by E. E. Holmes
“When did you get so sappy and poetic?” I asked him.
“I’m an undiscovered talent, what can I say?” Milo said. “Finn’s emo love poems are nothing to my cheesy love advice. You’re avoiding my question, though.”
“I know. I’m trying to distract you so you won’t notice. Is it working?”
“Nope.”
I sighed. I took my hands away from my face, and there was nothing to keep the tears from leaking out now. And so they did, dripping freely down my nose and dropping onto the knees of my pajamas.
“You’re crying!” Milo said in surprise.
“Yup.”
“I didn’t realize . . . you don’t do that very often.”
“I know. It’s one of the side effects of those walls you were talking about,” I said. My voice broke as a sob bubbled to the surface.
“Oh, sweetness, I hear that,” Milo said. “I was the queen of the clandestine ugly cry. You can go right ahead and let it out all over me, if you want. For once, I’m gonna pack the sass away. No judgment.” He scooted over so that he closed the distance between us on the floor and rested the full spiritual weight of his form against me. The feeling was intensely cold and yet so comforting. I could feel our connection pulsing through him, much as I did when Hannah and I grasped hands.
And as much to my surprise as his, I did. I let it all out—every aching, wrenching frustrated tear until I was all cried out. And as I cried, I told him every single twist and turn in my relationship with Finn that had led us to this moment. It felt just terrible and wonderful at the same time to share it with someone, to lift the burden off myself and release it into the air. It was almost as if, by telling Milo, he was helping to carry the weight of it. At last, I sniffed into silence and looked up at Milo with swollen eyes.
“I never did understand how Hannah could stand a hug from a ghost, but I have to admit, it’s helping.”
“I’m glad, sweetness.”
“I just . . . I don’t know how I always manage to screw it up so badly. Is this genetic? Do I have some kind of self-destruct button on all of my relationships that I can’t resist pushing?”
“It does sort of sound like you can’t get out of your own way, sweetness,” Milo said with a small, sad smile. “Is that why you’re so upset? Because you have to keep things secret?”
“I feel like we have this one chance,” I said, and despite thinking I had no tears left, I could feel them burning the corners of my eyes again. “This one chance with the Airechtas to change everything. This is our opportunity to make a proposal to overthrow the restrictions on Caomhnóir-Durupinen relationships. The Prophecy was the original reason for the restrictions in the first place, and now it’s over. If we don’t fight for us here, this week, I don’t know if we’ll ever get another chance.”
“And Finn doesn’t want to?” Milo guessed.
I shook my head. “He thinks it will expose us. Why else would we ask to abolish the law, unless we were already breaking it?”
“Don’t you think he has a point?” Milo asked. “No offense, but it would be a pretty transparent request.”
“I know. I know it would,” I said. “But what’s the alternative? Tip-toe around for the rest of our lives? Constantly look over our shoulders, convinced that the next kiss will be the one that finally betrays us? I can’t live like that. It’s only been two months and it’s already driving me mad!”
Milo let out a low whistle. “That is some Capulet and Montague bullshit right there.”
“No kidding. And we all know how that one ended.”
Milo looked sternly at me. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but don’t be dramatic, sweetness. No one is dying in this scenario.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “But it would still be a far cry from a happy ending.”
“What would the Council do, theoretically, if they found out?” Milo asked.
“They’d send Finn away. They’d reassign him, as far from me as they could place him. We would never see each other again,” I said, and even the thought of it felt like a punch in the stomach.
Milo let out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“I haven’t even told you the worst part yet.”
Milo’s eyebrows disappeared into the artful sweep of his dark hair. “How can it get any worse?”
“Seamus knows,” I said, and my voice sounded dead, defeated. “He caught on to what was happening three years ago, when we first got back from Fairhaven. He threatened Finn, and that was why we never . . . why nothing ever happened between us back then.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. Finn says he’s sure the Caomhnóir don’t have a clue about us now, but if we propose to the Council to lift the ban . . .”
“You’re screwed.”
“Bingo,” I said. “And I get that. I get why he’s scared. I’m scared, too. Terrified, actually. But the thing is, Finn is such a fighter. He’s fought his whole life. It’s how he’s approached almost every situation he’s ever faced. And I just wish . . . I just wish he would fight for us.”
We sat together for a silent minute. Milo’s chill continued to sap away the intensity of my sadness, dulling it, like ice on a wound.
“I haven’t even told him about Hannah running for the Council seat,” I confessed at last.
Milo’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t know?”
“No. He knows that Finvarra is going to nominate us, but he doesn’t know that we’re going to accept the nomination.” I saw Milo staring at me, and added defensively, “There’s been no time! We just decided the other day, and he’s been constantly on duty!”
“But you were just talking to him alone. Why didn’t you tell him then?” Milo asked.
“I couldn’t do it,” I said. The corners of my eyes burned, but I had no tears left to shed. “I know I should have, but I chickened out.”
“So, he still thinks we’re going home at the end of the week?” Milo asked.
“Yes,” I said. “And let’s be honest, we probably are. No one is actually going to vote for the Apocalypse twins for the Council.”
