Malachi 

GHOSTS LINGERED WHERE THEIR MEMORY dwelled. That was what I learned from our Kingdom's archives. That one sentence was consistent with all the historical, folklore, and academic volumes. Nothing told me of a woman with dove gray eyes and brunette hair that seemed endless like the sea's waves. Then again, I hadn't searched all the documents.

I covered my mouth to suppress another yawn. The night was dedicated to her. She lived within the thin portrait on my ceiling. Once the sun rays dipped beneath the horizon then the unseen became visible. I figured out her favorite utensil was a writing device. Similar to my quill but not.

With my Ghost's presence, I've chosen to stay up until she fades. Sometimes she lingered an hour, the whole night, or five minutes. There was no pattern. There was no form to it all. It was like witnessing magic for the first time - fresh and alluring. I retired to my bedchamber earlier and earlier each night.

"Retiring early?" Nicholas's tenor voice fluttered to grasp my attention. His comment halted my departure last night. I'd inhaled the roasted turkey, buttery potatoes and carrots, and fresh strawberries to finish the meal. The gold goblet shimmered with the artisan's magic particles, making the dove feathers within the glass flow. The King waived his right hand at me when I stood up. The Queen watched me while she finished her dessert. Her silent gaze always followed me. The King's emerald vine coiled around his ring finger, gold flakes dusted his hands. His dismissiveness boiled my heart.

I tasted my own pepper heat. I need not recall that memory. My tongue tried to recoil around my distaste for my Father. Don't think about him. Don't think about how you could stop this. Don't think about how I can suffocate him with his own Gift of Reflection.

I turned the page in The Ancient Kingdom of Thrive, the words dropped outside the physical book and took form to shape miniature citizens, shadows, the castle, the fields, whatever the words described; the words showed the story. My fingers grazed the cedar desk. My quill positioned beside my left elbow.

"No need to show off," I said.

The book groaned. I was sure it hadn't encountered a reader in awhile because the book's words turned into multi-colors, one minute it was turquoise then the next a sharp orange. The words were jittery as if they were actors on a stage. They tumbled over each other, creating a cluster. If thoughts were a river endlessly flowing then these words were wanting to be free, but consisted of being a puddle.

"I'm looking for a woman," I declared. The puddle turned into a miniature Gifter. The new shape put their hands on their hips and gave me a side eye.

"Not what you're thinking." I tried to cover my warm face.

I guess a book can think.

"A Ghost. She may have lived here in the Castle. Her name is Darlene."

Darlene.

I withheld a sigh. She had to be a Ghost. She had to. There was no other explanation for her portrait in my bedchamber. But if she were then she would be able to hear me. I would think.

The words took their own shape, pulling out letters to ask: "Last name?"

I rubbed my face. "I do not know."

If I could talk with her again, I'd ask more than her last name. What makes you laugh? What's your Gift? You clearly have one. What taste would you be?

My face got warm again.

The words clumped together. Their appearance was a floating cloud instead of the previous puddle. Spiraling on top of each other, they searched their book for my request. Invisible snowflakes reappeared on the desk where the book laid open. I found out when I got my Gift how books held the magic particles. The trace revealed the magic from touch and Creation: the writer and readers. I could take the diluted particles and borrow a small sample of their Gifts. It was a fraction of the Power. With that small amount, I could use it for maybe a minute, but it drained all my strength to use the Gift. In conclusion, I never applied the Gift because it did more harm to myself than good.

The concoction was dusty apples with moldy peanut butter and pure honey notes. The layers were the physical book's state being unopened, the readers that were forced to spend time with this book for academic purposes, and the pure honey was the writer.

The words turned into a frown.

I bent my head over the desk, my fingers gripped my hair. My fingernails turned into a navy tone to match my cursed hair. We've had one conversation, Darlene and I. And I wanted more. Every time I'd open my mouth, her portrait dimmed a little less, but when I stopped, the color brightened a bit. I dared not open my mouth again. Not even to taste her bland and plain flavor of magic.

I need to know if she is a Ghost. If she is. Then she will keep reappearing, but if not. . . what will happen? Will she be there tonight?

The lemon zesty taste overtook the dusty apples in my mouth.

