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“24 hours?”
“24 hours. From the minute the clock strikes midnight. Do we have a deal?”
The woman extends her hand, the hazy outline of her fingers flickering in the candlelight like the ripples of water. She isn’t a ghost, not exactly (not like the boys are at least), but she also isn’t not. It’d been a perplexing case, full of magic and mystery far beyond the extent of what the Dead Boy Detectives had explored in the past few decades. She had explained, and Edwin had taken careful note of the specifics, but it still doesn’t really make all that much sense.
What makes even less sense is how exactly the spell she’s offering works, her magic surpassing Edwin’s, something supernatural and spiritual like the Cat King’s, far beyond the boy’s comprehension… but god if the appeal isn’t enough to make the two ghosts consider throwing caution to the wind.
But of course, Edwin being Edwin means that of course he asks, and of course he then asks so many more questions that even the poor ghost begins to lose her temper.
“Boys, this is a once in an afterlife offer. For 24 hours, the two of you will have corporeal human bodies, just like the ones you inhabit now. For 24 hours, you can experience the lives of the living once again, entirely for free. This is my thanks for your help, not some cheap piece of magic that I am charging you for, so do you want it or not? I haven’t got forever, you know.”
Charles cuts in before Edwin can, taking her hand and shaking it. She doesn’t feel like other ghosts; her skin is not the same silky semi-solid that Charles has become so intimately familiar with from Edwin, nor even the weird prickly warmth of the Cat King; she’s something new. Something unfamiliar.
“No, no - We’ll take it, thank you.”
Her expression changes instantly, smoothing over, and she smiles graciously at Charles.
“Excellent! Now,” she reaches into the pocket of her jacket, and draws out two small vials, both glittering with something blue, iridescent in the candlelight, “take these. You must drink them at exactly one minute to midnight, the whole thing, else it shan’t work. Do you understand?”
Charles takes them, passing one to Edwin before he holds the other up, watching the liquid as it swirls around the glass.
“Aces, yeah. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, boys,” she looks between the two, hands clasped before her, “enjoy.”
Her eyes gleam as she smiles, something knowing, something unreadable, before she disappears, leaving the two ghosts alone in the office.
It’s perfect timing, really, because as soon as she’s gone, the door swings open and in come the girls. Crystal’s carrying a bag of takeout from the Chinese down the road, and Niko has an armful of miscellaneous snacks.
“Hey guys! Ooo - what’s that?”
Niko deposits the snacks on the sofa, quick to Charles’ side, eyes wide as she marvels at the bottle.
“Just the best payment from a case we’ve ever got!” Charles smiles at Niko and shakes the little vial in his hand to show off all the sparkles in the potion, knowing his friend will appreciate them.
And sure enough, Niko’s eyes go round at the demonstration, and she claps her hands lightly.
“Yeah, but really,” Crystal rolls her eyes, but comes in closer to inspect the magic potion herself as well. “What is it?”
“A potion that will grant us physical bodies for the period of 24 hours,” Edwin answers, all three of his friends turning to him. “And we were lucky enough to acquire two of them, so if Charles likes the experience enough, he will be able to repeat it one more time.”
“Wait, what?” Charles’ easy joy from earlier dries up. “What are you on about? You’re drinking the potion with me, mate.”
“No, thank you. I am quite content being dead and do not wish to experience the uncomfortable tribulations of life again. My current state of being is far superior,” Edwin sees Charles open his mouth to argue, but he doesn’t let him cut in. “Additionally, I do not think I am incorrect in the assessment that you yearn for life enough for the both of us. This will be your opportunity to hopefully alleviate some of that.”
“Edwin,” with an expression more serious than Edwin has seen in a long time, Charles comes up to him and puts his hands on his tight shoulders. “I want to experience being alive with you. I know you don’t care for food or sleep or anything like that, but I want to show you that it can be good.”
A rogue thumb strokes absently along the length of Edwin’s collarbone, right where bone meets the joint of his shoulder, and Edwin wonders if Charles is even aware of the movement. Or if he’s aware how maddening it is to try to hold his resolve when the warmth of Charles’ touch is melting him like an iceberg.
“Edwin, please, it will be super cool, we promise!” The excited words burst out of Niko like she’s been holding them back for a long time and couldn’t do so any longer. “We can go to the library so you’ll smell new books again! And – and can go eat something fancy that even you’ll like!”
“Yeah, you morbid idiot,” Crystal pipes up, and to Edwin’s utmost irritation, doesn’t seem to register his pointed glare. “Don’t kill the vibe. It’ll only be 24 hours anyway. You wouldn’t want to break Charles’ heart, would you?”
