We walk to Malcolm’s apartment in silence—or as silent as someone can be while his dress shoes are tapping against the sidewalk. Malcolm has his fingers laced with mine. With each step, his skin warms. I can feel the trance loosen its grip on him until—at last—he is fully Malcolm again.
We will need to consider how to eradicate that ghost. The thermoses jangle at my side, a reminder of how impenetrable this possession is. I can’t fix this on my own; I can’t afford to lose my partner, either.
At the door to his apartment, he fishes around in his pocket, and then with the key in the lock, turns to me.
“Would you like to come in for some tea?” His words are overly polite and formal, but his eyes glint with humor. His expression is open and warm like it was in my bedroom this morning.
At t