"I never imagined you'd be into Ghosts, Brother." A charismatic voice chuckled from above me. His golden locks sparkled in the afterglow sunlight. Orange and ruby tones highlighted his hair. The evening was approaching too quickly. Another day was gone. I was no way closer to discovering Darlene's story.

"I never imagined either," I replied. Closing the book, the words evaporated. The title's letters hopped up and down on the cover, rearranging the title to create a new one called Thriving the Ice Foe Dom Kan nt. The words couldn't figure out what to do with the last remaining letters.

Readers were scattered throughout the Castle's library. Books, books, and more books covered the walls, the floor, the steps, and within the desks. Phoenixes flew past us, checking the tiny torches that were on several desks and tables. The blood red birds opened their golden beak, breathing fire into the torches' orbit to reignite the flame for the evening. The birds went to find their supper, going out through the open stained glass windows. I kept my eyes from Nicholas. If I ignored him perhaps he would go away.

"Is it for an assignment?" Nicholas asked. His hand stretched out to touch my shoulder.

Please Starlight. I do not have the patience.

"Yes." I moved away from his touch.

It wasn't Father's assignment, but anytime I mentioned that word it got Nicholas to shut up.

"How dreadful." Nicholas crossed his arms in front of his chest. His new uniform depicted his life giving Gift. A white crested tree covered his chest, its branches reached out towards his arms, the roots neared his hip, and the bare vines moved towards his throat. A deep emerald was the background but the mauve brown held the hidden armor in the fabric.

"If only it wasn't an assignment, I would share with you, Alac, all the Ghost stories I've been exposed to." He exaggerated a heavy sigh. He brought his hand underneath his chin.

This was an old game of ours. Before I found out the truth of why Father adored him and spat the ground I walked. Nicholas and I would fight to say how much I knew something, but he'd say, "I don't believe so. I know something better." Then we'd have to prove it either with word or deed.

We stopped playing the game when I found out through the whispers.

"Father couldn't wait, so he had me with the Queen's maid."

Those words were ones I heard from all the servants in the court, even the Ladies and Lords. When I entered a room, their hollowed eyes observed my footsteps, took note of my posture, and their smiles seemed too stretched.

Nicholas pouted. The freckle near his right eye, hazel with flakes of blue like the Kingdom's sky. His young eyes were opened wide.

"But I thought Mom is Mom."

I nodded. "Yes, the Queen is your Mom. But not mine. Father is Father."

Nicholas blinked. "But you're older than me."

"That's true. Age doesn't change our bloodline."

Nicholas played with his hands. His fingers tumbled over each other, one by one. "T-That doesn't change the fact you're my brother, correct?"

I tilted my head. Silence was between us. Then reaching out, my younger self believed at the time what I said next. "Correct. You'll always be my brother."

My hand held his.

Nicholas beamed. "Good."

I forgot that memory. I didn't know the next day would be the last time I saw my Mother. Sour cherries filled my mouth with fresh blueberries and mint. I will not swallow it. Breathing through my nose, I said, "You're bluffing."

I was back in the present in the Castle's library with Nicholas. He shook his head. He sat down on top of the desk. I had to push the Thriving the Ice Foe Dom Kan nt historical volume over to the side. The book squealed. It didn't want a Prince to sit on it. Nicholas lifted his foot to rest on the chair. He faced me with his open arms.

"Hardly." He laughed up at the ceiling. The mural of holy creatures painted three times the size to appear normal to our eyes. Then he smiled with a cheeky one that got him out of his academic class way too often. "I can tell you all the Ghost stories. Want to hear about the Woman at the Well? Oh!"

He shuffled around to place both his feet on the other chair near me. "Oh! I know the Man who gave his voice to his lover. Ruth told me that story. She was one of the Chosen in my class. She said she saw him! She had to go up and touch the Man to make sure he was real - and her hand went straight through him - can you believe that?"

Nicholas started to use his hands to depict his story. He twirled towards me.

"Wait. Where are you going?" he called out.

That was it. To think my Brother gave me the answer. Nevermind how I came up with the solution. This was the way to find out if Darlene's a Ghost. My Ghost. 

I will have to touch her.