In honor of October, my favorite month, I’ve decided to participate in Witchtober. A friend of mine actually suggested it for their art, and I thought ‘how cool would it be to make a short story for each prompt?’

So that’s what I did.

I’ve been struggling what to name the ‘Phantom and Rook series’, because yes there will be more books, and these short stories gave me an idea. Adventures in Levena. These stories will be canonically set in my Phantom and Rook world, the Nether Isles, but you won’t need to have read Phantom and Rook to know what’s going on. The stories are mostly centered around new characters in situations that have nothing to do with the book, or are main characters just living in their world.

Without further ado, meet Arche, the witch inspired by the first prompt, Lunar.

Lunar

 “I said two degrees to the right! Come now, I haven’t all night. We have one shot at this.” I smash my cigarette into an ashtray and peer into an eyepiece, shouting from my vantage point down to the soul below.

“Sorry Mr. Arche sir, right away sir!” Raphael works from behind his desk, sending codes to the rotating platform supporting the telescope and myself. Inch by inch the platform turns and once it settles, I check our position once more. The wards separating Raphael’s roarous thoughts from my mind tremble and I lift fingers to my mouth, but there’s no filter clutched between them.

“Excellent, and no more of that sir and mister nonsense.” I add firmly, standing and rolling out my neck, then dutifully light up another cigarette. “I’ve told you that a hundred times,” I mutter, staring up at the open ceiling of the astronomy dome. To the naked eye, the silver moon is but a distant behemoth greedily hiding away my lifelong aspiration.

Until now.

“Fire up the inverter and begin the countdown!” I call, hurriedly making my way down the stairs with the lit cigarette hanging out of my mouth.

I adjust my fingerless leather gloves, then my black vest. I rake my hair back, fingers scraping against the shaved undersides. My spine tingles with anticipation, the amount of kinetic magick buzzing through the atmosphere as the engines power on is enough to intensify my migraine. When I join Raphael’s side, I find the intern staring at an unassuming button. His eyes drag to my face, crinkling in distaste at the cigarette between my lips. He doesn’t complain about them aloud, but it’s clear he dislikes them.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? We have no idea what’s up there, or how magick works in space. I understand your work in theory and I truly admire it, but are we really about to do this?” Raphael asks, and I’ll give him credit for staring me right in the eyes.

Most people don’t, as if making eye contact will reveal all their secrets to me in an instant. It can, but I don’t make a habit of leaving myself open to endless useless thoughts and dramatics. Besides, I don’t need to read minds to know he’s being genuine. Of course he’s not the most perfect assistant, but he’s marginally more effective than the past few I’ve had, he challenges my mind and cares about the work, or so I thought.

I chuckle, sliding my hands into my pockets to hide their tremor. “And you’ve waited until now to come clean because?”

Raphael chews on his bottom lip, looking away when I don’t dispute his concerns. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

Honestly, that hurts. “Ah, because I’m insane, right?”

Raphael winces. “I didn’t–”

I wave him off, bored of this. “You didn’t have to, I have ears. I know what they all think of me. Crazy, carnal, weird. I also know what we’re about to accomplish will set us apart from those who never dare to try. Don’t you want to be known as the man who turned the immovable silver moon? Revealed its secrets for the world to share? If you’d like to leave, then by all means, there’s the door. But you know it just as well as I do, this is a moment, and you’ve contributed so much, Raphael.”

Raphael’s eyes widen at his name, something I now realize I haven’t said enough. His hands tighten into fists in his lap and he glares at the small red button. As I watch him consider, the ache in my heart lessens. He believes in me, he does, and it doesn’t matter that I’m a vampire, a witch, a person who doesn’t know how to hold what some call meaningful conversation.

But like all the rest, he hurries out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

I butt my forgotten and ash ridden cigarette into a tray resting on the control panel, then gently press the red button. “Tch,” I whisper, not at all surprised or bothered that he left.

Not at all.

The inverter powers on, overwhelming the astronomy tower with a hum that rattles my bones. The magick in my blood sings in unison with the decades worth of stored Teleth power coming to life. Enormous gears work alongside the telescope I’ve spent the latter half of my life constructing. A blood red glow surrounds the brass works, the color amplified by steam hissing from vents in the construction. I study the vast projection of the full double moons cast on the main stretch of white wall, a replica of the telescope’s view. Precise movements require the eyepieces, but for grand shows I can see what I need to from here. A fiendish grin overtakes my face as the countdown initiates.

