Page 100 of Wolfsbane Hall
With a slick, fluid movement, he removed his hands from her shoulders and slid the left one into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Then he smoothly pulled out an envelope and held it out to her.
Celestine sucked in sharply, her eyes tracing down to what looked like an invitation. The paper was glazed with gold filigree and looping designs.
Hesitantly, she pinched it between her fingers and tilted her head back up to meet his darkness.
She could have sworn he smiled underneath his shadowy veil, but she didn’t get to study him more, because he turned on his heel and sauntered out.
But just before the exit, he turned and said, “I hope to see you there, sweet Celine.”
She shuddered.
How the fuck did he know her name…or at least a version of it?
Celestine swallowed hard and stared down at the paper.
Slowly, reverently, she peeled open the envelope and slid out the invasion.
Welcome, gorgeous ingénue, to your next adventure.
WOLFSBANE HALL.
31
Saturday, November 11, 1939
San Francisco Streets
Celestine only had three minutes left to live.
She didn’t have a plan. What plan was there when one only had minutes to live? The extent of hers was hobbling down the steep San Francisco street with no shoes on and a blood-soaked dress.
If Celestine were going to die, she would do so far away from them. It was her life’s curse that she would die on her own with no one to care about her. She’d known this would be her fate since her diagnosis, but it still hurt to know it was true. Perhaps she had manifested it into reality.
She sucked in a tortured breath, her heart beating lethargically. It was finally giving up on her.
But then, it had been giving up on her for years. She had known this day would come.
All Celestine had ever wanted in life was to be loved, to be chosen, and not abandoned. All she wanted was to be wanted. But this dream—for it was only a dream—had caused her to accept terrible circumstances.
She’d been so recklessly loyal that she allowed the Specter and the Phantom to treat her abominably for nine years.Torturing her, forcing her to murder, making her into a puppet of seduction at the whims of rich, lecherous men, and turning her into a meek little mouse who refused to stand up for herself.
But no longer.
Celestine was choosing herself, even if it meant she’d only live for a few more minutes.
Swallowing, she looked out at the glittering bay. The lights danced down the rolling hills of San Francisco, Coit Tower standing tall on Telegraph Hill, and Alcatraz cutting through the ocean and fog in the distance.
The city was formed from magic, and its beauty was so breathtaking that it was sometimes hard to catch one’s breath. With how much time she spent locked in Wolfsbane during the nightly shows, it was sometimes easy to forget the serenity and perfection resting right outside the mansion’s sinister doors.
Celestine closed her eyes and let the icy breeze skim her face and stroke her hair, blowing it behind her, the strands twisting and dancing. The wind howled a wicked song, and sailboat rigging clinked against masts, each ding sending a jolt through her. Seagulls cawed at the night sky, flying over the brick-and-mortar shops, searching for food scraps. Sea lions barked at the frigid wind. It all created a symphony of sound that warmed Celestine’s soul.
It was a beautiful city in which to die.
“Celine!”
Celestine pinched her eyes tighter closed at the sound of her favorite nickname, uttered by the one she both loved and despised.
Tears prickled at the back of her eyes. She didn’t want to care for him, but it was impossible not to. She would never be able to keep him, he also would never be able to keep her, butthe nights they spent together talking were the best moments of her life.