“Yeah, but even so, you have to tell him, Jess,” Milo said. “This is his life, too, and this is too big a decision to make without him, especially if you want to stand a chance of staying together.”
“I know, I know!” I cried, dropping my face into my hands again. My head was beginning to pound with the monster of a headache that only a good cry could produce. “So, now you know everything. I’ve completely poured my heart out to you. You’re my Spirit Guide—guide me! What should I do?”
“I don’t think you should do anything,” Milo said quietly.
“But—”
“Let me finish!” he said, putting up a hand. “I don’t think you should do anything on your own. This isn’t something you can do unilaterally, not when it affects you both so much. If the two of you want to wind up together, that’s how you have to make the decision: together. You have to come clean about the nomination, and you have to promise him that you won’t bring up a measure to abolish the relationship rule unless you both agree that it’s the right thing to do.”
I sniffed a few times, absorbing his words. “That is . . . really good advice,” I said finally.
“Don’t sound so surprised! My time as a Spirit Guide has made me wise beyond my years,” Milo said with a sigh. “It’s exhausting, being so full of sage wisdom, and having to dole it out to all you foolish living people.”
“Well, thank you. Thank you for exhausting yourself for my sake. I really do appreciate it,” I told him.
“Anytime, sweetness,” Milo said. “And I mean it. Talk to him. Talk to him again. Keep talking until the two of you talk yourself onto the same page. And another thing, too.”
“What?”
“Just now you said that Finn has been a fighter his whole life, and that’s how he approaches every situation, except this one. But really, that should show you how special you are to him. He knows that fights don’t
always go your way. Sometimes, you lose. And losing you? That must be unthinkable for him.”
“Milo, don’t tell anyone I said this, because I will deny it until my dying day, but you are the best. Seriously,” I said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out,” he said, with a trace of a laugh in his voice.
“And don’t tell Hannah all this stuff about Finn. I want to tell her myself.”
“Cross my heart and hope to . . . well, you know what I mean,” Milo said with a smirk.
“Come on,” I said, standing up.
Milo looked startled at my abrupt command. “Where are we going?”
“Upstairs to the room. It is,” I checked my watch, “12:37, which makes it officially Christmas. I’m not going to make you wait a minute longer for your present.”
“Wait, for real? I get it now?” Milo squealed, his face lighting up.
“Yes. Right now. Let’s go.”
3
Milo’s Closet
MILO BLINKED OUT to conserve energy, but I felt him with me all the way back up to our bedroom, hovering beside me like a candle I was using to light my way. Finally, I closed the door behind us and flicked on the lights.
“Jess? What’s going on?” Hannah asked, rolling over and rubbing her eyes.
“Who’s there? What the hell is happening?” Savvy cried, squinting in the brightness. Then she spotted me and seemed to remember where she was. “Mate, what time is it?”
“It’s almost one o’clock, but Christmas is officially starting,” I announced.
“Do I need to be conscious for it?” Savvy grumbled.
“You’re going to want to be conscious for this. We’re giving Milo his gift.”
“Now?” Hannah mumbled.
“Right now! Cannot wait! Need to do it immediately!” I cried. I reached into the bag of Christmas trappings and tossed a Santa hat to each of them. Savvy pulled hers over her eyes and flopped back down on the couch. Hannah, however, sat up, rubbed her eyes, and put the hat on.
“Where’s Mackie?” I asked, looking around for her, an extra Santa hat clutched in my hand.
“She went back to sleep in her own room,” Hannah yawned. “She said if Savvy kicked her one more time, she’d have to kill her, and that wasn’t in the spirit of Christmas.”
“Oh,” I said, thrusting the hat onto my own head instead. “Well, her loss. And I doubt Karen wants us to wake her up either, so let’s just get started.”
“But why are we doing this now? In the middle of the night?” Hannah asked again.
“Because Milo and I just had a moment and I can’t wait anymore,” I replied.
“Aw, you guys had a moment? Without me? But you know how much I love to see you getting along!” Hannah said, pouting.
“Yes. It was very touching. Don’t get all excited, though. We aren’t going to make a habit of it. It would mess with our love/hate dynamic,” I assured her.
“Exactly. I don’t think Jess and I could survive without a steady diet of witty banter,” Milo added.
Hannah was still looking pouty. “It was a spontaneous moment, okay?” I said, waving my hand impatiently. “The point is that I needed to talk to someone and Milo was in the right place at the right time. And he was brilliant, so now we need to reinforce his good behavior with gifts.” I plopped down on my bed, pulling my laptop from under it and flipping it open.
“What’s going on?” Milo asked. “My present is on the computer?”
“Of course, it is! What did you think I was going to give you, a sweater? You don’t have a corporeal form!” I pulled up what I was looking for on the screen, but I tilted it away from Milo so that he couldn’t yet see it. “Okay, so do you remember last week when I dyed my hair and you flipped out on me?”
“Righteous indignation is hardly an overreaction when it comes to fashion, but, yes. Proceed,” Milo said in a dignified voice.
