Dying Is The Easy Part

Chapter Ten: January 12th

"Absolutely not."

Quinn wasn't sure how they'd expected Vincent to react when they told him about their conversation with Joy and Jun, but it wasn't like this. He was sitting in the windowsill in their usual classroom, his arms folded across his chest. The look on his face wasn't relief, or even surprise—instead, he looked like Quinn had just told him they hated his suspenders and not Hey, I found out your soul is going to disappear in a few months max, so I'm going to save it.

"What?"

"I don't want you to do that," he said. His voice was as quiet as ever, but his tone was firm, the usual still blue of his eyes troubled. "I know how much you hate your magick. That it scares you. I don't want you to feel that way because of me."

"I don't feel that way because of you." Quinn gave a light kick to the wall next to where Vincent was sitting. "And, anyway, it's a stupid feeling. My abilities aren't just going to go away if I ignore them for long enough. I have to start somewhere, don't I?"

"This feels like a pretty big first step," Vincent pointed out, clearly not convinced. "Are you sure you don't want to wait and start with something that's not—"

"I can't wait," Quinn interrupted him. "Vincent, that's the whole point. We don't have time. You could vanish any second and it would be my fault because I spent the last few weeks doing everything but help you."

Vincent scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked even more tired today, his voice faint, his outline blurry. How did this not frighten him? How could he feel like this and still insist on coddling Quinn? "It wouldn't be your fault. None of this is." He broke off, glancing over at the clock. "Also, speaking of time—shouldn't you get going?"

Quinn wanted to call him out on his cheap distraction, but he was right: it was almost eight p.m., the time that they had agreed to meet Luis that day. "Fine. But this isn't the last time we talk about this."

Vincent gave a noncommittal shrug.

Shaking their head at him, Quinn grabbed their coat from the windowsill. While they buttoned it, they asked, "Are you coming with me?"

Vincent blinked. "To Luis's?"

"Yeah. He told me to bring my, and I quote, ghost friends," Quinn said, unable to bite back a smile.

"He said that?" Vincent incredulously asked.

"Uh-huh. This whole thing is like Christmas for him. I'm sure he'd love to know he met a real life spirit."

Vincent considered it for a few moments, his head tilted. Finally, his curiosity won and he slid off the windowsill, falling into step next to Quinn.

Outside the art building, it was so dark it might as well have been midnight. Together, the two of them left the campus behind and wound their way through the dimly lit alleyways. In the yellow glow of the flickering streetlights, Quinn's breath formed white clouds; meanwhile, Vincent was much like the translucent fog itself, his face barely visible in the shadows, the light never touching him.

Soon, the storefront of Ortíz and Son came into view. Drenched in moonlight, it looked even more imposing—even more haunted.

Well. At least that part would be true in a moment.

Clutching the strap of their messenger bag, Quinn neared the front door, glancing over their shoulder once to make sure Vincent was still behind them. He was studying the building with obvious distrust. "Are you sure this is safe? This place gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"I'm sure," Quinn said while typing out a quick message to the number Luis had given them the day before.

"It's just... strange that this guy is so into this, don't you think?" Vincent continued, uneasily shifting from one foot to the other. "Most people are scared of ghosts and don't give them a formal invite to their house."