On instinct, Edwin turns to Charles for support, but it’s a foolish move. One look at his friend’s puppy dog eyes tells him he’s alone in this. And defeated.
“Alright then.”
Charles, perched on the corner of the desk, bounces his foot in midair as Edwin arranges timepieces on the windowsill, his pale hands flitting like anxious birds between clockfaces and dials and spinning cogs.
Those hands are going to be alive in another eight minutes.
Charles stuffs his own hands into his pockets. He’s keyed up, anticipation lighting his false nerve endings on fire. Edwin’s moving quick, yeah, but he’s not full of beans like Charles.
Doesn’t look to be, at least.
Charles wrenches his eyes from Edwin and stares at the lineup of timepieces. It’s not the Agency’s full collection, not by a long shot - just a gold-wrought hourglass, two round clocks, an aggressively ticking pocket-watch, and a sundial casting a shadow hours out of step with the lights in the office, let alone the waning moon.
The black sand in the hourglass streams slower than treacle. Charles swallows thickly. “You sure that’s not the relativity hourglass?” he asks.
“Yes, Charles.” Edwin turns his head just enough for Charles to see the sharp line of his jaw and the soft smudge of dark eyelashes against his high cheekbone. “I would not have taken that out without conferring with you first.”
Charles sags. “Right…”
Well, stupid to ask, really. The Riemannian hourglass - he remembers its proper name now - has been wrapped in a lead-lined oilcloth and locked in an aluminium box since ‘96, when Charles had gotten sucked into some kind of time quicksand in a lab outside Oxford. Edwin had hauled him out after ten minutes, but the weight of each second made those minutes feel like months.
The watch ticks so viciously that it scrapes across the painted glass.
Seven minutes to go.
Edwin steps back from the window and presses the palms of his hands together. He spins to face Charles with a tight-lipped smile, and Charles stands up automatically.
“This is gonna be brills, Edwin, promise.”
“Charles,” he takes a deep breath, “I do not wish for you to miss out on anything during this opportunity. Regardless of what happens, you ought not spend that time being concerned about me.”
He sees the way Edwin’s fingers twitch one against the other, begging to be let free to close into fists, but he keeps them still. So this is serious.
“What are you so worried about?” Charles asks. “You can tell me.”
Edwin exhales loudly and moves to sit at his desk, not meeting Charles’ eyes. “It is too late to change our minds, but I am afraid I shall not be very good company. My memories of being corporeal are not - pleasant in nature.”
That must be the euphemism of the century - or, well, centuries in their case. It's enough for Charles to see a flash of dingy green hallways filled with echoing giggles behind his eyelids. He suppresses a shiver. “This is exactly why I want us to do it together, we won't take any case, or do anything dangerous. It's like Niko said, we'll take a walk in the sun, smell some books, and eat our favourite foods. And I’ll be here to protect you. You do have a favourite food, right?”
Edwin’s hands tap distractedly on the edge of the desk, his eyes fixed on the wood between them. “I do not remember.”
“Then we'll try everything and find out.”
This, at least, has the expected reaction of Edwin scoffing and turning to level him with a stare. Charles wants to jump up in celebration.
“Charles, it is merely 24 hours; it is not possible for us to try every food there is.”
“See? Now you’ve admitted it's not for long. We're figuring this out.”
Edwin huffs again, less convinced.
Three minutes to go.
“And we can take a picture together to hang in the office, we've always wanted one of those.”
“Ok, so,” Crystal startles them both, pushing the door open again and beginning to talk without preamble. “We have some clothes, in case your ghostly ones won't work, a toothbrush, soap, pillows, extra blankets, and extra snacks. No complaints because it’s the best we could do at this time of the day without notice.”
“Cheers, Crystal!”
“Yes, thank you,” Edwin says, a touch more stiffly. “That was very thoughtful of you, Crystal.”
“Wow. Don’t go getting sappy on me now, or I’ll think you’re cursed.”
“Hilarious.”
“Shhhh, guys!” Niko flaps her hand at them, then gestures at the collection of timepieces. “It’s almost time!”
One minute to go.
Charles and Edwin finish the last bits of preparation, uncorking the vials and holding them ready. All of them watch the time tick down with bated breath – some more necessary than others. A precious few seconds before the end, Charles catches Edwin’s gaze with a reassuring smile and clinks their vials together.
Every timepiece shows exactly one minute to midnight. In sync, Charles and Edwin raise the vials and drain them completely.
“Are you alive now?” Niko asks immediately, eyes wide.
