Page 70 of Wolfsbane Hall
“What are you?”
He raised a well-manicured eyebrow, a gesture that said,Oh, wouldn’t you want to know, little bird?
Celestine rubbed her face. “I don’t know you at all. Tonight is the first time you’ve tolerated being in a room with me, the first night you’ve truly spoken to me.”
“Ah…” His eyes went icy, although there was always a little ice in them. “I can also be single-minded. Avoiding you could be considered evidence of that.”
“Why do you hate me?” Celestine’s breath caught in her throat, and she wrung her hands, hating that she cared about the answer.
“I very much don’t hate you.” His words were charged, dark.
Celestine bit her lower lip. “I don’t understand.”
“You need to stay away from me, Celestine. Everyone around me dies.” He glanced at the bruises forming on her neck and the charred marks still on the bottoms of her shoes. The gaze made it clear that he didn’t have high hopes for her living. “You should get as far away from this place and us as possible. Everyone in my family is a villain. Especially the Specter. When this is all over, you should pack your things and leave.”
Celestine’s brows flicked together. “It’s alwaysthe same thing with you. You’re always trying to get rid of me.” Except even as she said it, she didn’t truly believe it this time.
“You saw what my mother did.” His voice was a velvet snare. “You felt what she did to you. She’ll never stop. And I’ll never be free of her. It’s our curse for what we did.”
“We?”
“Play the game. I am sure you’ll find out. You’ve already uncovered many of our secrets,” he said. “The Phantom isn’t letting anyone get away with their secrets tonight.”
Acid crawled up her already raw throat. “Or you could simply answer my questions.”
“Now, where is the fun in that?” he asked, but he clearly didn’t mean it. Dean was the only Ashbrook who didn’t enjoy the show.
“You could help me.”
Dean shrugged.
“What the hell is your mother? That wasn’t human. What are the Specter and the Phantom? Are you all that way? Are you immortal?” Celestine rushed the questions out, as if saying them quicker might mean he’d answer one of them.
“I can’t tell you precisely what we are, but I assume the game will provide the answers,” Dean said. “And yes,we. Every member of my family is a powerful immortal capable of using magic similar to that of the Specter and Phantom.”
He demonstrated this by causing trees to sprout out of the wooden floor. Orange trees.
Blood rushed into her ears. “Are you the Specter?”
“You know I cannot tell you that.”
“Why?”
“Because the magic binds us.”
An anchor dropped into Celestine’s stomach. She would never get a straight answer out of him if he were the Specter. But perhaps she could figure it out through differentquestions. He played the piano and had played one of her favorite Gilbert and Sullivan shows. He demonstrated an intimate knowledge of her.
“What’s your favorite book, Dean?”
His head cocked at the abrupt change in subject. “I don’t read much.”
“Why?”
Silence cascaded through the room. Dean’s gaze fused to hers, and inside the depths of his eyes were swirling emotions—indecipherable ones. “The truth?”
“Yes.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Because reading makes me feel stupid. It’s challenging and draining.”
