Page 80 of Wolfsbane Hall
Neither of the brothers was that reckless, and both had touched the knife. They weren’t helping the investigation. They were obscuring it. Why? To what end?
“You’re so book smart, but oh-so stupid.” James rolled his eyes.
Dean cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to bethat guy,but you also just touched the knife.”
James’s eyebrows dropped. “Well, fuck.”
Celestine clenched her fists, her nails biting her palms. She was so fucking over this. James was not that stupid. He knew exactly what he was doing. She was done with manipulation and done with the Ashbrooks. She would go to her room, pack her bags, answer the riddle, and leave.
And if she got it wrong, so fucking be it.
“Oh, child, you look like hell.” Frances stepped into Celestine’s path as she exited the Library. Using the hem of her skirt, Frances wiped off some of the blood still lingering on Celestine’s face. “Did you take a bath in blood?”
“I might as well have,” Celestine said, pursing her lips. “How has your investigation been going?”
Celestine probably should have been working with Frances and Babette more during the show, but she had become so wrapped up in her character and all her many issues and vendettas. Now, though, they needed to work together.
“It’s been going better than I expected.” She scratched her head, and with her other hand, she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “I know you said you think the Specter is Dean, but I am beginning to believe it’s James.”
Celestine narrowed her eyes in question.
“I was racking my mind, and Dean doesn’t fit. The Specter is flashy, methodical, and twisted.” Frances held out a piece of paper, and all her notes were written on it. “Dean isn’t flashy. He doesn’t like it when you are the murderer, and he would never force you to do it. It’s not in his character.”
“It could be,” Celestine said. “What do we even know of Dean? He never speaks.”
“Just because he doesn’t speak doesn’t mean we know nothing about him. We can gather far more from someone’s actions. See, look at this.” Frances pointed to the paper. “His actions don’t match the Specter, but James’s do.”
Celestine hesitantly took the paper from Frances. She wasn’t convinced. Dean was still the far more logical answer. He played piano, mixed up words, and knew far too many intimate things about Celestine. Only the Specter would have had that knowledge. Not to mention, he was the one who called her Celine. But Celestine took the paper anyway.
Tiny script was scribbled all over the paper, but the biggest handwriting saidgum, crossbow, wanting to be murdered, deeply methodical, sick enough to design the games.
Celestine bit the inside of her cheek and returned the paper to Frances.
“If tonight’s mystery is also supposed to lead us to the name of the Specter, then it would have to be James, too.” Frances tucked the paper back into her apron. “The gum on the crossbow is a clue to James. It has to be him.”
Celestine shook her head, unconvinced. There was an equal amount of evidence, if not more, leading to Dean.
“I feel it in my bones, Celeste. James is the Specter.”
26
Saturday, November 11, 1939
Celestine’s Bedroom
After taking a much-needed bath, Celestine rested her wet locks on her pillow and placed her hand against the wall, like she used to do when she fell asleep listening to the Specter playing the piano. It was a goodbye.
Despite everything, she would miss him.
Love was such a fickle and terrible thing.
Tears gathered like beads on her eyelashes.
Celestine sucked her lower lip into her mouth and let out a long breath. The Specter was here. She knew it. If she had one magical power, it would be that she could always sense his presence. He was here, like he always was at the end of the night. The version of him she got in secret.
Her Specter.
“Celine…” Her name played like music on his tongue, like a symphony of sorrow and longing. It floated like the Phantom’s, but unlike the Phantom, it felt like he was coming from the other side of the wall, as if he were standing there. Waiting and listening for her.