24 Hours Remaining.
Charles opens his mouth to answer – powerful magic usually takes a tick to kick in, there’s no use rushing it – and freezes. He can taste the potion.
He can taste the potion.
It’s nothing to write home about, sickly sweet with a hint of mint, but when you haven’t tasted anything in thirty years, it’s a hell of a thing. More than that – he can feel the texture of his clothes brushing his skin, can feel the floor more solid than ever under his feet, can feel himself with a sort of gravity he’s grown unused to. Like as a ghost, he was able to float off at a thought, and now he’s tethered to the earth.
“Oh my,” Edwin says faintly, and Charles remembers he’s got something far more important to be focusing on.
“Alright, mate?” he asks, already making his way over. And if it’s only half concern, half the need to know how it feels to touch Edwin like this –
Doesn’t matter much, because Charles never reaches him. He’d not bothered checking where he stepped, well used to just phasing through, so it comes as a complete surprise when something catches his foot and he goes down with a breathless oof.
“Okay,” Crystal says, dry. “At least clothing isn’t the issue.”
“Charles!” Edwin hurries over, much more carefully, to crouch at Charles’ side. He doesn’t touch Charles’ cheek or anything – more’s the pity – but he does rest his hand on Charles’ shoulder and fret over him for a bit, which is nothing to sniff at. Charles can only feel a hint of weight and warmth through all his layers, and it’s still worryingly addictive.
“Did it work?” Niko asks, crouching across from Edwin.
Charles holds his hand out to her, and she takes it with no hesitation, whooping with excitement as soon as they touch. “I can feel you! Like, really feel you! Can you feel me?”
He can, and it’s brills. Niko’s got soft hands, but he can feel the whorls of her fingertips, a slight callous where she must hold pens, her cold rings.
“No pressure, mates,” he tells all of them, “but I really need a group hug now.”
Niko flings herself into his chest, Crystal's arms catching in a bear hug around his waist.
They’re so warm. He can feel their delighted laughter shaking through their chests to his. His eyes sting.
Edwin watches them from a slight distance, mouth tugging into a gentle smile.
Charles extends a hand through the tangle of limbs. Edwin blinks down at it, like he’s been given an odd and wondrous gift, and reaches for him.
Charles' breath catches in his throat. Smooth skin, soft as silk. No callouses, not like him.
Pianists fingers. The shift of muscle, of bones as delicate as a bird's wings, under his fingers.
Edwin’s staring down at their tangled hands, mouth parted. He looks up; their eyes meet.
Slowly, a tentative smile steals over Edwin’s face, tender, a secret slipped over the girls’ shoulders.
Charles' heart flutters in his throat.
He beams, squeezes Edwin’s hand so hard it stings a bit. Edwin grips him back, like if he lets go, they’ll both drift off into the black mouth of space, like the only thing tethering them to earth is this.
Crystal and Niko have withdrawn, Charles realises suddenly, leaving the two not-dead-undead boys lost in each other’s touch.
“I would give my entire nepo baby life savings,” Crystal says seriously, and they jerk back, the warmth of each other’s fingers disappearing as they turn to her, “to see Edwin eat a taki.”
“Absolutely not,” Edwin says, eyeing the eye-searing red of the potato snack clasped in her fingers with a pinched expression. They hadn’t even noticed her opening the bag.
Charles plucks it out of her hands instead, and tosses it into his mouth, choking; “Fuck me, that’s hot. Oh god, spice, I missed you.”
Niko picks her way through the best of snacks spread around them, juggling four mugs of tea in her hands, setting them down delicately. She gets Edwin to take a delicate sip from each in a matter of minutes.
Charles is a bit jealous of how quickly she has Edwin wrapped around her little finger, or at least he would be, if he weren’t distracted by the world-altering experience of watching Edwin try new foods.
He’s dubious of anything with any colour; old-fashioned chocolate biscuits are accepted with trepidation, nibbled on carefully. His eyes go the slightest bit wide with muted wonder. There’s a tiny bit of chocolate smeared on his chin. Charles can’t stop smiling.
The lemon bars Crystal unearths out of the back of the fridge (which the boys had installed for the girls after their return to London) are the biggest surprise.
Edwin swallows, muscles of his throat dipping slowly, dabs at his mouth with a paper napkin, then asks if he might have another.
Crystal pushes the entire plate across, and Charles loves her so much he might explode.
There’s a faint dusting of powdered sugar on Edwin’s bow tie. He looks so quietly shocked, each time his teeth sink into something, and he doesn’t hate it.
