ghost [k. parker]

• CHAPTER 11 •

chapter 11: paris

"DO YOU SWEAR THAT once we get to the top you won't push me off?"

Kai's face had morphed into one of disappointment, internally wondering why they were climbing the Eiffel Tower if he wasn't allowed to have any fun at the top of it. He agreed reluctantly, though resorting to mumbling complaints under his breath.

For the past few months they had been travelling. They'd took Kai's approach and stayed in a place till they felt they'd explored and seen every crevice, path and clearing the country had to offer. In Hawaii they'd roamed the seabeds, dying more times than they could count after their oxygen tanks ran out, just to swim a little further than the last time. India had been a culture shock and a half for them, everything from the tea plantations (they felt like they were breathing in new air) to the old temples, adorned with ancient gods, set in gold and vibrant colour. Kai and Roma died in ruins of ancient Indian civilisations, for no particular reason other than to die in the tombs of long gone emperors (there was some great irony in two immortal beings unsuccessfully dying where a king who thought he was infallible lay buried as bones). Or maybe for the two of them, joining the ghosts, brief as it was, was some solace from the loneliness.

It is was no secret that dying was an intimate thing. It hurt and it would always hurt, no matter how many times they had done it before. However, it got easier to die. By the tenth time you were pushed off a mountain, you begin to stop dreading the fall. Your evolutionary behaviour that taught you to feel fear when facing threatening situations because fear keeps you alive, stops working after you stop being alive a couple of times. This doesn't stop you shattering when you feel the impact of the fall.

This is why death was so intimate, because it was painful, not because it was frightening. Roma had held onto Kai tightly, placing his head into her lap and stroking his hair softly as he bled out on the cold stone floors of dilapidated castles, shortly after she had stuck the knife into his stomach. There was nothing more human than a boy, in the hands of a girl, hurting.

Kai had done the same for her, running his hands through her wet hair after hauling her out of hidden rivers, waiting expectantly for her to resuscitate and clear the freshwater from her lungs. There was always some fear in the brief few minutes that the other wouldn't return, not this time. This time, some old, bitter god would cruelly yank the other into the void and the forsaken one would be left, waiting.

It almost seemed like they were using dying as a way of flirting; a little twisted, but to be expected considering the circumstances. However, Roma had ruled this out immediately. She even refused to consider the fact that they were possibly, maybe, almost friends.

But this kind of life wasn't enough for either of them. They both knew that. Sometimes it was sickening just to hear the other's voice, and they were always hypervigilant, always looking for a way out. In fact, it was almost comedic- Kai would first sneak out at night to explore the new cities and search for any helpful tools in any of the remnants of covens, and then Roma would sneak into his room searching for her knife and the ascendant. Neither found anything but they kept on hopelessly searching.

However, that had changed when they got to Paris. Kai wasn't exactly sure why Roma didn't want to be pushed off the top of the Eiffel tower. It seemed like a mild death compared to the other ways he had killed her, quite pleasant even, if he dared push it that far. But Roma, aside from doing the usual tourist-y thing, had a purpose for climbing up the tower. You see, she had had an epiphany on the flight over to France. She was dreaming about what she expected it to be like when she started analysing the root of her schemas about the country. And then her mind drifted to Sebastian.