Page 68 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
Yelina glowers at him. “I think it’s one of my better qualities that I don’t.”
Jericho chuckles beside her. “Must you two always fight?”
The three of them continue to shoot sarcastic words at each other and I sit silently, enjoying the sound of friendship and lively chatter. It’s something that’s been absent from my life—friendship and goodwill.
It’s not too late to have it now.I remind myself, willing myself to smile and join in on the banter.
The four of us laugh and spill drinks, sharing stories of our adventures so far until the bar closes and every living person vacates the building. We stay long after, singing and talking until the sun rises and we’ve grown weary.
“Where are you meeting us in Paris?” I ask Yelina in a hushed voice. The two men are leaned over the bar counter, sleeping heavily. The corners of my mouth turn up as I watch Lanston’s peaceful expressions. His mind seems so weightless.
Yelina draws in a long breath. “Where did you say you were performing?”
“Palais Garnier.”
“We’ll be sure to be there. We can pick up where we left off here and drink our ghostly woes away until the dawn comes for us.” She smiles playfully. A curl of smoke lingers over her shoulders, wisping away in the ray of sunlight just as quickly as it appeared. I’ve already seen their traces, and yet it still draws sadness to my heart.
“Do you remember anything about the night you died?” I ask carefully, keeping the expression on my face blank.
Yelina drops her head to look at her feet. Her eyes are bright with memory, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail that rests over her shoulder.
“I remember everything about that night.” She doesn’t meet my gaze. “The fire that burned my flesh and the pain that hollowed out my thoughts. Smoke killed most of us before the flames did. A small grace.” Her voice is stony. Then she looks at me. “I remember reading about you… Does he know?”
My veins fill with ice at her admission.She knows.
I shake my head and glance over to Lanston, still sleeping peacefully.
“Will you tell him?”
I nod. “We are telling our stories slowly… in our own way.”
Yelina thinks about that for a few quiet minutes before murmuring, “I hope you tell each other everything you couldn’t say when you were alive.”
Our goodbyes are brief. We know we’ll see them in a week or two in Paris. Still, the sight of them leaving, holding hands and bumping into one another playfully, tugs at my heartstrings. I already miss them.
Lanston looks up to the clouds above, bruised and promising rain. Our bistro table is under a red awning, but if the wind picks up, it won’t be enough to keep us from getting wet.
I scoop up the last piece of the scone and chase it with a sip of hot tea, humming with delight at the flavors. They don’t make their pastries as sweet as they do in the States, but that doesn’t make them less enjoyable.
“What’s next on the list?” Lanston asks, sounding far-off in thought as he watches people go about their days.
I grab the list from his bag beside me and hold it up.
Lanston & Ophelia’s Bucket List
Go to Paris
Sail a yacht
Ballroom dance
Drink on the beach at night/camp out
Ride a train somewhere new
Visit Ireland’s Trinity College Library
Save a stray plant
