Page 18 of Wolfsbane Hall
Celestine’s gaze narrowed on the small table between her wall and the bed. On it rested a half-played chess game—thepieces formed from blue sapphires. The Specter took every opportunity to impress.
Even when no one else would see.
“Knight to F5,” she said without hesitation. The move had been planned for days. Every night after a show, they each took a move, but only one.
“Bishop to F1.” His words were nearly a whisper in her ear.
The pieces moved on the winds of magic, settling into their new positions.
Celestine cocked her head and rubbed her face. It was a sacrifice play. The Specter put his knight directly in the kill zone of her queen.
What are you up to?He was filled with tricks. Tricks on tricks on tricks. But sometimes, Celestine thought she could match him. In this, at least, because she was a brilliant strategist.
But he would always be more powerful—always more clever.
Her eyes tracked to the cabinet filled with corked bottles of the Specter’s extra elixir—the source of his magic. Every night, she drank some of that power, but he also gave her an additional bottle, which she placed in her cabinet for later use.
The Specterlether have his power.
She often needed it to live in the house, but it was still touching that he gave it to her so freely. Celestine had hundreds of vials because she used them very rarely.
“I wish you would stand up for yourself and tell Babette off. For that matter, all the patrons, too.” His voice was rich and dark, sweet yet bitter. “You don’t deserve that treatment.”
Celestine had no response. There was no value in standing up for herself. It wouldn’t change anything. It would only make the situation far worse. Whenever Celestine tried, it onlyended in more pain and abuse. It was far better to fawn, withstand, and not rock the boat.
The only times she was truly able to stand up for herself were when she played a character. Dorothy could tell off Richard and the audience at Wolfsbane, but Celestine never could.
Not as herself.
“Fortune favors the bold,” the Specter said.
“As does misfortune.”
“Celine… ” He pulled out the word in an exasperated sigh. “Don’t let her treat you that poorly. At this point, she could knock you over with a fender.”
It was a malapropism. He meant feather, but he often misspoke. The Specter was brilliant, but sometimes he struggled with words. Using words that were very close but oh so subtly off.
“Anyone could knock me over with a feather.” Celestine hated the truth in that.
“Celine…”
HisCeline. She loved that nickname, because he was the only one who used it. And only when they were alone in her rooms. Their little secret, and it warmed her soul. The Specter called her by many nicknames, but this was by far her favorite.
She liked it so much that she began to refer to herself by this nickname.
“Celine…” he said again. The Specter didn’t like the lack of response. He was impatient, but not as impatient as he was during the shows.
In as soft a tone as she could muster—because she’d learned that negative feedback could only be given in a biddable fashion—Celestine said, “If you want me to stand up to her, shouldn’t you also want me to stand up to you, Specter? You force—”
“Don’t call me that. Not right now,” he interrupted, but the words weren’t harsh. The words were a caress. It was like a plea to see him differently—to see him not as the monster who played with her emotions during every show. “I’m sorry about tonight. I don’t like it when you’re the murderer, either.”
Celestine swallowed. What he meant to say was,I don’t like it when I make you the murderer.But she wouldn’t correct him. Forgiveness was not in the cards for the night, but she softened. He’d saved her life, and she repaid that debt with murder and obedience.
“I no longer want you to call me the Specter at night. It’s too…”
Too what?
But Celestine would never find out, because the Specter never let anyone into his deep feelings.
