Page 10 of Wolfsbane Hall
Friday, November 3, 1939
The Main Hall
Celestine wanted a bath more than anything, but she didn’t have time for that. So she made her way to the bathroom and used a cloth to wash between her legs and breasts, trying to get the smell of sex off her.
She wasn’t worried about catching any diseases or getting pregnant. After the first time she’d fucked a patron, the Specter had given her a magical protection against both.
Celestine twirled the cufflink, feeling it against the balls of her fingertips.Men.She sighed. According to the world and the culture, she was a loose woman, undesirable—yet paradoxically, she was also an object to be desired and possessed.
The world was a place of contradictions, but then so was she. As a character, she could do anything. As herself, she’d fall apart. She knew she should never want a man like an Ashbrook, but at the same time, it was what she wanted most. To be chosen and cherished by a powerful man.
She was a lost, sad girl.
But alas, it didn’t matter, because she had a job to do. She had to plant the cufflink and join the spectacle.
So, Celestine adjusted her dress and made her way back to the crowd, still hovering over the dead body.Everett—Dean’s twin—was at the center, inspecting James’s dead body, playing the stumbling, lovable fool of a detective. The Quirky Detective. A Poirot-style mustache kissed his face and was complemented by thick, over-the-top glasses. He looked ridiculous, yet still wickedly handsome.
Celestine watched as anxiety snaked up her ribcage. Trying to deal with the rotten energy settling in her core, she tapped her toes within her shoes and fidgeted with her dress.
This was the worst part of being the murderer—besides the actual killing— was waiting to get caught.
Time always seemed to move horrifically slowly.
Inching closer to the crime scene, Celestine twirled the cufflink in her fingers. When she got close enough to the body, she dropped it to the floor, making sure to do so on the carpet to minimize the sound. At the exact moment, she let out a horrified scream, covering up the sound even further.
“No, Andrew! Not my Andrew!” Celestine screamed and ran to the body, flinging herself onto him. She did this for a multitude of reasons. One reason was to establish the relationship with him for the audience, but also to cover up any remaining evidence she might have left on the scene.
Because now there was a reason for her hair or fingerprints to be there.
“Miss Dorothy”—Everett patted her on the back, cautiously trying to calm her down—“you must not grab the body. You’re messing with the crime scene.”
“But…my Andrew.” Celestine was hysterically cradling the body and rocking back and forth, letting out her own pent-up emotions as she did it.
After a long, dramatic moment, Frances, another cast member who was often referred to as the Mother Hen, calmed Celestine—Dorothy—down, so the act could continue.
The show must go on.
Celestine was still sitting next to the dead body, rocking back and forth with both Everett and Frances beside her. But now, it was just for show. She had to keep up the act. However, sitting next to James’s body made her stomach churn.
Everett whispered under his breath for only her to hear. “I could use your help here, Celestine. Where were you?”
Celestine lifted her head and met his eyes. The two shared a poignant moment. Almost as if Celestine were asking him for help instead. After a long pause, Celestine averted her gaze, and focused instead on the body and the investigation.
Everett almost always played the Quirky Detective—but wasn’t very good at it. Often, he was far too drunk and missed obvious evidence, and other times, he was just too clumsy. Occasionally, when he got stuck or was simply bored, he asked Celestine for help. Celestine saw life in a series of patterns, and putting together a murder investigation was relatively easy for her—easier still, when she was the murderer.
“Have you not spoken to your brother?” Celestine asked, just as quietly. She had expected Dean to turn her in, if not to everyone, then at least to his twin.
“No, he’s disappeared somewhere.”
Hmm. Dean wasn’t going to turn her in right away. Interesting. Utterly unlike him.
“Where should I go from here?” Everett asked, his gaze stroking across the body.
Celestine didn’t know what he had already done or said, so she just reviewed the basics. “He has been stabbed multiple times. If I had to guess, at least seventeen. That indicates a crime of passion or a lot of rage.”
Everett nodded and waited for her to continue.
“All the wounds are centered on his torso, and there is no sign of him fighting back.”
