Page 76 of Wolfsbane Hall
“Would it matter?” she snapped. “If I did, it’s not like I’d be the only murderer in this family.”
“A confession now wouldn’t matter, considering it happened 127 years ago.” Walters’s voice turned soft. “And no matter what, I will always be your dad, and I will always go to battle for you.”
Vivian’s eyes widened, and she pinched her lips, holding back a well of emotion spreading in her chest. She had one great parent. It was clear from the way Walter—and Jon—looked at her.
They casually spoke about being immortal in a deeply unsettling way, almost as if they had forgotten Celestine was sitting there.
“Speaking of our tortures,” James finally spoke, trying to distract the group from the heavy emotions spiking between his sister and his father. “My character card was all about the train accident of 1893 that killed forty-seven people, and many thought I should be hanged for it. All the good that would do.”
Jon chuckled. “It would be hard to kill a dead man.”
“Besides, it’s not like I was the only one responsible. Dean is the silent partner and mastermind behind most of our endeavors.” James steepled his fingers underneath his chin. “I build things, Everett seduces things, and Dean plans things. He’s the brain that keeps things going. I’ve never seen anyone beat him at chess, unless he wanted them to win.”
Celestine froze. Chess, piano, and a dislike of reading. The mastermind.
Deanwasthe Specter.
She knew it in her core. He was the one who spent every night with her as she fell asleep. Ithadto be Dean.
Celestine’s revelation was cut off by Irene and Lorraine entering the ballroom and speaking loudly.
“Lorraine and Dean ruined the game.” Irene’s seething was followed by a long, dramatic pause. “She was supposed to die”—she pointed at Celestine—“but I was supposed to do it.”
James interrupted. “Neither of you were supposed to kill—”
“And Lorraine, you gave it away that we can come back from the dead,” Irene screamed, her arms flying hyperbolically around like she was a conductor of an orchestra. “You let her discover that we are not humans.”
“Mother, I am fairly certain you’re the one who just announced that to the entire room,” Vivian said, shaking her head, her cheeks tinged with amusement.
Ignoring her daughter, Irene continued her tirade. “Dean, do you have anything to say for yourself? You saved the girl.”
“And killed me again,” Lorraine said through gritted teeth, her hands on her hips.
“Killing Celestine is terrible form,” he drawled. “You deserved to get killed again for it.”
“Yes.” Vivian took a big sip of liquor. “How could she possibly guess the Specter’s true identity if she were dead?”
Everett pounded on the piano once again with a fearsome velocity. “Mother, you must pay for your sins. Just like everyone else here.” He drunkenly slurred. “I will make sure of it.”
Then he slid sideways off the piano bench and crumpled to the floor. But he didn’t stop speaking. “You tried to kill Celestine, because you didn’t want her to take one of your boys, just like Margaret. You’ve killed all of Dean’s fiancées until he started scaring them off so you couldn’t. You’re genuinely terrible, and I will make you pay for it. You deserve to get murdered seven times over. I wish you could stay dead.”
Lorraine gasped. “You don’t mean it.”
“Oh, I do.” Everett’s eyes dropped closed.
“Everett, you’re soused.” Dean shifted him with his dress shoe.
James tilted his head like a snake examining its prey. “He’s not just soused. He’s also high. How much smack did you take, Ev?”
“It was laudanum, and it was loads,” he slurred with his cheek against the marble floor.
“I’ll take care of him.” Dean pushed him once more with his shoe. “Sober him up, if you will.”
“I’ll never be heartless like you, Dean.” Everett yawned then passed out.
“Well, that display was lovely, but can we get back to the point?” Irene crossed her arms like a child and pouted. “Dean ruined my fun. I wanted to kill the girl.”
Vivian slammed her hand on the table and stood violently. “You can’t kill Celestine; if she is dead, you will ruin our actual game. Mother, don’t you want to see the real show?” Vivian let out a dramatic sigh, mocking her mother. “We didn’t comehere for the Murder Mystery Party. We came for the Thriller. We came to watch the cast struggle and die from poison, not your strangling fascination.”
