Page 12 of Ghoul Me, Maybe

ELIAS

T he night turns thick with strange omens.

It starts with the lights. Not flickering like faulty wiring—but pulsing. Breathing. Like the town itself is waking up in time with our bond. Streetlamps surge brighter when I’m near her. Radios crackle in abandoned stations. Phones ring once—then fall silent with no caller ID.

I’ve been dead long enough to know what coincidence looks like. This isn’t it.

The town’s skin is shifting. Magic’s starting to leak from the cracks I left in the world, and now that she’s part of this—now that we’re... whatever this is—it’s waking up things that should’ve stayed buried.

I’m drifting through alleys when I pass a bakery. The ovens flare to life with no one inside. A mural on the side of the fish shop bleeds fresh paint despite a decade of sun damage. The salt in the air has changed. It tastes sweeter, thicker, like breath before a storm.

And then there’s the animals.

They’ve always seen me. Known me. But now they stare too long. Birds circle me in uneasy spirals. Stray dogs bark until they foam and bolt. A fox with too many eyes stood outside Sienna’s window last night.

It’s not just energy.

It’s consequence.

I find her on the cliffs above Wrecker’s Bay, arms crossed, hair whipping in the wind like flame. She doesn’t turn when I approach.

“You feel it too,” she says without looking.

“Yeah.”

She finally turns, and the moonlight carves hollows under her eyes. “It’s not just dreams and maps anymore. The town’s reacting. The magic’s... bleeding out.”

She’s right. There’s something deeper stirring—something the relic bound, and our connection is loosening its leash.

“I scared a raccoon last night,” she adds. “Thing hissed, then straight-up burst into flames.”

I blink. “That’s new.”

She shrugs, tired. “Mira thinks it’s us.”

That makes something cold curl in my gut.

“She said you’re not just tied to the relic. You’re tied to me . Through blood. Through memory. Through...” She hesitates. “Touch.”

I take a step closer. “We’ve touched before.”

“Yeah, but not like this.”

Her voice drops, and I can feel the magic start to rise like heat between us. The air crackles, tugging at the edges of reality.

“Why is it stronger now?” she asks. “Why us?”

“I think the relic picked you before either of us had a say,” I answer. “You were always going to be the key.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“I didn’t ask to die,” I reply, voice sharper than intended.

We both recoil a little.

Then she steps forward. “Sorry. I just?—”

“No,” I say, softer now. “I get it.”

A beat of silence.

Then the sky opens.

A rift tears across the clouds like a wound—just for a second. Lightning with no thunder. Every compass needle in Lowtide Bluffs spins. The tide shifts out of rhythm, and the ocean goes utterly still.

I step closer, almost out of instinct. Her breath catches, and when our fingers brush, the world shifts.

Not just around us.

Inside us.

It’s like falling through light. Like drowning in heat. Like all the times I should’ve died rushing back to claim their toll in a single breath.

A blast of energy rips out from where we stand—wild, hot, ancient. Strong enough to rattle the ground and silence every cricket in the valley.

We collapse back, breathing hard, hearts racing in a sync they shouldn’t have.

She clutches her chest, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

I stare at my hands. They’re shimmering faintly, humming with that same charged magic that tore the clouds. “I think we just anchored.”

“To what?”

“To each other.”

She looks shaken. Beautiful. Fierce.

And completely unready for what’s coming.

Neither am I.

But it’s too late now.

The storm’s already here.

She stands five feet away, but it may as well be five inches.

Sienna’s arms are wrapped tight around herself, but I can see the shiver that rides her spine isn’t from the wind. The sky’s still twitching from what we just did—anchored, connected, whatever the hell you want to call it—and now the world’s waiting to see what comes next.

So are we.

“I can feel you,” she says, voice low and raw. “When you’re close. Not like before. Not like a chill or a breeze. It’s inside my skin.”

I take a cautious step forward. The air between us thickens, like sap stretching between trees.

She gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “That.”

Her skin is glowing faintly, a pulse of blue-white energy along the veins in her wrist, like a phosphorescent tide trapped in flesh.

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” I murmur. “You’re reacting to me.”

She meets my eyes, and there’s a war in hers—curiosity battling fear, stubbornness strangling vulnerability. “It’s not just you. It’s the town. It’s… the tide.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The tide?”

Sienna turns, her gaze sweeping the coast. The sea glimmers oddly under the moon, reflective as glass, still as death.

“I started noticing it this week,” she says. “When you’re nearby… the tide pulls harder. Like it’s being drawn to shore.”

“I’ve always felt something in the water,” I admit. “Even in death. But now? It’s like the ocean’s listening again.”

She steps closer. Sparks pop in the air between us—tiny bursts of silver static.

“I think the magic in Lowtide isn’t just old,” she says slowly. “I think it’s sentient. Tied to the sea. Tied to cycles. Tied to... you.”

A beat of silence.

“To us. ”

The word cracks something in me. Because hearing her say it, like that, with no hesitation—it does things to my soul I didn’t think were possible anymore.

“Sienna…”

She doesn’t let me finish.

“I think whatever brought you back wasn’t just unfinished business. It’s place magic . Tidal magic. Old and wild and rooted deep in this land. And now that we’ve anchored?—”

“It’s bleeding through the seams,” I finish.

She nods.

Another step. Closer. I can see every freckle on her face now, the way the wind lifts her hair just enough to brush against my chest. The warmth of her pulls at me like gravity’s been rewritten just for her.

She’s watching me.

And I’m watching her.

But neither of us moves.

Because whatever this thing is—this connection, this magic—it’s alive . And it wants something from us.

“Tell me the truth,” she says, voice trembling. “If I find the relic. If I break the curse. Will you be gone?”

I don’t lie.

“I don’t know.”

Her eyes glisten, and she looks like she might cry.

“I hate this,” she whispers. “I hate how close I feel to you and how scared I am that it’ll all vanish the second we fix it.”

I reach out. My hand hovers, inches from her cheek.

And this time, when I touch her, she doesn’t flinch.

Our bond flares, bright and terrible and beautiful. Her breath hitches. My form solidifies for half a heartbeat, enough for her skin to press against mine, real and warm and alive.

And for a second, there’s no death between us.

Only longing.

Only heat.

Only truth.

“I don’t want to vanish either,” I murmur. “But if it means saving you, freeing this town... I’d make that trade.”

She closes her eyes, and her lips part like she’s about to say something that’ll split the world in half.

But the tide crashes behind us, louder than it should, and the moment breaks.

We step back.

Breathe.

Rebuild our walls.

But not as high as before.

Because now we both know that the sea isn’t the only thing that’s rising.