They eat, and talk, and play card games around the piles of snacks and assorted mugs of drinks. Edwin’s talking, laughing, and Charles remembers suddenly, a memory so faded, sun bleached, it’s almost gone. When he still thought he’d make it out of the attic. Thinking, if he could bring this boy home, show Mum the boy that saved him, his first real friend, she’d push so many servings onto his plate, Edwin would burst. That she would love him, like Charles did, with his sharp tongue and stiff smiles. Edwin would probably be horribly nervous around adults, but Mum would find a way to put him at ease, the way she used to make people laugh when they least expected it.
Even then, before Edwin had said he was a ghost, a punch to the stomach, Charles knew it was just a dream. He’d rather wade back into that lake than let Dad anywhere near Edwin.
Edwin…
Charles scrambles up on his feet. He has his foot in the air, a step from walking straight into the wall, when he remembers that doesn’t work as an exit right now and turns on his heel. He rushes back through the room. Throws the door open.
“Calm down. Where are you going?” Crystal asks, halfway to standing up.
“Outside! Sunlight! Edwin, we can feel the sun,” Charles says. It’s hard to wait for them to catch up. He is shaking, heels barely touching the ground, legs jiggling up and down.
16 Hours Remaining.
It does seem to interest Edwin, which is the important part. They don’t discuss it often. Edwin insists they not linger on impossibilities, and Charles usually tries to do that for him, usually manages to too, when they weren’t thrust into his face.
That didn’t mean nothing had come up. Some things they’d let slip. 50 years together, sometimes chats just turned that way. They both had things they wished were different about ghostly life. One of them was Edwin’s disappointment when he finally escaped and didn’t get to feel the warmth of the sun on his face. Hell was set at a constant “uncomfortable”- either too hot or too cool.
It’d gotten to the point where he thought he might have made up the soul-deep warmth of a glancing sunbeam when Charles mentioned also missing it in passing.
They wander, and linger, pausing to perch on benches or patches of sun-bathed grass, meandering down along the river bank, through the winding alleys around the back of the agency, through the park down the road and the little wild patch of woodland surrounding it.
10 Hours Remaining.
“We should be getting back to the agency.”
“Noooooo,” Charles says. He knows he’s whining, but there’s so much more to see, to do.
They’d gone from staring at the sun (and in Charles’ case, coughing up a lung. He’d forgotten how much smog there was in London, although apparently it was far less now than it had been in Edwin’s day), to touching cars, pavement, and the feathers of a pigeon Charles spent half an hour trying to catch while the girls laughed.
Now they’re sitting in a car park in a convertible they’d hijacked because he wanted to know if the wind rushing through his hair felt like he remembered. (It didn’t. It was so much better.) He’s only just scratched the surface of everything he wants to try. An entire world of sensations and only…
“There are only 10 hours left until midnight. If you wish to try sleeping, now would be a good time to start,” Edwin insists, looking apologetic.
“Right! Crystal, can we use your bed?” He stares at her pleadingly through the rearview mirror. Her agreement comes with an eyeroll as she starts the engine.
On the way back, Edwin keeps shooting him nervous glances. Charles doesn’t get why. He’d been wrong. Despite his warning at the beginning of the night, no bad memories had halted their fun.
“Man, this is great. D’ya think that client-lady would be willing to sell us more of this? We could try a rollercoaster. Or find a really good Indian restaurant. Oh! You could finally fix that iron-thingamyjing with all those gears you keep getting burned on,“ Charles says.
His mind is racing, full of idea after idea of things for them to try. Of things he’d forgotten he missed.
Crystal and Niko chat away in the front, almost as energised by the events of the day as Charles is. Edwin, on the other hand, is all but silent at his side.
“What's got you so in your head there, mate?” Charles asks, unable to resist the temptation of nudging Edwin with his elbow just because he can.
Edwin startles, as if still unused to the sensation. “Nothing,” he assures, but Charles knows that prim, painted-on look of poise better than that.
Before Port Townsend, Charles would have probably left well enough alone – Edwin has always had a tendency to retreat into himself, to go someplace that Charles could never really follow.
And he never wanted to make it worse, to push Edwin too much or scare him away or give him a reason not to trust him.
But now he has followed Edwin, quite literally, to Hell and back. So Charles asks,
“Something’s going on though, yeah?”
Edwin sighs. “I know you are rather…enthusiastic about the possibility of another day like this one,” he begins. Charles tries not to let his face fall preemptively, or do anything to otherwise discourage Edwin from opening up. “However, I must admit I am a bit more wary. I have never known magic that did not come at some kind of price.”
