Page 21 of Wolfsbane Hall
The manor had a distinct personality of its own, and it often locked people out of rooms or completely altered the orientation of the halls. It was, in essence, a magical maze animated through the Specter’s spells, which was precisely why the cast needed an extra elixir after the show. If the house decided to shift, someone with elixir could change Wolfsbane back, or at least try to convince it to.
A grandfather clock struck six, and like a synchronized dance, Frances, Babette, and Celestine took their places around the table, brought the elixir to their lips, and drank.
But as the liquid touched Celestine’s tongue, a shiver ran through her bones, and her brow furrowed. It felt like lightning ripping apart the lining of her throat, worse than heartburn.
Something was terribly off.
The potion typically tasted of cherry wine, figs, and chocolate, and on rare occasions, a different wine. Tonight, it tasted like orange liqueur and coconut, with a hint of something Celestine couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Welcome, or should I say unwelcome, to tonight’s adventure.” A booming voice shook the room. The frequency of the sound licked at Celestine’s flesh, and her poor little heart jumped, breaking its rhythm as the hairs at the nape of her neck rose.
The Specter sounded…his voice, it wasn’this. It wasn’t liquid chocolate and smooth liquor. It was rotten ash and spiced whiskey. Close, but oh so wrong. An impersonation.
And it was a floating voice.Floating. The Specter only used that in her presence, and usually only in her rooms.
It wastheirspecial thing.
Now, he’d used it in a room of six people. The Specter would never betray her like that. Never.
This—whoever it was—was nother Specter. Of this,she was certain.
With gentle fingers, Celestine turned the shot glass, inspecting it. Nothing about the container was different, but she brought it to her nose and instantly shuddered. It smelled the way the voice sounded. Distorted.
“Ah, yes, our beautiful little seductress has sensed it.” The false Specter’s words stroked her spine like a knife. “Tonight, I’m not your Specter; I am the Phantom.” His deep and sordid laugh coated the walls like clotting paint. “You are all his favorite, loyal toys—too loyal for my liking. Tonight, I’m going to play a little game with you. Tonight,you are mine.”
Light drained from every bulb in the room like a slow death. Celestine sucked in a breath, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. Then rows and rows of beeswax candles burst into high, unnatural flames, outlining everyone in an anxious, flickering light. The green fabric coating the furniture began to refashion itself into black, as if it had been dipped in ink.
Celestine’s throat closed up, and fire scratched at her vocal cords, cutting them off from use. Her gaze shot first to Frances, who was equally confused, and then to Babette, who was shivering, though she tried to cover it up with a clenched jaw.
They instinctively knew this was bad and could feel it in their bones, too.
But when Celestine’s gaze stopped on the men, she realized none of them seemed surprised at all.
She knew they had already betrayed her; she just didn’t yet know the depths of their depravity, nor did she know how.“Tonight’s game is simple,” the Phantom said, cutting into her thoughts and starting an eerie rhyme. “Your Specter will in attendance be; find him first, and you will be free. Fail, and death will be the only thing you see.”
Find the Specter? What did that even mean? Did he mean for the cast to unveil the Specter’s true identity?
That was an impossible task.
No one had ever unmasked the owner of Wolfsbane Hall. Ever. Not in over a hundred years, since the palace first appeared in New York in 1833.
Celestine’s heart thundered, and her limbs grew weak. Placing a hand on the table for balance, she tipped her chin up to catch James’s gaze. He shrugged, not so baffled by the situation. But he reached out and clutched her waist tightly, drawing her into the curve of his side. She burrowed into his protection, even though she knew she shouldn’t.
It was moments like these when she wished she could keephim forever, but that was as impossible as unmaking the Specter.
“Ah, the rhyme doesn’t fit, does it?” the Phantom asked, and the inky blackness spilled from the couches and across the floor, slithering like snakes. “Let me explain more simply. I have poisoned your elixir, and you have until the end of the show—give or take five hours—to let me know which of the rich assholes in attendance tonight is your Specter.” He let the words sink in before continuing. “Your options include the three fine male specimens standing before you. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now they didn’t drink their elixir.”
Her eyes dropped to each man’s full, untouched bottles.
What?The question rang in Celestine’s head, and her gaze touched each of theirs in turn, but it was Babette who vocalized the question.
Celestine was too stunned to process the wordpoisonor even the concept that one of her friends could also be her Specter.
“Haven’t you wondered why these three are cast members, despite being as rich as King Midas?” The voice vibrated with glee. “Perhaps it’s because they’re related to the Specter…or perhaps because theyarehim.”
“Tell me it’s not true.” Babette faced Everett, her expression glistening with hurt. “Please, Ev.”
Everett pinched his lips together and refused to speak, but his eyes spoke volumes. Saying things like,I’m sorry. It’s true, the Specter is a member of my family. A member I know intimately.
