Page 592 of Flirting with Darkness

That time, when Ghost descended down through the tower stairs, he did not travel alone. A row of people walked down the steep steps in front and behind him.

Ghost found himself somewhere in the middle of the pack, feeling that sick, tense feeling in his stomach worsen as they descended further through the rock.

It wasn’t fear exactly.

Truthfully, it may have been fear in part.

It also felt significantly more complicated than fear alone.

The tension hardening his muscles struck him as nebulous in some way, more tied to a type of existential horror than a concrete fear for his own life. Somehow, the combination evoked a feeling of falling, of teetering on the edge of a steep cliff right before plunging endlessly into the lightless abyss.

It was strange as hell, walking between servants holding torches, his father walking ahead of him as the Count’s bizarre pack of followers and sycophants walked down the same set of steps behind him.

No one spoke.

They’d left most of his father’s guests writhing on the stone patio.

As they exited the ballroom, Ghost had seen a large number of servants making their way silently out to the stone terrace from the kitchen and back rooms.

Before they’d left entirely, Ghost saw a few of them begin to undress the people outside. They removed the clothes with the blood stairs, presumably to wash and dry them before their owners regained mental coherence.

His father had said something about drugging them, compelling them to fuck like wild animals for the next however-many hours until dawn––

“Focus, Lazarus,” the old man muttered.

His voice was soft, but carried sharply against the damp, cold stone.

Ghost flinched at the use of his full name, but didn’t correct him.

Truthfully, he couldn’t be bothered.

He could feel it coming now.

He didn’t know what it was, but he could feel it.

Something.

That same something hurt his throat, made it difficult to breathe easily despite Ghost being in reasonably good physical shape. He’d trained for months before coming here. He’d wanted to be ready. For what, exactly, he hadn’t known for certain, but it felt important to feel capable of handling any physical challenges he might encounter.

He found himself taking a brief inventory of his current physical condition now.

Mostly, he felt well.

He wasn’t drunk. He felt slightly groggy perhaps, from spending two days asleep after the last time he came down here, but, given everything, his mind struck him as reasonably clear. His body swam with adrenaline, but even that could potentially work to his advantage.

He hadn’t eaten enough.

The bath had loosened his joints and muscles.

Satisfied, he pushed that end of things out of his mind.

He didn’t let himself think too clearly about why, or the fact that his father seemed to have mind-reading abilities when they walked or stood this closely to one another.

Ghost let his thoughts soften to a quiet hum.

Once he had silenced them almost entirely, he saw his father glance back at him, another of those cryptic smiles on his angular face.

Ghost could have sworn he caught the faintest whisper of approval in the look.

---