“5.” I wonder if Da is watching from wherever he is. I look over my shoulder, briefly wondering if the other astrophysics professors are watching. Of course, there’s no one.

“4.” A high pitched whining emits and a ray of red light penetrates through the sky, faint at first. I’ll make you proud, Da. I’ll find the man left behind on the silver moon.

“3.” The crimson beam strengthens in intensity and an alarm blares, rattling my eardrums. My attention flashes down to the controls and a gauge spinning wildly out of control. Fuck, it’s overheating. No, no, no, not again, not this time.

“2.” I flick a switch, redirecting the backup reserves of water magick I’ve spent a year collecting through donations to the cooling system.

“1.” Vents squeal and metal shrieks, a cloud of steam escapes and violently fills the astronomy tower.

Everything dies. The lights, the power, the screens.

“Fuck!”

I start out the next morning with a harassment report, transfer request and a disaster of an astronomy tower. Dante, the only person in this damn place who seems to tolerate me, brings me coffee at ten, just like he always does. Raphael usually anoints me with my first cup of caffeine at eight am, but he’s not here anymore. I can’t deny that the prospect of coffee has me jittering in place.

The angel steps over piles of warped clutter, wings spelled away as he dodges pieces of metal flying through the air. I rip and tear the sheeting off the side of the telescope from high up on the scaffolding. Through the smoke rolling from the death stick hanging out of my mouth, I stare my problem in the face. Dante climbs up the metal stairs and sits down heavily on the platform beside me, feet dangling over the edge. I take the coffee he offers with a noncommittal grunt, eyes dashing across his face briefly.

“Wow, you look like shit today.” Dante states the obvious, gesturing to my rolled up sleeves, dirty forearms, rumpled vest and stained dress slacks. He’s not wrong, I never went home last night. He wrinkles his nose. “And reek like my abi’s ashtray.”

“You say that every day.” I say, turning my attention back to the broken and violently burnt mechanism once hidden. I rifle through perfectly preserved and organized details, closing my eyes to better access the room in my mind full of boxes. Boxes of files, files which contain memories and information, relevant and otherwise. I flinch upon finding the error, how I missed it before I don’t know.

“That’s a cooling compressor, isn’t it?” The papers between us rustle as Dante satisfies his curiosity. “Kind small, ain’t it? For that amount of force you’ll need–”

“5.5k EMU per device, yes I know. I need another one. Fuck, how did I miss this.” I scrub at my face, then take a tentative sip of coffee. It’s perfect, overly creamed and sweet, like always. “Now the scope’s systems are all fried, and I have to recode everything from scratch.”

“You mean Raphael does.” Dante points out with a mischievous grin and I glare at him. He puts his large hands up. “What? Isn’t that what interns are for?”

I shake my head. “No more interns. He’s the reason I’m in this mess, it was his math. I became … complacent, so I stopped checking the numbers. Besides, he’s gone anyway.” I wave off the idea, cheeks absolutely not heating. “I’ll do it myself.”

“How long did this one last, six weeks? Damn, nearly the whole summer at that!” Dante laughs, exposing miles worth of dimples as he takes out his phone. He types into what I’m assuming is the group chat between him and all the other science professors, sans me. “That’s a record. You made me some good money on him. Ah, suppose he’ll be joining my less cool classes.”

I light up a cigarette, giving the male a withering look. “I don’t appreciate you betting on how long it takes to terrify my interns. At least cut the pool with me, and … be nice to him.”

Dante scoffs, temporarily abandoning his coffee in favor of pulling his long, snow white hair back. For a brief moment, I wonder if his wings match the color. “How can we do that if you’re not getting another one? We can play it to our favor,” His voice lilts at the end and a small smile escapes me.

I chuckle. “You find someone willing to work with, what was the latest one… Oh yes, Professor Witches a Lot, or my personal favorite, that ‘fucking crazy asshole locked up in the tower’, and I’ll gladly rig the game with you.”

