Page 22 of Wolfsbane Hall
Celestine didn’t have a moment to process the exchange, because the Phantom cut in. “To solve my riddle and make a guess, all you must do is speak the Specter’s name into existence. Don’t worry, I’ll hear you—for I will also be in attendance.”
A fog traveled through the room on the wings of magic, thePhantom making his point utterly clear. He was evil, and the cast members were his marionettes on strings. Celestine sucked in a tight breath as soft violin music underscored the point even further, but the notes were sharp, like the strings had been tightened just a little too much.
The Phantom was just as much of a showboat as his counterpart. “Unmask the Specter and live; guess incorrectly, and you will die. Forever. This time, there will be no resurrection.”
8
Saturday, November 11, 1939
Green Room
This time, there will be no resurrection.
The Phantom’s wicked voice lingered in Celestine’s mind long after he had disappeared from the room, leaving her reeling. The cast spoke to each other in soft, confused tones, but Celestine was a limestone statue. Frozen forever in a state of horror.
There was no way to process what had just happened.
Poison. A phantom figure. A true death if they guessed the Specter’s name wrong, with no Specter to rescue or resurrect her. It was all too much.
A tear rolled down her face, and she somehow made her way to the green chaise lounge and nearly fell onto it. She wasn’t strong like her peers. She didn’t want to process or deal with anything that had just happened. She wanted to curl into a ball in her bed and give up. For now, the lounge would have to do, because her legs were too wobbly and useless to make it all the way to her bed.
Babette didn’t have the same sensibilities. She was all fight, the kind of girl Celestine so longed to be. “Wait, don’t leave!” Babette yelled at the ceiling. “I have questions.” She drew her lips into a flat line, waiting for a response that didn’tcome. She turned on Everett, rage sparking in her irises. “Where’s the Specter? He’s just letting this happen?”
Everett stepped back, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know.”
Babette shook her head. “If you don’t know, why didn’t you drink your elixir?” She raised a furious eyebrow. “You were always a terrible liar, Everett.”
Babette stomped out of the room in a fury, and Frances followed her, trying to calm her down.
Celestine agreed with Babette, but none of it mattered. The world fell into a haze, and she barely listened as she pulled her knees into her chest, staring vacantly out into the room. She knew the Specter better than anyone else, which meant she knew how useless this task was. They were dead women walking. Souls stuck in decaying vessels. No one had ever successfully unmasked the Specter. She’d tried to figure it out for the last nine years, ever since her first day at Wolfsbane Hall. But there was nothing to find. The magic wouldn’t allow it.
It was an impossible riddle with an impossible answer.
Celestine’s death was inevitable. It would just take five hours to become official. What was the point of fighting? She already felt it settling into her. The poison in her veins was a physical force, like hungry acid. She felt it eating away at her already sickly body.
Time slipped away, and she completely lost track of her surroundings. The voices in the room were merging into eerie music—or possibly the Phantom was simply pumping the music into the room. It didn’t matter. Celestine clutched her chest, feeling her traitorous, broken heart, and begged it to end quickly.
Just finally give out and let me be.
She didn’t mind death; she just wanted it to be quick and painless.
But, of course, that was never in her cards. Her life was shaped by pain, and it had been ever since she was ten years old hearing her family brutally murdered. Listening as her mother and older sister died, screams coating their tongues. Only her father was spared, because he had already abandoned them long before that night.
If Celestine died, at least she could finally join her family in heaven—or hell. For her, probably hell, with how many times she’d murdered.
“I think you broke her,” one of the Ashbrooks said, but Celestine couldn’t decipher which one. They had similar tones. Plus, her brain was too engulfed by fear to hear properly.
The men continued to speak, but she didn’t let her eyes focus.
“You meanwebroke her.”
“This place broke her.”
One of them touched her face.
“Cellie, can you hear me?”
“Let me try. Celine? Darling, look at me.”
