Page 48 of Wolfsbane Hall
They stayed like that for a couple of minutes until James regained his energy.
“You’re always such a good fuck,” James said, patting her head and pulling away.
Celestine tensed, every muscle hardening with shame. She didn’t know why those words affected her so deeply. She knew this was only for physical release. That was all.
James pulled up his pants and buttoned them, not even noticing the change. After all, he’d gotten what he wanted. “We should probably get back to the show.”
“Right,” Celestine said. She dragged up her dress and smoothed out her hair. “It would be foolish to miss the show.”
“For you, it would be.”
He placed a kiss on her forehead before walking through the curtains. She followed him to a table where Vivian played with a wine glass. A clink rang out as Vivian harshly set it down, already two to three drinks deep. This family might have a problem.
“You two have been gallivanting around, I see,” Vivian said. “You smell like sex.”
Celestine’s cheeks heated.
“Don’t be jealous,” James said, sitting beside his sister, and Celestine glided beside him.
“I am only jealous your lover gets to be here. Mine weren’t invited.”
“Be glad of that.”
“Oh, I am.” Vivian examined her nails before pulling a long dagger from a sheath on her thigh. She began to play with the knife, tossing it back and forth between her hands. Something she did when bored sometimes. “Tonight is for torture.” Then she turned her head to the ceiling and said, “I am hungry.”
A booming chuckle filled the room. “If you must insist, sister dearest, let’s have a feast. And possibly a murder.” The Phantom’s voice echoed off every surface.
Sister?
Celestine’s eyes latched on to James, who shrugged. Was James the Phantom? Could that be true if he were being so calm about it? But then…did Dean imply earlier that he had multiple brothers? And Margot had as well…
Nothing made sense.
What was real? Was any of it?
Was sister just a title? Like a friend?
In a blink, the tables were filled with food—a feast for royalty. James’s uncle Jon and his father Walter, who sat at a table away, smiled and immediately dug in. Everyone else seemed a little dazed.
A wave of dizziness overcame Celestine, and she had to grip her table for support. She sucked in a breath. The earlier exertion mixed with the poison was too much.
Her heart beat erratically—angrily.
Something hot dripped from her nose, and she used a napkin to clean it up.
Blood.
The damned poison was sinking deeper.
Sooner than expected.
14
Saturday, November 11, 1939
The Grand Ballroom
The grandfather clock chimed. Eight o’clock. One hour down. One hour less to live.