Dante grins, and it’s evil. “Oh, I’ve got someone in mind.”

I take another sip of my coffee, mildly intrigued. “Cheers to that then. What do we say, two days until I chase him away?”

Dante stands, laughing as he does. “Let’s try a week, can’t have the fun be over too quickly.”

I shoo him away and finish my coffee, half listening.

I have work to do.

I spend the day cleaning up my mess, emptying and filling ash trays, and pacing around the telescope. The overhead ceiling is wide open, allowing an unobstructed view of a twilight sky dotted with the faint corpses of planets. I stare up at the constellations as they come into view, thinking of Da. In a way I always do, he’s constantly there in the back of my mind, telling me how lonely it is to live on a rock that doesn’t spin, faced with endless darkness. He spoke with such surety, such detail that I could never dismiss it as a fable.

As the golden moon that spins a little each night pulls its smaller, glittering silver brethren high into the sky, I watch. I find myself standing still, for perhaps hours, watching as the moons come up. There is a small part of me that knows everyone else is right. I’m insane. Have to be. 

Who else stands in one place for stretches of time as the universe turns overhead, watching for a sign? Waiting for evidence that someone is up there, someone needs help. My help.

“I’ll do it one day, Da. I’ll go up there and meet the Man on the Moon. I’ll bring him home.” I stood a little taller, snowshoes pushing against a packing of snow that composed the last winter my father saw.

He smiled at me then, hand raising to rest on my head like he always did when I had pleased him, but he didn’t have to reach down now. In fact, he had to reach up, for I was taller than him. “I never said there was a Man on the Moon, just a person.”

I tilted my head, wondering how or when I had decided such a thing. “I have a feeling.”

And oh, how he smiled.

“Arche!”

I jolt upright, heart pounding in anticipation and releasing toxic amounts of terrified magick through my veins. Energy lashes out, instantly mapping my surroundings. I relax somewhat at the realization it’s Dante calling me, but the rest is blurry. I scrub at my face, wrinkling my nose at the sensation of hair tickling my lips. I rake it back, frowning as I come upon snarls and grease from running my hands through the tousled length so much yesterday.

Desk. I’m at my desk, a tingling sensation swarming through the side of my face. My sticky face. I frown, reaching up to pull a piece of paper off my sweaty cheek. Ah, the calculations I was working on last night. Absently, I solve the last equation whilst studying the paper, then set it down. I smooth out the wrinkles of my now … three? days old shirt and frown down at my slacks, colored with ashes, coffee, grease and soot.

Dante’s clearly amused, rumbling laughter behind me is accompanied by a small sound, not a whimper, but almost like a restrained squeak. I sigh, searching my pockets for my cigarettes before turning around and dealing with whoever he has paraded in here with the intent of torturing them. “I assume it’s Monday, again.” I say over the stick in my mouth, inhaling greedily when it lights.

“Tuesday, actually. I assumed you were ignoring my texts, but I can see now that’s not the case. Would you like us to come back?” The angel casually says, but underlying the words is a friendly taunt. If I say yes, I’ll be fueling the fire I’m sure he’s building, kindled with sticks that read, ‘I told you that you’re overworking yourself.’

I stand, using the desk for purchase, and inhale another long drag before turning around. I exhale smoke and words are there too, but they shrivel on my tongue upon seeing my guest. For the first time in decades, I choke on my nicotine, and it burns. I swiftly turn back around, hacking up a lung as I stamp out my cigarette. I don’t miss Dante’s knowing laughter and am able to manage out a ‘fuck off.’

Another small, breathless sound mixes with Dante’s amusement and once I recover, I turn and find the person is laughing at me, too. It’s silent, bright nonetheless, and my heart aches, surely from my coughing fit.

“I was not anticipating visitors,” I glance around, noticing the mess I had cleaned up yesterday has been expertly replaced by more clutter. Ironically, the state of my tower bothers me more than my clothes, and the smell wafting from beneath them. “Dante, introductions?” I ask, clipped but not unkind, hopefully.

Dante recovers, patting the man beside him on the shoulder who sheepishly continues to smile at me, eyes never leaving mine. I have to look away from him, afraid those thin pools of mercury will suffocate me. “This is Io Litsvim, a transfer student from the Obelisk of Gia’s Magickal Physics program.”

