Page 15 of Wolfsbane Hall
Friday, November 3rd, 1939
James’s Bedroom
The show was over.
Thank God.
Once Celestine had been tied up and paraded out as the murderer, James was resurrected. He woke covered in blood, with knife-sized holes in his dove-gray suit.
Then the incessant questioning came.
As was tradition, the murder victim and murderer held something akin to a press conference for the attendees to ask their sick questions. Questions about how it felt to kill, how it felt to die.
James chewed on minty gum the whole time, using it to avoid answering questions he didn’t want to. Although he enjoyed this part far more than Celestine, his answers were short and clipped, and when he’d had enough, he walked away without another word.
The man did as he pleased, when he pleased.
And he left Celestine to the hyenas.
After fielding another volley of questions, Celestine also bowed out and went in search of James.
It wasn’t hard to find him; he always did the same thingevery time he was murdered. And she always, without fail, followed him.
Metal and glass parts clinked together as James troubleshooted his newest invention. He was trying to build a color television and was currently tinkering with his Cathode Ray Tube. Celestine hadn’t known any of this, but James had already explained it to her multiple times because he was close to getting it to work. But something was off, and he couldn’t quite figure it out.
However, if he had any chance of finding the solution, it would be after being the victim. He said that the adrenaline of death helped him focus, and it was when he got his best ideas.
Celestine knew all this, but it didn’t help her feel better. She knew stabbing him was helpful, but she still hated it. She still felt the need to apologize every time.
She cleared her throat as she stepped into his room—or more like his train museum and workshop. Every inch of it was covered in photographs documenting the advancements in trains and railways, from horse-drawn wagonways to the first steam engine to passenger trains and the transcontinental railroad. Every moment of train history was documented on his walls. James even insisted on having a long twin bed instead of a queen in the corner so he would have more time to work on his current projects.
His every gesture, every habit, exuded science. Exuded engineering. Which was precisely why Celestine affectionately referred to him as the Obsessed Scientist.
“I’m sorry for killing you.” There was no good way of saying it, so Celestine just laid it out.
“Ah, Stella, it’s you,” James called her by his favorite nickname while barely taking his eyes off his project, chewing his gum the whole time. “Come over here, pet.” He patted his thigh.
Celestine complied. Mainly because, like the Specter, she’d do nearly anything for James. When she reached his side, without even taking his gaze from his device, he pulled her into his lap, causing her dress to rise on her hips as she straddled him.
Instantly she felt his cock stiffen against her.
“Hello, pet.” His lips touched her neck, but his eyes were still focused on his work.
Only he would try to seduce her and work at the same time. But he was that good, because Celestine melted when anyone touched her neck. “James, you just died.”
“Yes, I did.” His breath was hot on her neck. “I was rather hoping you might have waited for my cock to be deep inside of you before stabbing me. It would have been rather fascinating to study.”
“James,” Celestine reprimanded, but her protest was cut off by a sigh as his tongue caressed her neck. After a long moment of indulgence—the man was truly talented—she placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself away. “James, we can’t.” The words came out far too wanton, but she was determined to stand her ground.
Something she rarely did with the men at Wolfsbane Hall.
But she didn’t have time to play around with James. She had to get back to her rooms. After every show, she had a nightly ritual. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—miss it.
“Ah, yes, your all-important meeting with the Specter. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from it.” His tone was biting. “And you can’t miss your nightly visit with Dean.”
“Is that feeling I detect?” Her lips twitched as she watched him closely.
“If it is a feeling, which we have established many times that I do not possess, then it would be one of frustration. I don’t like sharing.”
