Lucie

The Horne residence was as pristine as ever. The white brick was freshly cleaned and repainted, the rose bushes flanking the front door trimmed and in full bloom, the patio furniture's cushions washed and dried to immaculate perfection. When I pulled up to it, the only thing off about the place was the fact that Cian's silver Cadillac was missing from the driveway.

It had been summer for two weeks now, Vinny's first one as a live person since his death two years ago. He'd been breathing and functioning for around two months now, but was far from used to it. At times he had to remind himself—the hard way—that he could no longer walk through walls.

I parked my Subaru against the curb and clambered out into the open air. The sun's heat was relentless on my bare legs and arms—it was tank top and short weather. I tied my hair up to keep the strands from clinging to my neck due to the humidity.

Cian, a few weeks back, had gifted me a spare key to his house, as some sort of end of the school year present. "You're practically a purebred Horne now," he'd said as he pressed the princess designed key into my palm. "I figure this is only fitting."

So it was pink and sparkly, but he thought it was funny, so there was no point in arguing.

Utilizing the key, I opened up the door and slid into the air conditioning. The glass chandelier glittered at me from the ceiling, the mahogany staircase curling towards the second floor. Mrs. Horne's voice called out from the parlor, from which were coming a chorus of several other women's voices: "Cian, is that you, darling?"

"Nope," I called back. "It's Lucie, Mrs. H! Just stopping by."

There were a few clinks and an, "Excuse me, ladies," before Cian and Vinny's mother waltzed into the foyer. She was in a white blouse and crème tulle skirt, her tiny feet crammed into tall stiletto heels. Her ponytail was tight and slick, not one hair out of place. She gave me a strained smile—despite how much time I spent around both her sons, our relationship was still tentative. "Hi, Lucie," she said, her blue eyes like looking right into Vinny's. "It's our weekly book club meeting, so if you could—"

"Don't worry. I'll be quiet. Is Vinny here?"

She motioned upstairs. "He's in his room."

I nodded at her, returning her strained smile and disappearing up the stairs.

Since my brother had died and Vinny had kept me from becoming a Silhouette, the days had been peaceful. I finished up my junior year while Vinny adjusted to his new life, Cian and I spending virtually every day together. In fact, it was strange that I couldn't find him here today. If he went anywhere, at least, he usually called me.

Vinny's bedroom was directly across from Cian's, residue from a "Keep Out" sticker stuck to his door. I knocked softly, cracking the door open. "Magneto?"

I swung the door open. Vinny sat cross-legged on his bed, black headphones clapped over his ears. Little shoots of flaxen hair stuck up where his headphones ruffled them. He looked up at me as I entered, grinning. "Hey," he greeted, uncovering his ears.

The difference between the two brothers, if not evident in a million other ways, was obvious if you looked at their bedrooms. While Cian's was dark and far from neat, Vinny's walls were a light sky blue, and not one item was out of place. His desk was clear, bed neatly made, soccer and baseball trophies lined up crisply on his shelves—organized by size. Even the wood floors were free of dust, not one article of clothing peeking out from a drawer. The air smelled like Febreze.

Vinny, who, thankfully, had abandoned his swim trunks, was clothed simply in a pair of gym shorts and T-shirt. It had been his go-to style since he'd come out of his coffin.

"Whatcha listening to?" I asked him, coming to a seat in front of him on his bed. He shut his laptop and pushed it over to make space for me. It still amazed me, really, to watch him make contact with things now. Gone was the extreme concentration needed to even do something as simple as pressing a button. He was alive now, and there were no bounds for him.

He answered, "I've recently become interested in piano songs. I don't know. Helps me focus."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Fine. But don't become one of those boring people who think classical music is a cure-all."

"Are you trying to say classical music sucks the life out of people?"

I shrugged. "Take it as you wish."

He shook his head at me, casting me a skeptical look from underneath wisps of pale lashes. His eyes were more vibrant than they'd been when he was a ghost, a blue as bright as the morning sky, little flecks of gold enveloping the pupils. He'd also started wearing his hair differently, gelling back his formerly uncontrollable bangs so that the strands undulated in a wave towards his right ear. It wasn't a bad look for him, but it certainly made him look like money.

He was the neat one.

Cian was the polar opposite.

I tapped Vinny's knee, and he watched my fingers with caution. "So where's Cian gone off to?" I asked. "I didn't see his car in the driveway."

Vinny's eyes flitted from my hand to the open window beside me. "Beats me. He didn't say. He was helping me sort through all of my stuff—Mom packed it away after I died, you know—then just got up, took the car, and left."

I grunted in response. "Your brother's a weirdo."

"You don't think I know that?"

"Well," I chuckled, "that's a bummer that he's not here." I started to get up, heading in the direction of Vinny's closet. I tossed open the doors, surveying the array of T-shirts and shorts he owned, all different versions of the outfit he was currently wearing.

