sounds like the difficult part is wrapping your head around the result.?

?There's nothing to wrap her head around.? Reg stopped his pacing to answer Ketch. ?We trade back and that's it, it's done.?

Lucy didn't look at Reg when he spoke. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry again.

?Wha' if it canno' be undone?? Fin dreaded the answer but felt he had to ask it because magic was unreliable and there was always a catch.

Lucy shrugged a shoulder.

?It can be.? Reg stopped his pacing, and turned to look at Lucy, speaking with more certainty than he felt. ?It can be.?

?I'd like to get you on a slow boat to China.
All to myself alone.
Get you and keep you in my arms evermore,
Leave all your lovers weeping on the faraway shore.?

The singing began faintly, just barely audible under the rowdy calls of the murder of crows that wheeled above Benjamin?s homestead. Benjamin had called for Jack, standing beside the small fire pit where sage and tobacco were burning together, and tried to hug a Lucy who was barely there to be embraced. She waited, uncharacteristically still, as the sound of Jack singing grew. Reginald hung back, as if he could just blend with the background, even though he was more solid than he had ever been. And Fin retreated, sinking onto the porch step and burying his face in the warm neck of his dog, Liath, who came to greet him.

?Out on the briny with the
Moon big and shiney,
Melting your heart of stone...
All to myself alone.?

The song ended with Jack?s sudden arrival. One long-legged step seemed to bring the old Crow into their midst, to the sacred fire where the tobacco still burned. He leaned over the smoke, eyes that held galaxies hooded with pleasure.

?Hi.? Lucy had rehearsed the words she would say when she finally saw Jack. But now, in the face of him she could barely speak. ?I need your help.?

When Jack breathed enough smoke to sear the lungs of any mortal, he stood straight to shake out the ribbons of his coat. A cacophony of color ensued. When the satin and silk settled into their quiet whispering, the heavy star gaze fell upon them all---including Reginald. As if a ghost could hide from him. Individually and collectively, the well of the universe drank them up. The grin moved across his face like a zipper opening. Teeth gleamed beneath the blazing newborn stars in his eyes. ?What sort of help, Lucy Mitford??

Fin?s callused fingers sought out Ben's hand, squeezing tightly as the two stood side by side at the porch. Benjamin returned the grip, a steady and warm pressure.

?I need--? Lucy looked to Reginald. He nodded at her, encouraging her to say what they had already agreed upon. ?--I need you to help me undo it. To--to make Reginald a ghost again and--and stop me from becoming one.?

A crow, perhaps Lucy's own, dropped from above to perch on a ribboned shoulder. It picked at Jack's unruly and overgrown hair. Jack's eyes narrowed until the stars could no longer be seen. ?What do you bring to bargain with, darling??

?Oh boy,? Benjamin breathed softly. He squeezed Fin's hand, more than to bring comfort, it was to keep him standing there beside him.

?To bargain with?? Lucy didn't understand. ?I don't--I don't have anything with me.?

?I'll give a night to you. I will sing to you, burn tobacco in your name, dance for you,? Benjamin offered. Not as sweet an offer as it could be, he was Jack?s, after all. But still. Pretty sweet. His head tilted, he smiled brightly.

Jack looked over Lucy's shoulder to where Benjamin stood hand in hand with MacKenzie. ?This is not something you may purchase for her, Bright Star.?

Fin tensed, watching intently, anchored by Benjamin on his right. ?Wha' of m'self? Could I??

Jack licked his chops while looking MacKenzie up and down. ?Perhaps.?

Reginald, took a step forward. ?No. Me. You can have me. As your servant. For as long---forever.?

Jack?s star gaze snapped back to Lucy. ?Such loyalty.?

?She doesn't understand, Jack,? Benjamin countered softly, then looked to Lucy, ?May I give her some counsel, then?? He winced faintly at Reg's offer.

Jack sighed and waved at Benjamin. A signal the Bright Star could speak.

?I don't--? Lucy looked at Benjamin expectantly.

Benjamin squeezed Fin's hand again, before pressing the man's fingers into the dog's fur, both of the hounds, a murmur probably charging the old and young dogs to flatten Fin to the deck if he tried to move. He stepped to Lucy, gesturing her to turn slightly. ?What I would offer him is a night of my worship. Because I know he likes that, but he knows he can gain that from me any time. He'd love for you to offer the same, but you're not me.? His words were quiet and calm. He smiled a bit grimly. ?You must offer something only you can give him that he would want. Offer a story, a song, time -- but don't say forever. Say for a night, an hour, a moment.?

Lucy shook her head slowly, then looked back at Jack, a quick flash of anger in her eyes. ?You won't just do this for me? As my friend? Our friendship, as it is, is not enough??

?Lucy Mitford. I gave you a piece of me. I have saved you over and over. I have given you counsel. I am derelict in my honor bound duty to bring your Reginald over the threshold. You now straddle my realm, my duty.? Jack stood there, tall and beribboned, arms folded and lost to the streamers that swayed against the mortal breeze. ?How much more should I give you??