The name rings a bell, I remember coming across it on the upcoming fall semester’s roster for three of my classes, all graduate level and begrudgingly populated, not to mention Astronomical Magick is infamous for reducing some students to tears. The endless, multi-dimensional math and research gives me a headache, too, but it’s vital. Magick, new and alternate worlds, fate, science, it’s all connected. It’s real. There’s a factual reason for why life as we know it exists, for everything.

I just have to find it.

My inner philosophy narrative lasts less than ten seconds before I file it away, pack it in a box, then fully evaluate Io Litsvim with fresh lungs and new eyes. Obelisk of Gia is well known for their scholars and frankly, Scarlet University isn’t as well funded, not as … dedicated to the pursuit of science as Gia is. Between that and Io’s choice of course load, my courses, it’s clear he thinks he’s smart, but he could be the son of a nobleman and pushed through science because it’s ‘trendy.’ He holds his head high and wears a shy smile no matter how hard my gaze penetrates him, searching for weaknesses.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.

Io wears black framed glasses that rest on round ears, his skin is pale and slightly wrinkled around the edges like mine and vastly freckled, unlike mine. The markings are so dense, small and scattered it’s as if he bathed in a cloud of stardust, and his hair adds to the effect. It’s thick, relatively smooth given the wildness of it. Russet, almost burnt orange and earthy green drift around his face, undertones of a dusky twilight brush against his shoulders. I can’t help but notice his teeth are perfect behind that unyielding smile, save for a crooked incisor.

He’s wearing an admittedly beautiful sweater, azure and silver yarn shimmers under the fluorescent lights, the universe across his chest contrasts the … sterileness of the place around us. His jeans are … tight, and not at all what I expect a physics student to be wearing. Honestly, none of him makes sense. He feels … fae almost, but looks human and something completely other. My fingers twitch with contemplation, but I immediately bury the thought. I don’t read minds, not without permission, not if I can help it.

My study of Io must have lasted longer than ten seconds, because Dante smirks at me in a way that ruffles my feathers more than they already are. I inhale sharply, extending my hand to Io Litsvim with the standard, paper cut out introduction I give to everyone. “Hello, I am Arche Caeleste, Professor of Magickal Physics, specializing in Astronomical Magick.”

What I don’t say to everyone is, “I’m glad to have you in the program.”

Io smiles when he slides his hand into mine, fingers brushing against the pads of mine and palm meeting the heated leather covering my rough skin. He firmly shakes my hand, then releases me without a word. Before I can reply, he brings his hands to chest level and asks me a question, signing it out.

My heart tightens, it’s been years since I’ve spoken to anyone in sign. At first I worry I won’t remember, but I understand him perfectly.

“I’m glad to have met you, but I’m surprised.”

I can’t help but laugh a little, surprising myself and Dante. Then, I surprise Io by responding with touching my fingers to my forehead and curling my middle fingers in as I pull my hand away, forming a Y of sorts with my hand.

“Why?”

Io tilts his hand back and forth, not an exact sign but a clear ehh gesture with a wide, slightly crooked smile which blinds me. “I expected a test, hoops, or something.”

I don’t know why, but I laugh.

I laugh with a vengeance I haven’t felt in years. Besides Dante, when was the last time someone was this blunt with me? Wasn’t afraid to do so?

I bury my hands in my pockets, ignoring the twitch in my fingers. I tilt my head at Io, encouraging greasy strands to fall over my eyes. “How do you know there wasn’t one?”

“I suppose I don’t.” Io signs, shrugging. He glances at Dante and I blink rapidly, remembering him all at once and shifting uncomfortably.

“I’ll finish the tour with Io while you acquaint yourself with a shower, maybe a bed?.” Dante offers, tone casual with a raised brow.

“Oh, yes. Why don’t you come back tomorrow, Io? I’ll be ready for you tomorrow.” I say, using the sign for moon when referring to Io. After doing so, he arrests me with another wide smile.

“Are you sure?” He asks, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his toes and heels.

I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”

I was … not ready for Io Litsvim.