"Lucie," he said warily, "What are you doing?"

I shook my head, shutting the closet and turning to him. He was looking at me as if I was on the verge of a psychotic break, his eyebrows risen towards his hairline. "What am I doing? I'm taking you the mall, bozo, since you need a style upgrade. I was hoping Cian would come, but I guess not."

Now Vinny was looking at me if I already had suffered a psychotic break. "Is this about the swim trunks? I got rid of them, I swear."

"Did you burn them?"

"Well, no. Not everyone has time to play with fire, you pyromaniac—"

"Play with fire? You think this is a game, Vinny? No. Those swim trunks are deadly, and if they're not burnt to a crisp, then we have a problem," I replied. "We can worry about that later, however. Right now you need more than a bunch of T-shirts. How about a sweater?"

Vinny narrowed his eyes at me. "Summer just started, Lucie."

"So? Cian wears a hoodie everyday."

"That's because he's Cian and he's a weirdo. Remember?"

I frowned at him, since I was too prideful to admit he'd gotten me. Despite his groaning protests, I gripped his arm and tugged him to a standing position. He wavered a little on his feet, leaning against me until his balance settled. "You okay?" I asked. It was the subtle things that reminded you he'd been dead for two years—the loss of his balance, failed motor skills (more than once he'd drop something he'd been holding successfully only moments before), a flawed memory of what he could and couldn't do. The walking-through-walls incident, for example, from which Vinny had lost his dignity and earned a bump on his forehead that was there for three days.

Vinny swallowed; it was so quiet in the room now, his fingers still digging into my arm to keep him upright, that I heard the rhythm of it. "Lucie, I can't do this."

"Vinny?"

"No, I can't do this. Can't go out there. What if someone sees me? My body may be alive, but my essence—my essence is still dead. I can't risk—"

"Vinny," I said, firmer this time, and he lifted his eyes from the floor, their gaze burning into mine. There was wariness in his expression, but also undying trust for me. "How long have you been locked up here—in this house? It's your home, Vinny, not a prison. You're allowed to leave."

It was true. Since we'd brought him back here that fateful day, he hadn't step foot outside of the house except on the front porch once, and even that had taken a ton of effort to get him to do. He stayed far from the dock which served as the backyard, far away from water in general. Cian told me he even refused to take baths, only showers. Short ones, at that.

I sighed. In a respect, he was right. He was alive, yet death still haunted him.

I just didn't want it—the fear of it--to own him.

"I'll be right here the whole time," I offered him. "If you get too uncomfortable, we'll leave, I swear. But just—just let me do this for you, okay? I can't repay you for what you did for me in that cave, but just...just let me do you this favor."

He swallowed again. A strand of his bangs had escaped the rest of its gelled friends, and hung askew in his eyes, a string of gold. His fingers slipped from my arm, but the sensation still lingered, something tickling across the surface of my skin. When he was steady on his feet, he nodded at me. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I trust you, Lucie. You know that."

I smiled, because I did know that. "I just think," I said, still validating myself despite the persuasion's end, "that you're human, you know. You should act like it."

"I'm not used to being alive yet," Vinny told me with a frown, as we stepped outside his bedroom and headed for the stairs. Mrs. Horne and her book club were still chatting fluently away; we weren't even heard as we opened the front door and stepped out.

The smaller Horne brother paused on the porch, squinting at the sun in his eyes. "You'd think...you know, two years isn't that long a gap. But it is. And I'm just not used to it."

"You will be," I told him. "Remember? This is your second chance. To grow up and, I don't know, find a good woman and marry her, have kids, have a life. You have life, Vinny, and you'd better live it to the fullest."

For a second, he said nothing, but then he just smirked at me. I twirled the princess key in my fingers before slipping it in my pocket, taking out my car keys instead. "Or what? You'll take it from me?"

I shuddered. "That would be cruel. You think me a villain, Fruit Magneto?"

"I don't think you a hero."

"Then I think you a villain for saying that! Sometimes I swear you secretly hate me," I muttered, heading down the driveway and to the curb, towards my Subaru. Vinny followed closely at my side. If there was one thing I missed about him being my ghost friend (this may be the only thing), it was that he used to be a natural air conditioner. Even when it was as hot as it is now outside, I'd have Vinny's presence to cool me off. Not anymore. Now all I felt was his arm when it brushed mine on occasion.

"Only sometimes," he said, which earned him a nudge from me. A light nudge. I didn't want to send him toppling over.

He hopped in the passenger seat, and I in the driver's. Putting the key in the ignition, I listened to the car blossom to life, the engine roaring to a start. My hand hovered over the radio, but I dropped it, looking to Vinny. "You know, if you really are scared to..."

I trailed off as Vinny shook his head at me. "Shh."

"I mean, really—"

"Drive."

With one last glance at him, I put the car in gear.

I drove.