Page 66 of Wolfsbane Hall
She knew this, yet she still tried.
“Which one are you?” she asked, her pulse thrumming in her neck.
The air around her warmed and moved as if a presence were there. “Can you guess?”
She didn’t have to guess. This was a show, and it was a floating voice that was far less flashy than the Specter. “Hello, Phantom.”
“Very good.” An invisible hand reached out and brushed her bicep. A full-body shudder coursed through her. Just another reason it wasn’t her Specter. He never touched his toys.
Her heart hitched, and her hand fell to her bed for support. Her broken, fragile heart couldn’t take much more of this.
“Who are you torturing, Phantom?” she breathed. “Me or your family…or both?”
“I would never torture you.” His hand traveled up her arm, the force of his touch hard enough to leave indents but not hard enough to bruise. The shadow stood behind her in as physical a form as she’d ever seen it take, and he was touching her—actually touching her, as if he were genuinely present.
She gulped, unsure of what to do.
“You poisoned me.” She leaned back into his touch and was met with a physical, albeit invisible, chest. She closed her eyes and soaked into the feeling.
He rested his chin on her head. “Only a little.”
She curled her arms into her chest and pinched her eyes tighter, trying to keep her tears from falling as fury churned in her stomach. It felt like melting porcelain dolls and disintegrating phoenixes—like destroying beautiful things. A metaphor for the Ashbrooks. Men who destroyed beautiful girls.
Celestine slammed the music box lid and stepped out of the hollow man’s embrace. Nothing good would come from taking any comfort from the Phantom.
“Go away.” She twirled around and tried to look as menacing as possible, which was much like dressing a puppy up like a vampire. It was still a puppy.
A shimmer of light reflected around his tall body, and he stepped toward her, saying nothing.
Celestine’s nose flared, and her eyes stung, stillholding back her tears. She was so sick of giving rich, dangerous men her tears. “I hate you.”
“I know.” His presence rattled, retreating from the room, leaving a desolate echo in its place.
Celestine crumpled onto her bed and pulled her knees into her chest.
A glittering image hovered above her as if the Phantom had returned, but the presence felt different.
“Specter?” But even as the name left her crimson lips, Celestine knew it was wrong. This was not her Specter. It was something so much worse.
The ground shook like an earthquake. Celestine clutched her bed frame for support, and the shaking increased. Was it another big one, like the 1905 earthquake that took half of the city to the ground? For a moment, Celestine believed it, but then she remembered this was Wolfsbane Hall.
As if on cue, a sickeningly white light, like at the hospital, licked through the room, and all the air burrowed into the walls like creatures trying to flee a predator.
Celestine’s feet scraped against the hardwood floor; she needed to escape and get out as fast as possible, because whatever force was in front of her was malicious. It was like Death coming to collect his soul.
Get out, Celestine!Margot screamed.Get out. She’s coming for us. Again.
21
Saturday, November 11, 1939
Celestine’s Bedroom
It was too late. There was no way Celestine’s feeble body could outrun anyone.
The force in front of Celestine solidified, forming into the one person she never imagined it could be. Shock nestled into her bones, because once someone was murdered in the show, they never came back to life until the mystery was solved.
Murder victims never resurrected early.