He hums all the time, wears colorful sweaters and bounces on his heels while he does math, constantly moving and making noise but no words. I found myself watching him quite often, which in turn makes Io stiffen and attune to silence without a single word from me. For the first time, I dislike how my presence affects others and I wish for easy conversation. During the first week we worked together, I tried to be … considerate, but given that I rarely take care of myself most days, I find it difficult to accommodate his needs.

Not that he’s ever asked for anything.

Io hasn’t asked many questions at all, actually. On the first day he introduced me to his current thesis on the possibilities of inter-dimensional travel, a topic even well seasoned tenure professors won’t touch, me included. I walked him through the lab and explained the telescope’s capabilities and current problems, which he took to solving within minutes, all without having to order a new part. That was the most we’ve talked I think, the rest of the days have been spent recalibrating the system and cleaning my admittedly disastrous lab.

Today though, my hands shake. 

I enter the warmly lit tower, another key difference since Io’s arrival. Raphael always met me at the door with coffee, waiting for me to open the door to our dark tower even though he has, had, a key. I frequently insisted he didn’t have to wait for me, but he always did. I rub at my heart, frowning at the painful sensation creeping under my rib cage. I make a note to text Dante, see if he knows what became of Raphael. He was … is a genius, I’d hate to see him fail this year because of me. He stayed through the summer, worked hard and kept me alive.

I find Io in a rolling desk chair, my chair, grinning wide with his hands out as he spins and spins and spins. I stop just inside the doorway, watching him as he giggles and laughs whole-heartedly. Curiosity has teased my lips several times, but I haven’t asked him why he doesn’t speak. It’s clear that he can vocalize, he giggles when he has to correct my math and I flush, and when I smoke more than four death sticks in a row he voices his disapproval. I swear I’ve caught the edge of a whispered word in an unfamiliar language, and he …

He sings sometimes, if you can call it that. I do. When he thinks I’m not noticing, he hums and … I don’t know, perhaps the noises aren’t words at all but they have a cadence to them, a rhythm where whatever it is he’s softly releasing is harmonious and nice. Not unlike how Raphael would hum under his breath when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I’m a terrible person, aren’t I? What is it that I do that encourages people to sing when I’m not looking?

Nonetheless, I don’t mind signing with him at all, it reminds me of Da and … and Father.

Gods, I haven’t allowed myself to think of him for years. More specifically, the time when it was all three of us and we were happy. I was so young that the memories are blurred but unrelenting, a distressing combination. Not to say Da and I weren’t happy … after, but it wasn’t the same.

I clear my throat and leave the safety of the doorway, startling Io so hard he falls out of his chair, head lolling in dizziness. I rush to his side, my vampiric speed allows my hand to cradle his head before it smacks on the cement floor. Io stares up at me with dazed eyes and a shy grin, fingers clutching my biceps.

When I don’t say anything, his smile starts to fade and I grasp for something witty, that’s what people do, isn’t it?

“You spun sixty eight times without stopping.” I say, immediately regretting my detached, factual words.

To my relief, Io laughs. He laughs so hard it echoes off the tower walls and escapes through the open dome ceiling all at once, there’s so much of it that nothing can contain it, not even the sky. I chuckle, heart warming as I help Io to his feet. Our laughter awkwardly fades away, but his smile doesn’t, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find one on my face, too.

“Good morning,” Io says, then motions for me to sit at the desk where two cups of coffee wait, both steaming. He’s had the lights on, coffee ready for me every morning thus far, and I like it.

“That it is,” I say aloud, then take a seat and sip my coffee, going through today’s plan with him in sign, substituting voice for sign with more technical words that I’ve been working on but haven’t mastered yet. Thus far, I haven’t walked him through the intricacies of my project, given what I actually want to do isn’t on paper. For a brief moment, it occurs to me that I should be afraid, I don’t know this man. Raphael and all my previous interns signed an NDA and were thoroughly vetted to ensure they committed to this.

None of them were, proving the process to be faulty.

“Can I ask a question?” Io draws me from my thoughts and I nod, going to take a sip of my coffee but finding it gone already. I frown, setting the mug down in favor of a cigarette. He rolls his eyes at me and I snort.

