Page 14 of Wolfsbane Hall
“Like hell you are. You look like a ghostly child coming back to haunt the room,” Frances said. Freckles and wrinkles lined her face, neck, and hands, and her voice cracked from a lifetime of overuse on the world’s grand stages. At Wolfsbane, she typically played roles like the concerned grandmother or the overly invested housekeeper—the Specter liked to give people parts that matched their personalities. It was also why Celestine always referred to her as the Mother Hen, because she coddled everyone she met. Celestine appreciated the gesture. She needed a family, even if it were a makeshift one held together by scraps and the Specter’s generosity.
“Eat up.” Frances handed Celestine a plate with a peanut butter and jam sandwich diced into little square bites, as if the older woman thought it would be too straining for Celestine to have a whole sandwich. Celestine pursed her lips. Everyone treated her like a highly breakable porcelain doll.
It was so frustrating. She was fine, but she had to admit in this case, Frances was right. Celestine needed food, so she took a bite as Dean appeared at her side. She jumped, rattled by his quick appearance—possibly a magical one. Dean also had the Specter’s elixir swimming in his veins. He was also able to manipulate the house and cast spells. Spells like invisibility.
Celestine shuddered. The man was like a vampire.
“Are you ready to be put out of your misery?” Dean asked.
Ten words.
“Please,” Celestine breathed.
Dean stepped toward the center of the ballroom, but Frances caught his sleeve. “Wait, boy. What did you mean by that?” She glared between the Brooding Bad Boy and theBlonde Ingénue. “No,” Frances gasped. “The Specter made you the murderer…again?”
“Yes.” Celestine wrung her hands.
“I thought you were going to tell him never to do that again.” Fury danced on Frances’s face.
Celestine chewed on her cheeks. “I was but—”
“But what?”
“I couldn’t.”
Dean watched the exchange silently, a dark amusement coloring his features.
“Why not?” Frances asked.
Because I love him. “Because I owe him everything. He saved me.” Celestine’s voice wobbled. “I’d be starving on the streets if it weren’t for him.”I’d be dead.
“We all owe him, but you don’t owe him your life or sanity, Celeste.” Frances rubbed Celestine’s back in soft circles. Everyone at Wolfsbane Hall called her something different. “You’re too fragile to continue having nights like this. They’re making you sick.”
Celestine knew it, but what could be done about it? She couldn’t anger the Specter. He might throw her out. At the thought, a shudder coursed through Celestine’s skin like a termite eating its way through wood. The murdersweremaking her sick, but what could she do?
Nothing.
“Child,” Frances’s voice softened, “you can’t go on like this.”
“I know.” A soft sob escaped Celestine’s lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, darling.” Frances stroked Celestine’s blonde locks. “Emotion is not weakness.”
No, weakness was weakness, and Celestine was carved of it. She didn’t have a strong bone in her body; from her pathetic heart to her frail muscles to her fragile mind, she wasmade of straw like that silly little pig’s house from the nursery rhyme.
“Shall I end the show, then?” Dean directed the question at Frances.
“Yes.” The older woman nodded and clutched Celestine’s fingers within hers.
As Dean walked to the center of the room, soft music began to play from hidden speakers. Violin strings plucked out a twisted yet thrilling song. Setting the stage for Dean’s show-ending monologue—setting the stage for an entertaining climax.
Celestine didn’t understand why he had waited the entire night, and only acted with fifteen minutes left to go. He could’ve claimed the honor of being the fastest person to unmask a Specter mystery—ever. A prestigious title. But still, he chose not to.
Why?
Dean Ashbrook wasn’t chivalrous. He wasn’t good. He was a nightmare dressed as a man. He was a riddle not meant to be unraveled.
5
