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I gave Holly a quick call.
“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where I can find a legit moonstone, would you?" I asked as casually as I could muster.
"Planning to propose to your ghostly beau?" she teased.
"No jokes. I'm serious."
She sighed. "Fine. There's a woman, Elara, a reputable witch. I can arrange a meeting."
The meeting spot was a cluttered antique shop, every corner bursting with knickknacks that smelled of age and mystery. Elara herself was like a walking spell—silvery hair braided intricately, dark brown eyes that looked almost black.
"What do you need the moonstone for?" she asked, her gaze piercing.
"Something personal," I said, meeting her eyes.
Apparently, that was the correct answer. With a nod, she opened a carved wooden box and handed me a luminescent moonstone.
"One condition," she said. "Never reveal where you got it."
"Agreed."
The second item—the feather of a crow born under a new moon. Oddly specific, right? I trudged through forums dedicated to moon cycles and crow behaviors. Then, I found the perfect place: a tiny sanctuary focusing on crow rehabilitation. The caretaker, a wiry woman named Brenda, looked at me like I had three heads when I asked for what I needed.
"Are you for real?" she scoffed.
"Completely."
She studied me for a long moment, then sighed. "Come back in three days."
Three days later, I returned. She handed me a single, glossy feather.
"Born under last week's new moon. Don’t ask me how I know; I just do," she muttered, waving me away when I thanked her. I sent a significant donation to her cause as soon as I returned home.
The ash of a burnt love letter—the most personal item of them all. I sifted through a shoebox of old letters, each one a relic of a past I'd tried to forget. Finally, my eyes landed on one, the ink slightly smudged. I’d written it but never sent it. Still, it was a love letter.
Holding my breath, I set the letter aflame over the kitchen sink, watching as it curled into itself, transforming into gray ash. It was like watching a chapter of my life incinerate, the mistakes, regrets, and what-could-have-beens turning into wisps of smoke.
Ben suddenly appeared. “Burning paper in the sink? Is this some odd science experiment?”
Startled by the sudden question, I turned my head to look at him. "Oh, did you notice the smell, huh? I’m burning an old letter. You know, symbolic closure and all that."
Ben grinned, his eyes twinkling with his usual mix of mischief and curiosity. "Closure, you say? It must've been some letter to get the full pyro treatment. I guess it’s out with the old, in with the new, right?"
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
It was almost complete. Just a few more pieces. With each acquisition, my skin buzzed with a mix of thrill and trepidation. The book's warning looped in my mind: "To give life, one must also give pieces of one's life."
To be frank, life hadn't given me much to hang onto. I had a job that bored me, a string of regrettable dates, an apartment filled with second-hand furniture, and first-hand loneliness. If breaking through the veil separating us from the spectral world gave me a shot at something extraordinary, then I was ready.
I placed my new treasures in a velvet-lined box, the clasp clicking shut like the final tick of a countdown. And as I looked at my reflection, framed by the gathering dusk, I thought about Ben.
Less than a week remained before Halloween—our ghostly deadline.
Was he also counting down the moments? Would he be ready for whatever this ritual would unleash? Ready or not, the wheel was already in motion.
And it was picking up speed.
Each acquired item was a double-edged sword. They stoked my anticipation of seeing Ben in flesh and blood, but then reality struck. I was meddling with forces I barely understood, like writing my name on a contract penned in a language I couldn't read.
