A week goes by before we hear from the witch and for lack of anything better to do, I spend those seven days growing my understanding of what being part of a wolf pack entails, tailing Harry everywhere he goes.
His days are a blend of academia and pack leadership, a balancing act that he navigates with a grace that belies the weight of his responsibilities. At university he's the stern, articulate professor I've always known, his lectures imbued with a passion I'd been too irritated to fully appreciate before. At home, he's warm and patient, though just as demanding, especially with the pack's younger members who occupy a good chunk of his time.
Werewolves, I come to learn, begin mastering their abilities during their childhood. These abilities include enhanced speed, strength and the transformative powers that define their kind and they tend to awaken around that time.
Though there are some exceptions like Chloe, whose abilities only manifested during puberty, making the entire task even more daunting.
« Damn, and I thought getting my periods was bad... » I comment, making Harry laugh.
After witnessing a couple of kids succumb to primal anger, transforming into beasts in the middle of dinner, I come to understand Harry isn't kidding when he says maintaining control is a struggle for the newly turned. And as their alpha, he plays a key role in keeping everyone's aggressive instincts in check, his commanding presence oddly calming to everyone around him.
« So what you're saying is they enjoy doing your bidding? » I ask him, doubtful at first.
Except, I have to admit this seems to be true, everyone is always eager to bow down to whatever Harry says, to the point of almost asking for it at times. It's like they need to be told what to do to function and so, Harry's always busy keeping his people aligned, solving a conflict or another. When it's not within the pack itself, it's with other wolves settled in the near vicinity because, apparently, they're far from being the only ones around. I hear he even attends diplomatic discussions with other species, though Harry refuses to tell me more about that, officially because it's dangerous, officiously because he's a bore.
A lesser person could easily abuse the power he naturally holds over his pack members but he treats them like family. Despite only witnessing their interactions from the sidelines, I appreciate their warm interactions. I catch myself commenting on the children's progress, reacting to the teenager's antics, and wishing I could input on the adult's discussion, whether serious or more laidback. But I can't. No one but Harry can hear me, and he barely has any time for himself, let alone for a ghost girl, he hadn't even liked that much to begin with.
I catch myself wishing he had though. Time for me that is. It might be the loneliness talking, but our car rides to the university quickly become my favourite part of the day, stolen moments I spend trying to make him laugh while he pretends it doesn't work. He does start taking increasingly longer routes to stretch our time together, and I'd love to take that as a sign that he sees me not just as another supernatural obligation but as someone who might genuinely matter to him. But the more time passes, the more absurd that seems. He's not interested in me that way... he's just concerned for me like he is for everyone else. It's practically in his nature.
Yes, sometimes in the evenings, after everyone's gone to bed, I get the feeling he half-expect me to follow him to his bedroom. But he never explicitly asks and I don't dare phrase anything either, despite the growing desire to do so. What's the point anyway? I might not ever wake up. What future is there for us? And it's not like he'd want one with me, he who lives for his obligations. He belongs with someone who can share the weight of his responsibilities and lessen the burden he bears of watching over anyone else. I could never be that person... I've never looked after anyone but myself in my entire life. I wouldn't even know where to begin.
In the midst of all this confusion, I do receive some good news: my doctors contact Harry and explain they'll be operating on me, which they believe should speed up my recovery. The surgery goes well and I become hopeful that we might not even need to go meet with the witch, as I might wake up before then. But, by the day of the meeting, it still hasn't happened.
Which is why we are now back in Grimwood, in front of the bookstore we'd found Chloe at a week ago.
« I'd feel better if you waited outside! » Harry grumbles as he opens the door to the shop.
« Well, tough. You know I'll just end up popping next to you even if I tried staying behind! » I reply with a shrug.
Harry is saying something under his breath about how he suspects I do that on purpose when a strange-looking man interrupts us. He's in his fifties, with a long, sickly face though it's his eyes, vacant, expressionless voids, which attract my attention.
« She's waiting for you in the back! » he says, in a toneless voice.
We walk towards the end of the dark, dusty shop, so quiet all we hear are Harry's footsteps echoing through the small space. We step behind a blue curtain which must have seen better days, though stopping dead in our tracks as we discover what's hidden behind it.
We find ourselves outside, in a wide, flowery field bathed in the warm fiery glow of sunset, despite the time having been closer to midday mere minutes ago. The sight is breathtaking but with an undercurrent of wrongness that I can't quite pinpoint. It's not just that it feels like we've travelled far away from the bookstore in merely two steps; there's something wrong with this deceptively serene scenery. Something lurking.
« I don't like this! » Harry says, sending me a glance. « Stay close to me, Jolene. »
« I always stay close to you! » I reply, rolling my eyes even though, deep down, I'm glad we're here together.
We hear the witch laugh before we see her. In the blink of an eye, Harry finds himself seated at a table set for tea, and in front of him, is a beautiful woman with strawberry blond hair, who'd look very young if it wasn't for the ageless depth of her bright green eyes.
She crosses her hands under her chin and gives him a blank stare.
« I take it you're not Chloe. » She says, lips stretched into a smile.
« I have something for you. » Harry says, handing over a small box to the Witch.
She opens it unhurriedly, taking a careful look inside, eyes widening slightly.
« Not bad... » She says, pensively. « What do you want in exchange? »
« Information. » Harry replies.
The witch begins looking around, eyes stopping near where I'm standing by Harry's chair.
« About the spirit you have with you, I take it. » she comments, sounding somewhat surprised. « How interesting. »
My heartbeat picks up. I immediately want to ask her if she can see me, but she continues before I can do so, shocking me into silence with her next words:
« Though, it appears your spirit's time is almost up! » She tells Harry, with a serene smile.
I sense a sudden tension coils within him even though he doesn't let it show openly.
« What do you mean? » He asks.
The witch drops a cube of sugar inside her cup, twirling it around with a spoon.
« It looks like your spirit has been separated from its body for too long. » She comments with a shrug. « It's withering away. And soon, it will be gone forever. »
YOU ARE READING
Haunted Love
ParanormalIt's bad enough that 24-year-old Emma becomes a ghost but to make matters worse, the only person who can still see her is her infuriating college professor! Oh and turns out, she's stuck by his side at all times... it's not like EMMA wants to watch...
