Page 28 of Wolfsbane Hall
Celestine twisted the door handle frantically. She didn’t expect it to open. Luck was never on her side, but one could hope.
And, of course, it didn’t open. Not after that display in the hallway.
The rosewood door stood at attention, menacing and tall. A winged lion was etched into its center, and Celestine slid a finger along its smooth edges.Wolfsbane, darling, will you open the door for me?
The paintings along the halls viciously rattled in response.
A “no,” then.
Alright. Celestine huffed. She’d have to do it the hard way. Her hair always had a pin for a reason. She pulled one out and bent it into a lockpick. Being a starving orphan had some advantages. Stealing might be a sin, but it had kept her alive, and she’d perfected her lock-picking skills at a young age. Seven years on the streets did that to a kid.
Desperation did that.
The pin slid around the gears of the lock. The sound of the metal scraping against metal and clicking into place was beautiful. It was seductive—a song of success, a promise of food foran empty stomach. A shiver of pride skated through her veins as the tantalizing sound rang into her ears.
But it was short-lived. As she moved to turn the pin, it disintegrated between her fingertips.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her hands fell to her sides, and she gritted her teeth. There was no way in. Not if Wolfbane was this determined to thwart her attempts.
“That’s going well.” Dean chuckled, and she jerked back, goosebumps rising on her skin.
Where the hell had he come from? He leaned against the wall behind her, his arms crossed and a lethal smile gracing his too-perfect lips. The man moved like smoke and secrets. And it was just as discomposing as the Phantom’s dolls.
“You could assist.” She grunted, kicking the door and immediately regretting it because her feet were already swollen; she didn’t need to add more pain.
“Does the kicking help?”
She flashed a glare. “It seems as helpful as you are.”
His smile widened, and the act should’ve been illegal, because when Dean Ashbrook smiled, he glowed like he was Apollo in human form.
It was utterly unfair.
“What makes you think I would know how to open that door?” He arched one eyebrow as if it were a competition. “That magical door…”
“Because apparently you either are related to the Specter, or you are the Specter.”
Dean wiggled a brow at this as if saying,Am I?
She turned her back on him. His disgusting perfection was too much to look at. “And that was fifteen.”
“Fifteen? What do you keep counting?”
“It’s the number of words you manage to say to me at once.” She returned to ignoring him, biting the inside of hercheek, and examined the door again. Specifically, the hinges. She cocked her head sideways. With enough upward force, she might be able to get the door off its hinges.
But she wasn’t strong enough for that.
“Well, here are eighteen more: You should try asking the Phantom for help breaking down the door. He seems to hate the Specter.”
“Twenty-two words,” she corrected. “Or you, as the Specter’s relation, can open it for me.”
He slid his hands into his pockets in direct defiance. “So demanding, Celine. You’re never like this with anyone else.”
Don’t use that name.Only the Specter called her that, and now both the Phantom and Dean had. It wasn’t a name for them. It was for her Specter.
Celestine scrunched her nose. But she had to admit, Dean was right. She wasn’t demanding. Dean did something to her, causing fire to lick the inside of her veins and allowing the carefully hidden frustration to float to the surface. It was so…irritating.
“Whyareyou talking to me? Aren’t you breaking your number one rule: Never speak to Celestine?”