?How much is too much for a friend?? She may have been in a fragile position, a position she had never been in before, but she was not Reginald. She did not fear Jack, even if perhaps she should. And she was much too proud to beg. ?A friendship isn't a bargain. I have kept your company with no expectation of anything in return, simply my enjoyment of your presence. I thought--I thought my company was something you valued too.? Lucy shook her head. ?I have celebrated the birth of your child with you, and mourned the loss of your love.? Her frown deepened. ?I have already given you a piece of my heart, Jack. I won't bargain with it now.?

?Are ye willin' to part wit' nothin' to save yerself?? Fin asked Lucy with a deep frown.

Lucy looked over at Fin and shook her head. ?That's not--that's not the point.? She raised a wispy hand and tried to press it to her chest. ?Everything I have to offer, I already give freely to my friend. What more needs to be bargained for??

?Lucy. Stop.? Benjamin?s voice was gentle and quiet. He tried to gather up her hands in his. ?If you had Fin forge you a door knocker, would you pay?? The touch, as strange as it was in her half-ghostly state, drew Lucy?s attention to Benjamin. ?You're asking Jack to do his job, as if you were asking Fin or me or anyone to do their work,? he whispered quickly, ?Never doubt that Jack loves you, he does. I know. But he can't do his job for you without following the rules.?

The old Crow stood there, still as a statue, while Fin and Benjamin tried to make her understand.

Slowly, she nodded. "Alright."

A yard away, Reginald breathed a sigh of relief.

Lucy looked back at Jack. She thought back to all of the fairy tales she'd heard as a little girl. All of the things women offered in their moments of desperation. And this was a true moment of desperation. She took a breath. ?A lock of my hair.? He gave her his ribbons. She could give him this. A piece of herself, forever his.

Jack?s fingers twitched, as if he could feel the strands of hair, twining them together. ?What else.? His focus sharp on Lucy now.

?A lock of hair is a grand thing, Jack. A piece of herself,? Benjamin pointed out quietly, ?I'll wrap it in gold thread for you.?

?What else,? his voice tight.

Fin?s fingers tightened in Liath's ruff, causing her to turn and lick at his cheek. She was spared a glance but he quickly looked back to the trio in front of him.

?Lucy--? Just her name in a cautious tone from the true ghost. Reginald watched and listened. He knew her well enough to read the expression on her face.

Lucy looked over at Reginald, and then at Benjamin. Then finally her eyes shifted to Fin, as if just looking at him would give her strength---and perhaps more certainty than she felt at that moment. She looked back to Jack and took a breath. ?The right to name my daughter.?

?Will you come to the beach with me, love? I want to watch the waves.? One last time, he thought. I want to see the waves one last time.

He floated at her side. He no longer had to work at matching her pace. It was overcast but warm still. The summer humidity building bruising storm clouds over the sea in shades of purple and green.

Lucy sat on the sand, just out of reach of the lapping water. She wouldn?t look at him. Her eyes on the rocks, the ocean, the horizon. He smiled, amused. He knew her tactics. ?You can?t ignore me.?

She did though. Or she tried, tucking her hair back from the grasping wind.

?Lucy, it?s time.?

?No, it?s not.?

?I made a promise.?

?He said there?s still time.?

?My life for yours. I promised.?

?Yeah, you promised. I didn?t.?

?Lucy---?

?You can?t ask me to kill you twice!?

Her sudden shout echoed against the cliffs of the beach cove. Reginald shook his head. He lowered as best he could, until it seemed like he was sitting beside her. He let her watch the waves for a moment. The steady forward and back. The constant of the tides. ?I?m not alive. I never have been. Not so long as we have been together.?

?What am I--what am I going to do without you??

?Och, don?t be so dramatic, love. Just look at yourself, would you? Look at where you are. You?re going to enjoy your friends, and do new things at your gallery, and travel, and dance, and celebrate being alive. And someday you?ll have that little daughter you been dreaming of. With whatever fool name Jack gives the poor lass.?

Lucy looked over at Reg, struggling to hold back her smile.

?Something like Little Miss Flower Pot or Lady Apple Bottom or Princess Papaloo. The poor bit.?

?Reg---? She was laughing now.

?What?ll you do when I?m gone?? He scoffed. ?What?ll you do? You?ll get up every morning and live this beautiful bleeding life you?ve got stretching out ahead of you.? He shook his head. ?You can?t do it if you?re looking at me all the time. If you?re dreaming of me all the time.? He looked at her. ?You can?t create your future if you?re spending your days staring into the face of your past.?

Lucy?s smile broke. She looked down at the sand. Reg turned to watch the waves.

They sat together in silence again. The sky darkening as the sun retreated behind them. Day edging towards night. Reg tried to breathe, a thing he did in thoughtless moments, before he remembered that he was a ghost. He wanted to smell the ocean. To feel the sand beneath his bare feet. He could not remember how long it had been. Instead, he touched the only thing he could. He pulled the white cashmere scarf from his jacket pocket. Felt its softness in his hands. Tickled his palms on the fringe. He brought it up to his face, seeking that familiar scent, that last little bit of Lucy that clung to it. He wasn?t sure if the scent was still there, or if he was just smelling a memory.

He looked out at the ocean again. ?It?s time.?

She shook her head. ?I don?t know how to do it.?

?I think you do, love.? He turned to her. ?I think you?ve known all along.?