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I eyed the paper scraps from last night.

“These aren’t enough, are they?”

I racked my brain for the next best option. Candles would work, but they’d constantly be burning out. I didn’t think he could grip a pen and write—maybe he didn’t have enough energy. Either way, I couldn’t risk it.

“Oh!” I tossed the blanket back and made my way back up into one of the guest rooms. I’d spotted a few board games on my first exploration of the castle. “Aha!” I grabbed Scrabble from the top shelf and made my way back downstairs.

Admittedly, the scene didn’t look good. Half melted candles, scraps of paper, a portrait of a dead man, the faint scent of sage, and dozens of notes and scribbles sprinkled over the floor.

It didn’t look much different than when I plotted at home, sticky notes and character descriptions pinned to the corkboard in my office. I worked best when I could see the larger picture all at once, a way to zoom out from it all.

I dumped the box of Scrabble tiles out and cleared the surface. I set each one out, slowly constructing the alphabet and putting the duplicate letters in a pile to the side.

“What do you think about this? Will this work?”

I waited five minutes before the tiles slowly started to move.

It dawned on me that I should be terrified, scared out of my mind, but there was too much adrenaline and excitement exploding within me to even pay it any mind. The tiles slipped and slid over the surface until the word ‘YES’ was spelled out. It took him nearly two minutes to get the tiles into the correct place, but he’d managed.

I decided then I would have to research ghosts and how powerful they could be and if there were any ties to how they lived their life or how long they spent on the other side. Wolfe seemed strong, ever-present.

I clapped, utterly delighted.

“It might take longer, but at least now you can say more than a few words at a time.”

The letters rearranged and I imagined one thick finger weaving the words together.

SLEEP came next, the ‘p’ crooked like he’d run out of energy.

“Me sleep? Or you sleep? How can anyone sleep at a time like this?” I asked, sweeping up my notes. “There’s too much to do.”

Wolfe moved more tiles, the letters ‘y’ and ‘o’ and ‘u’ coming together.

You sleep.

“I slept five hours. That’s plenty.”

The tiles were knocked away, immediately replaced by the word ‘no’.

I snorted, eyes finding the slight distortion of light by the window. It was like looking through an age-stained mirror. He was smudged, washed in gray, but he was there.

“What are you going to do? Make me? You’re a ghost,” I reminded him. “Besides, five hours is more than I get when I’m on deadline. I’ll be fine. Don’t you want to figure out how to talk without those tiles?”

NOT SURE.

I did laugh this time, wings erupting inside me.

“Oh, so he has jokes. I see. Well. Tea first, then we can figure out where to go from there.”

I made my way to the kitchen, Wolfe’s essence trailing behind me. When I fixed my own cup, I poured a second for him. He’d never be able to drink it but now that I knew for certain he was there, it seemed rude not to offer it. The handle inched back and forth, like he was toying with the cup.

It was pathetic and sad and more depressing than I wanted to admit, but I hadn’t shared a morning cup of tea with anyone in so long. Long enough I couldn’t remember who the last person was.

And this one was barely even real, more shadow than man.

“Cheers,” I said, holding my cup out to his. “To the weirdest friendship I’ve ever had.”

His cup shifted, bumping against mine. Tea sloshed over the edge and for a moment, the liquid outlined the shape of his hand.