Summer Sons

Eddie had left him this, also: a future to see through.

Curses weren’t as simple to put aside as a ghost willing to be laid to rest; that grim weight would nest inside of him until the end of his life.

Knowing it was the right thing to do, to preserve the memory of Eddie as he’d really been, rather than what he’d become, didn’t fix how bad it hurt to be well and truly alone.

Impulse and Eddie’s damned memories told him symbolism was half the engine of magic.

Eddie had left him this, all of this, but keeping it—allowing its horror to continue to thrive for another generation—struck him to the core as wrong.

That secret lay between them, in all its ugliness, festering.

“What, did you expect me to ask if she killed Eddie during office hours?”

because nothing encompassed the particular set of feelings he might sum up as owned.

Andrew struggled to determine if he knew the house, but the pernicious doubling between himself and revenant and imagination and memory made it familiar.