“Unless it’s to stop with these, then I’m afraid not. They won’t kill me, so don’t waste your time.” I flinch the second I shut my mouth. I had meant to come off as teasing or something of the sort, but no, I’m just an asshole.

But Io doesn’t seem phased. In fact, he rolls his eyes at me. “Give me more credit than that. No, I want to know what we are doing. You have a telescope that can determine one pebble from another with such accuracy it’s terrifyingly impressive, but you’re not looking for anything on the gold moon, everything is focused on the smaller, less impressive silver moon, some would say. But even then, there’s no pictures, no data samples. This doesn’t feel like a research project to me.”

I take a long drag of my cigarette, contemplating Io. He straightens in his chair, but otherwise doesn’t remove his gaze from me. He stares into my eyes and my fingers twitch with curiosity, but I reign my magick back. There’s something about him that’s wholly familiar and startlingly exotic to my world all at once. Even Dante has commented that ‘this one seems different,’ and I’m inclined to think he’s right, but there’s … I don’t know, something that’s holding me back.

“What do you know of the dark side of the moon?”

Io’s cheeks flush immediately and he adjusts his glasses, ducking his head. He glances back up at me, revealing the slightest bit of cool mercury and an unreadable expression. “That no one has seen it, and any satellites sent up there are lost.”

This is the part where they laugh, run, or stay.

I’ve been laughed at many times and my skin has grown thick, but if Io does, I’m afraid it just may sting.

I nod, treading in a whisper that speeds with my thinly veiled excitement. “I have reason to believe there is someone living up there, and I’m going to prove it. Not only that, but I’m going to reveal the dark side of the moon for everyone to see. When it comes to light that there is a person abandoned up there, all alone … Someone will be sent for them, and they won’t have to be alone anymore. It’s a win-win for everyone. For fame, for accreditation, for morality.”

Io and I have leaned forward in our chairs, inadvertently rolling ourselves closer to each other. He studies me, frowning for the first time since I’ve met him. “How can you be so sure? I can see that you truly believe this, but why?”

I open my hands, staring into my leather covered palms and bare finger tips untainted by ink and grease. This is where I spew logic and myth and years worth of hypotheses, enough scientific jargon to get them in the door. Only Raphael never asked me why. When I told him what I wanted to do, he enthusiastically said yes without question.

“Because I have to,” I admit, so quiet I’m not even sure the words actually even escaped. I chance a look up at Io, and his softened features tell me everything. Such a vulnerable look would usually trigger my defenses and the need to flee, but I don’t. I don’t.

I say, “I can’t leave them alone.”

Io’s pale fingers meet mine tentatively, his skin slowly brushes against mine and when I don’t pull away, he takes both my hands in his, never breaking eye contact. I inhale sharply and my magick thrums beneath my skin, vibrating and pulsing and wanting.

His pupils dilate and he squeezes my hands, the only indication he noticed my power greeting him, then releases me just as slowly as he took me. With one hand he says, “Ok.”

I nod, chancing a smile. “Okay.”

After that, I explain everything to him. The tractor beam, the magick engines, how we’ll need to prepare the telescope and the potential consequences for my actions.

I brush off such things. “As long as we succeed, that’s all that matters. You won’t be subject to any investigations, you have my word. Besides, it’s not like I’m planning on keeping the moon this way, could you imagine what would happen?”

Io shrugs. “You break a plate and put it back where you found it, but it’s still broken.”

I arch a brow. “Do you disagree with me?”

He laughs. “Of course I do.”

I frown, lighting up another cigarette. “Then why did you agree?”

Io’s laughter transforms into a deadly grin. “Because I believe you.”

“Oh.” I say, because what else can I say? My throat dries up and I go for coffee, but it’s long gone. I take a drag from my cigarette and instantly regret it, subsequently stubbing out the stick. I stand abruptly and Io stares up at me through his earthy hair, a smirk playing at his lips. “Thank you, um, thank you for that. I am not … I’m not good with these things, so don’t expect praise or anything like that. I hear that I’m terrible to work with. In general if I say nothing, that’s good.”

Io chuckles as he signs, “Consider me warned.”

