Page 75 of Wolfsbane Hall
She hadn’t noticed that symptom yet, and she fought the urge to pull her hands away and hide them. Celestine never wanted anyone to see her sickness. But she wasn’t surprised at all that she was more susceptible.
“Well…” Celestine sighed. “I was just strangled.”
Frances gasped. “What? Tell me everything.”
So Celestine did. She told her everything from the game and her information on the Ashbrooks to her suspicions about Dean. She had once imagined that Dean could never be the Specter. But now she wasn’t so confident. All the clues pointed far more strongly to him being the main murderer in Lorraine’s game, and then there were the clues that led her to believe he was the Specter.
His piano playing, muddled words, and distance from Celestine made him seem to know her intimately despite never speaking to her. Sure, that could have been because his brothers told him, but she was far more convinced it was because he was the Specter.
The clues could lead to James and Everett, too, but there was something about Dean that felt right. But she didn’t even want to think about the implications of that.
It all meant Celestine was fucked. Because she loved the Specter, and she wanted to kiss Dean more than anything. But he would never want her back. He was her impossible feat—her Mount Everest. A mountain that no one in the world could possibly summit.
At the end of Celestine’s story and suspicions, Frances hugged her, comforting her. Frances shared all the information she had gathered during the night. The only new information was that she’d seen James walking up to the Balcony, where they’d found the crossbow minutes before Lorraine’s murder.
Frances was also convinced the Specter was Dean.
When they had finished in hushed whispers, Jon, James, Walter, and Vivian walked up to the table.
“How’s the game going for you? Any answers yet?” Vivian asked, sliding into the chair next to Celestine.
“No,” Celestine lied.
“Well, are you at least enjoying yourself tonight?”
“I hope you’re kidding,” Celestine said, glaring at a drunken Everett banging on the piano like it was the drums. He was far more out of it than usual. “I am enjoying myself as much as he is.” She motioned to the man with a nod of her chin.
Everett always played with vices like they were dares. He drank too much, played with too many girls, and lived life as if every moment should be consumed by risks, but he seemedextra intoxicated tonight. Usually, he had a sense of decency to his vices…not tonight. However, Celestine couldn’t blame him. The Phantom had resurrected his dead wife’s spirit and stuffed her into Celestine’s head.
She shivered at the thought. She still wasn’t over it. She hadn’t much time to think about Margot, the way she had tried to take over her and expel her from her body and then was brutally killed and forced out of Celestine once more.
“Ah, yes,” Vivian agreed. “Everett is more miserable than usual tonight. He can’t even pretend to be jubilant and have a good time. He doesn’t like reliving the worst moments of his life—who would?” She shrugged. “And he blames himself for Marguerite’s death.”
Dean appeared next to his blitzed brother. He placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered something into his ear. At the words, Everett stopped smashing the keys and glowered at his older brother. Celestine imagined Dean had threatened him to stop hurting his piano. It was a baby grand.
“Dean also blames Everett,” Vivian added, her eyes also on the twins. “They may look identical, but those boys have very different views on responsibility.”
“Dean is the heir,” Walter—their biological uncle—said. “Heirs are raised with an incredible sense of duty hanging over their heads. Everett was always the spare, and therefore way more reckless.”
“Reckless in love,” Jon agreed.
Walter shared a knowing look with his lover. “Yes, but I can understand.”
Vivian ignored her uncles, who were nearly jumping each other’s bones in front of her. “I am surprised it’s taken this long for them to tear each other apart.”
Celestine’s head whirled to Vivian. “What do you mean by that?”
“One of them is certainly responsible for tonight.” She glowered at them and downed her wine like it was a shot. “And he is forcing all of us to confront our gravest mistakes. The Phantom is playing ten games all at once. Torturing all of us with the worst moments of our lives.”
“What was your moment?” Frances asked.
Vivian sucked in a long breath. “My character card was all about my ex-lover, who died in my bed. It was all very scandalous back in the day.”
“In fairness, it would still be a big scandal today,” Jon said with a large grin.
Vivian rubbed her face. “And, of course, all the drama with Marguerite.”
“Did you kill your lover all those years ago?” Walter stroked his chin, watching her.
