Page 7 of Wolfsbane Hall
“No,” she breathed before dipping her hand into the blood pooling under James’s body. She smeared the blood over her handprint on the couch to obscure the true size of her hand. It was possible that she still left fingerprints, but no matter.
It wasn’t like most patrons knew how to pull prints or check them.
Once she had effectively covered her tracks, to the best of her ability, with no time, she allowed the Specter’s shadows to guide her into the fireplace, and with his push, she knew what to do. She placed both palms on the bricks and connected to the house.
Please, please work. She held her breath, waiting, hoping.
As the door to the Red Parlor opened, a barrier like a two-way mirror slid up in front of her, blocking the intruders’ sight but allowing her to see them.
Her toes curled in relief, and her head fell against the bricks as she let out a low sigh.
But she only had a moment.
A scream tore through the night like a tidal wave, drowning everything in its path. A crowd collected in the room, their faces lit with horror, but their eyes were bright with excitement. It was all the sign she needed to get moving.
Wolfsbane? She ran her fingers along the cracks between the bricks.Please, help!
It took what felt like an eternity for the house to respond. But it eventually did.
The bricks crackled, sliding apart and opening to a secret passageway. Without hesitation—there was no time to waste—Celestine ducked into the tunnel and crawled until she reached the end: the floor-length mirror inside her dressing room. Celestine tested it to see if it was solid. The mirrors in the house were enchanted, bending and moving under the command of the Specter. Sometimes they were solid, but just as often, they were portals or doorways. Her fingers grazed the silver surface and sank through into rippling liquid metal.
Strange. Wolfsbane was utterly compliant tonight. An unsettling fact. The house never did exactly what she wanted.
Swallowing, Celestine pushed forward. The manor wouldn’t hurt her.
Probably.
Celestine held her breath and stepped through the mirror portal. It was cold but not uncomfortable. It was like a bath after months lost in the wilderness, cleansing and rejuvenating. The liquid slid over her body like milk water, and her face tingled, her skin blazing, but it wasn’t painful; rather, it was pleasant, like a moonlit stroll on a beach.
Celestine released her breath and stepped onto her carpeted floor, allowing herself to get her bearings. As she did, she noticed an absence of blood.
Completely gone.
The mirror had rigorously cleansed and reclothed her, including changing her lipstick. She now wore a dress spun from deep red spider silk and hand-stitched embroidery with an elaborate peacock design. Wolfsbane had removed most traces of the murder, but not everything.
The tips of her hair were wet, indicating that she’d taken a shower recently, and her blood-stained emerald dress was rolled into a ball at her feet, because the show needed evidence. She needed to give the patrons a way to uncover the truth. She had to stash the dress somewhere hard to find, yet not impossible.
The goal was to get caught, but not too soon. An elaborate display to make the Specter proud. He loved to see what she would do as the murderer—how she would hide her tracks. He was a puppet master, pulling her strings, but often held her with a loose grip to see how she would respond.
So if she were forced to play the murderer, she would do it well; despite her foolish emotions getting in the way of her job.
Celestine needed a rock-solid alibi, not just Babette ruining her clothing. She needed to do what she did best. Seduce someone and make them believe she waswiththem the whole time. But that wouldn’t be enough; she would then steal something from them and plant the evidence near James’s body.
Her job was to get an alibi, plant evidence, frame someone else…but don’t do too good of a job. The murder needed to be solved. That last bit was the hardest, because Celestine had become a brilliant killer. Okay, fine, not brilliant—she didn’t have the temperament for that—but she had become quite accomplished at the cover up.
It was a great plan, but she first needed to stash the evidence.
Celestine combed through her options. The Library, Conservatory, Billiard Room, and even the bedroom suites in the East Wing were contenders. Still, if she was going to be a suspect from the beginning—and she would be, by the very nature of her relationship with the victim—those options were too easy.
So she settled on the Smoking Room, because women wereforbidden from entering it and it would take longer to get discovered. But unfortunately, she didn’t have much time to stash the dress and find her next victim.
At least it was the best time to sneak into the room. Everyone was busy with the body.
So Celestine removed her high heels and tiptoed through the halls with a bag stuffed to the brim with the bloody dress and knife. Quickly entering the Smoking Room, she hid the evidence and put her shoes back on before quietly making her way to the door.
Almost done.
All she had left to do was to get out without any noise.