I nod, neck hot. “Excuse me for a moment. Why don’t you get started on today’s problem at hand? We need to make sure the math is right, and we both know you’re better at it than me, just like–”

I abruptly cut off, shaking my head. Io’s smile fades and something sad swims in his eyes and I ache at the sight of it. “Well, go ahead. I’m just going to check on something.”

I turn away before I can embarrass myself anymore, stalking off to the nearby scaffolding surrounding the telescope. I stop at the bottom stair, pulling out my phone. I find Dante and call him, keeping my voice down.

“We have seven more weeks, don’t tell me you’ve scared him off already.” Dante pouts as a way of answering and I grumble in response.

“Good morning to you, too. And Io is doing fine, thanks for asking. I actually had a question.”

“Must be pretty important if you’re actually using your phone, and for a call no less.” Dante yawns over the line.

I huff and roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “Forget it.”

“Oh come on now, I’m just teasing. What do you need?”

My lips itch for a cigarette but I resist, for now. “How has Raphael been adjusting? I know it’s only the first week of classes, but I … You know what, never mind, it’s not my business, I’m not his teacher anymore.”

“Arche,” Dante cuts through my nonsense firmly, but not unkindly. “You have his number, why don’t you shoot him a text?”

I balk at that, sputtering indignantly. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not appropriate, I only had it in case of emergency and I … doubt he wants to hear from me, honestly.”

Dante chuckles. “But you still have it? His number?”

I growl at my so-called friend. “Good bye, Dante.”

“See you at ten,” Dante says, laughing as he cuts the call.

I stare at my unlocked phone, the wallpaper something Raphael had chosen for me when he set this device up. For all my worldly knowledge, the technicalities of phones escape me. I open up a message thread, adding Raphael’s name because yes I still have his number. I type, erase, and type again for several minutes, eventually coming up with the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written and have been thinking about the sentiment since he left.

Good Morning Raphael. I wanted to apologize for my behavior, not just for the day you left, but for the weeks before it as well. Without your help, ideas and genius I would’ve gotten stuck long ago, and for that I would like to add, or keep, rather, your name on the accreditations. If you are uncomfortable with this I will not, but I feel you deserve it. I know I am difficult, and you are superb, beyond what I deserved. With or without, and dare I say more so without, you will achieve grand things, and I wish you the best. Thank you, Raphael.

My finger hovers over the send button, then slides to erase.

No.

I slam my thumb down on the little paper airplane meant to take my apology, resulting in a rather anticlimactic moment. I take a step, but then–

Oh, but then.

Then, a phone chimes.

My boot slams down to the floor, toe scraping the first metal stair leading up the scaffolding and my shoulders tense at the sound of a familiar ding-ding reminiscent of a trolley.

I slowly turn in place, sure I’m being paranoid.

What I find baffles me.

Io stands halfway between the desk and I, phone in hand and a soft smile upon his face. His mercurial eyes drag from the screen up to me and his features haven’t changed, but in my heart of hearts I know when we lock gazes.

He signs, “I think we can achieve grand things together, don’t you?”

“Raph … Io?” I start and sputter, unsure what to say. “Why do you— Why did you leave only to … Why?”

He sighs, smiling sadly. “I only wanted to be close to you. If I had known … Well, I guess that doesn’t matter now. Do you see now that I’m right here, and I’m not alone? I’ve never been alone, because I’m with you.”

And then, the Man on the Moon offers his hand to me. “I’m sorry for deceiving you. This is me, the real me. Can you forgive me, Arche? Can you allow yourself rest, now?”

He ends his plea with the sign for my name that I’ve loved since the start, and there’s no doubting my decision. There’s so many questions, the deceit erodes my bones, and yet.

And yet.

How can I not explore the dark side of the moon?

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I hope you enjoyed Arche’s story! Tomorrow is Ghost, which is Arlo’s story. Here is a first look.

I met a ghost for the first time when I was six.

I spent three years calling them my imaginary friends.

Then, I witnessed my first death and learned otherwise, diving into a world of secrets, of shame. No matter what, no one could know.

But, like all secrets, it was found out. He found out. I lost friends, so many friends, and it brought on a new blanket of pain that I didn’t shed for centuries. I never lost the memories of my first friend, either. My first memories ever, for that fact.

I met a ghost for the first time when I was six.