“I was confused at the time. I couldn’t understand why you were so mad at me. But then I figured it out,” I said.
Milo’s smile slipped. “Oh, really? And what exactly did you figure out, Sherlock?”
“Well, I already knew you had a real passion for the fashion world when you were alive,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and even, refusing to give in to the sadness at the heart of what I was saying. “Hannah told me it was your dream to design your own couture line and have your own runway show at Fashion Week. Is that true?”
Milo shrugged, hoisting his armor on more securely against whatever emotions I was stirring up in him. “It was a pipe dream. Everyone’s got one. You probably wanted to be Rembrandt. I didn’t really think it was going to happen, or anything.”
“I may never be Rembrandt, but it won’t be because I didn’t get the chance to try. That’s not the case for you.”
Hannah was looking wary. Even Savvy had sat up and pushed the Santa hat up onto her forehead so she could see. Milo didn’t respond. Maybe he couldn’t. I went on, so that he didn’t feel like he had to.
“So, then I started thinking about all the times you’ve given me unsolicited fashion advice. All the times you’ve suggested what to do with my hair, or my accessories. All the times you begged to supervise our make-up application. And I always give you such a hard time about it, because I always thought you were just nagging me. But then I realized it was more than that.”
“Not really,” Milo said, with a too-careless wave of his hand. “Someone had to take you in hand. Seriously, girl, you are tragic.”
I smiled. “Nice try, but we’re going to lay off the snark for a few minutes because it’s Christmas, and on Christmas, we get real,” I said. “I realized that helping Hannah and me is the only opportunity you get to do what you truly love. And it never occurred to me that I might actually be hurting you when I said no. I’m really sorry, Milo.”
Milo didn’t speak; his face was twisted with long-repressed pain. For a moment, I wondered if I had gotten too real for him, and if he might just blink out to avoid the bluntness of what I had just said. But then he nodded in acknowledgment of my apology.
“No one does more for us than you, Milo. And you do it all the time, day and night, and you never complain, even though you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when you Bound yourself to Hannah,” I said.
“I don’t regret that part,” Milo blurted out. “I’ve got regrets, but . . . not about being a Spirit Guide. Not many ghosts get that kind of chance—to do something really meaningful after they die. I do, and I’m grateful for it.”
“I know. Hannah and I will never be able to thank you enough. But we can do this one little thing to show you how much we appreciate you. So, merry Christmas.”
I turned the computer around so that Milo could see the screen. He looked at it for a moment, then his eyes widened. He floated toward it, his mouth hanging open.
“What . . . is that?” he whispered. He pointed to the top corner, where the name of the blog curled across the screen in glittering fuchsia script: Milo’s Closet.
“It’s a fashion design blog. Or at least, it will be, once it goes live.”
“I don’t understand. No offense, but you don’t know the first thing about fashion.”
“True. But you do,” I said.
Milo stared at the screen, then back at me. “I still don’t get it,” he said finally.
“It’s a blog. For your designs. So that the world can see your ideas and know how stupidly talented you are,” I said.
One corner of Milo’s mouth twitched into a suggestion of a smile, but he still looked utterly bewildered. “How is that supposed to work? I’m dead. I can’t blog.”
“Not by yourself, no. That’s why we’ll be here to help you. No, seriously, listen, we’ve figured it all out!” I said, because he was still looking skeptical. “Here’s how it will work. When you get a design idea, we Habitate. You can use me to sketch the design for you.”
A slow smile began to spread over Milo’s face. “So, we
can post the sketches for people to see? That’s pretty cool.”
“No, no, it’s more than that!” Hannah chimed in eagerly. “When the design is done, we use Savvy’s mum to construct it for us.”
“I’ve already asked her, and she’s tickled to get started,” Savvy said through a yawn. “She’s dead clever with a sewing machine. She can make anything you like, quick as a wink.”
“When the clothes are done, Savvy and Hannah and I can model and photograph the designs for you. Then you tell us what to write for the blog entry, and we post! You’ll be famous in no time.”
“You would do that . . . for me?” Milo whispered, his expression stunned.
“Of course,” I said.
“But . . . you hate having your picture taken. Are you seriously going to let me dress you up in whatever I want and then spread the proof of it all over the internet?”
I shrugged. “You’ve lent us your soul for the next seventy-odd years, so we’re lending you our bodies. I am your canvas.” I quickly adopted a businesslike tone. “Of course, I absolutely refuse to be photographed wearing anything that isn’t black. And you can only photograph me from my left side, with no up lighting. And under no circumstances can you force my giant feet into stilettos.”
“And I won’t wear nothing that don’t show my girls off, so keep them dresses low-cut, yeah?’ Sav added with a wink.
Milo threw his head back and laughed. “I can’t believe this. This is just . . . incredible.” His smile faded. “But what if people actually start reading it? Won’t my cover be blown? Isn’t this against the Durupinen code of secrecy? I don’t want to wind up in front of the Council again.”
I shrugged. “People pretend to be other people on the internet all the time. If anyone ever wants to interview the famous designer Milo Chang, they will have to do it over email or by phone. It will enhance your mystique.”