Charles swallows, which in and of itself is still a novelty. “Yeah,” he agrees reluctantly. “Maybe you're right.” Before Edwin can apologise, Charles drags up a smile. “Let's just enjoy the time we have left, yeah? We can figure out the rest later.”
He’s not sure what to think about Edwin’s concerns, but his words seem to land well enough to lift some of the tension from Edwin’s shoulders, which is good enough for Charles.
9 Hours Remaining.
Charles is starting to regret all of the time he spent willfully combating nap time as a kid, because it’s absolutely brills.
So many contradictory sensations – the cool air of the bedroom mitigated by the warmth of being curled up under Crystal's duvet. The feeling of soft cotton sheets against his bare legs contrasted with the firm mattress under him. The lavender laundry detergent the girls used to wash the pyjamas they surprised them with, alongside the scent of sun-kissed sweat from a day spent outside.
The sensory feast continues as he peers up at Edwin, who is sitting against Crystal’s headboard with his characteristically perfect posture. There's something softer about Edwin like this, his hair curling boyishly along his hairline, his cheeks round and flush.
Life suits him, Charles thinks, though he knows Edwin would vehemently disagree.
Edwin, with his hands folded on top of the blankets draped over his lap, raises his eyebrows. “I thought you wanted to try to sleep.”
Charles shrugs, stretching out languidly and enjoying the way his muscles ache. “Dunno if I can, to be honest. Too many things to feel, y'know? Got me buzzing!”
Edwin hums. “It is…a lot,” he admits, though he doesn't sound particularly upset by it.
And it really is a lot, so many contradictory sensations, long forgotten with time. From the cool air brushing against his skin, to the steady rhythm of his breath and the steady thump of his own heart in his chest, to the subtle prickling of his skin from Edwin’s own heat that reminded Charles that he wasn’t alone…
And yet, above it all, there’s a strange peacefulness that seems new.
Charles stretches out on Crystal’s bed, fingers trailing absently over the soft, unfamiliar fabric of the sheets, and for the first time in decades, he feels… at home.
Not that he hasn’t before. Of course, he has. The agency has been his home for the past thirty years. Edwin has been at his home.
But this is different. It’s physical, all-encompassing.
Edwin watches him from where he’s sat propped against the headboard, still, still hesitant, fingers tightening around the frame as if it’s anchoring him to the moment. “Sleeping is… a curious thing,” he murmurs, voice low. “I haven’t done it in so long. It’s… strange to want it, to need it. I’d forgotten how it feels to be tired.”
Charles smiles and pats the bed beside him. “Try it,” he says. “I’ll be right here. We can sleep… together, y’know?”
For a long moment, Edwin hesitates, caught between his ghostly nature and this strange new corporeal existence, the idea so unfamiliar after so many decades.
But then, slowly, carefully, he climbs in beside Charles. The bed creaks softly beneath their weight.
There’s a space between them, and after a long moment, Charles reaches out, a single hand extended.
An offer.
An offer that Edwin takes.
His long fingers intertwine with Charles’ and breathing feels just a little easier, like Edwin’s touch is all Charles needs.
In some ways, Edwin is all he ever needs, really.
The room is dim, lit only by the orange light from the streetlamp outside filtering in through the curtains, casting shadows that flicker like the sparks of a dying fire. Charles watches Edwin’s eyes flutter shut, peaceful and relaxed, a fragile sense of calmness that Charles wants to guard with everything he has.
He settles back, feeling the steady rise and fall of Edwin’s chest, the warmth radiating between them. For a while, there is nothing but quiet and the soft, rhythmic pulse of life. The world is a tapestry of sensations - soft, warm, real. Sensations that had become nothing but the faded whisper of forgotten memories over the three decades since his death.
Charles shifts, fingers curling tighter around Edwin’s wrist, and he lets sleep take him.
3 Hours Remaining.
Edwin wakes first.
The room is still dappled in the soft light of evening, light and voices seeping in under the door from where the girls are sitting out in the living room. His body feels strange still, the awkwardly solid togetherness of life, weighted in a way he’d long forgotten - but it’s not unpleasant.
He turns his head slowly and finds Charles still curled beneath the blanket, peaceful and utterly alive in a way Edwin never imagined he'd see. Even in the fleeting moments of Charles’ death, he’d been cold, tired, soaked in pain and exhaustion right to the very bone, sodden in freezing pond water. He’d been barely clinging onto life then, pale and weak, not the same living radiance he is now. Alive, well, happy.
A small smile twitches at the corner of Edwin’s mouth.
They don’t have long, a few hours at the very most before the spell breaks, but even if Edwin spends them looking at Charles, he thinks, it’ll be time well spent.