Page 94 of Ghostly

“All done properly and checked multiple times. Including the fine print.”

Ida smiled mischievously. “One big circle, made with petals of the lily, in which we sit. A smaller circle, here in the middle: the contract on the ground”—she pointed to the book, spread out to the page with the contract—“with the music box and the locket next to it.”

“Two minutes!”

“The instructions say I need to be in physical contact with my bond when the ritual starts,” Ida said.

Gabriel reached out his hands, palms up, above the smaller circle. Ida extended hers, until they hovered above his. Slowly, she lowered them. “I’m trying to focus some of my energy.”

Instead of the usual cold air he felt when she touched him, this was like being doused with icy water—but the shivers it sent down his spine were not due to the cold. “I can feel you.”

“One minute!”

“Almost there,” she said, her voice shaking.

His heart rate picked up, until he was sure even Perry could hear it. A silence fell upon the circle, the eye of the storm that would be Ida’s transformation.

“I think it’s happening.” Wide-eyed, Ida looked down at the contract, then at Gabriel. “I feel—I don’t know how to explain it, but like I’m being stretched, then compressed again. And vibrations.”

It wasn’t only her. The music box and the locket heated up and the warmth burst out in a wave, making Gabriel even more aware of the caress of the gentle night wind afterward.

He’d expected something sparkling, a whirlwind of light, something magical—yet, nothing visual happened inside the circle. But Gabriel still felt an energy that wasn’t there before, similar to the waves of intense emotion Ida would sometimes give out. It warmed him, then cooled him, passing from intense to light, chaotic to peaceful.

“Do you feel it?” Ida asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s like it’s inside me.” Ida ran her hand over her body, as if trying to pinpoint the origin. “Everywhere. Like the perfume, but a dozen times stronger.”

A distant alarm on Perry’s phone notified them the time was up. Ida gasped, hunched over, and stayed like this for a few seconds, not a lock of hair, a pleat of her skirt, stirring.

Gabriel grew painfully aware of every screech, hoot, and chirp from the forest, of the rustle of leaves on the nearby bush, of the blades of grass prickling his pants. “Ida?” He didn’t dare to touch her, didn’t dare move, lest he ruin the invisible conclusion of the ritual.

She straightened back up. Slowly, she reached a hand toward his. The images from before flashed through his mind—hug her, kiss her, sit with her and watch her finally live. It was so close he could taste it, feel it. Ten inches. Eight. Their fingers trembled as they drew closer. Six, five, four—and closer, and—

Ida’s hand passed straight through his.

“No.” She looked at it, passed it through the book, the music box, through her own body. She shook her head, wilder and wilder. “No, no, no.”

Gabriel only sat there, stunned, images of the future drifting to the ground. No, he only had to wait— wake up into the actual reality, where the ritual had worked.

But he didn’t. And it hadn’t worked.

Ida was still a ghost.

Chapter 23

Ida stretched out her hands, wiggling her fingers. They felt foreign, strange, detached. And yet, nothing about them had changed. And nothing about her.

They had failed.

Perry rounded the corner. “Where’s Ida gone to?”

“She’s still here.” Gabriel’s words came out slow, flat—defeated.

Perry’s eyes flicked around, as if he expected to see her somewhere. “But… we did everything right.”

“Apparently not everything.” Ida’s voice broke at the end.