Page 37 of Wolfsbane Hall
Neither of them answered. Instead, a guttural and empty silence writhed through the room—the silence of a casket inside a tomb. One that had been abandoned for thousands of years, the wood disintegrating and exposing the human remains to the harsh, unforgiving elements.
Celestine was all alone.
The last thing she wanted to do was trust the Phantom. But what other choice was there? So she gave in and opened the letter, letting the character flow into her skin, brain, and heart. Let it become a part of her for the night. But this time,the process was…different. Aggressive. It felt like being kicked in the gut. It felt like an assault.
Celestine flinched and hit the wall, knocking two paintings together. They swung back and forth as she steadied herself, catching her knees. The sound of the frames sliding against drywall slid through her ears.
Slide, scratch, slide.
Her heart hammered in her ears and at the base of her skull. Each beat sent a stroke of fear down her spine. Celestine tried to suck in a breath to regain her composure, but it was an impossible task. The magic was steeped in her skin and her head, and it burned like midnight rain during a firestorm.
But the weirdest part about all of it was that a character’s history and script did not enter her mind. She didn’t have any dialogue, no goals. There was no script.
Celestine’s whole body shuddered.
Her red silk dress, which had been clinging to her curves, morphed, sizzling and transforming into a maid’s outfit. It was a costume fitting the current period. Sometimes Wolfsbane’s stories were set in the past, in the age of glorious crinoline skirts and over-the-top wigs. But not tonight. Instead, Celestine wore an A-Line cotton poplin dress with a scalloped white collar, cuffs, and a white cap.
Not alluring, glamorous, or tempting in any way.
Perhaps Babette would be happy…finally. Seeing Celestine’s character brought so low.
Doubtful, though. Babette was never happy.
Celestine’s hands squeezed her knees, and she slowly stood, rolling her spine one vertebra at a time, but she had to lean against the wall for balance.
“What in all the hell was that?” Celestine uttered, breathless.
Hello, Celestine.The French voice slid into her mind likespider veins growing up her legs. To say it was unsettling would be an understatement. It wasn’t a script. It wasn’t lines or cues. It was an actual voice—a presence.
“Who are you?”What are you?
There was no response. No ticking inside her brain. No words springing to mind. No job, no history, no personality. Nothing.
This wasn’t a normal character card. Celestine was supposed to get information and instructions. But this was not that. This was an invasion. A physical force clutching at her mind like a parasite.
Was she being possessed? Was that a change with the Phantom’s magic?
“Who are you?” Celestine asked again.
Wouldn’t you like to know?
“Yes, I would, which is precisely why I asked.”
You’ll know what you need to know when I need you to know it.
What the fuck?
Irritation spiked in Celestine’s blood, mingling with a shudder that ran through her full body. To say the words were sinister would be an understatement. This character—or ghost—was a villain. Atruevillain with nefarious intentions. Pulsations of anger ran through Celestine’s body. The emotions felt foreign. Celestine’s anger never tasted like this, like rotting cherry pie. Celestine’s anger was a slightly sour candy. It was never big—never dramatic. But this anger was, and it was terrifying.
For now, simply do as you normally would.
Celestine swallowed.
I will let you know what to do when the time comes.
Wonderful, this character was as demanding as the Specter…and the Phantom. This was a night inspired by the Brothers Grimm fairy tales.
A loud commotion from the Entrance Hall pulled Celestine out of her worries. The red curtains lining the ballroom walls shook to the beat of the stomping footsteps. It sounded like a dragon arriving and pounding its claws against marble. Celestine couldn’t see who it was—not yet. But she had a strong feeling…the only person with dragon-like qualities was Lorraine Ashbrook.
