Page 97 of Wolfsbane Hall
But Celestine didn’t even care about that, because thescene was horrific. There was no right answer as to who the Specter was. It had been a trick question the entire time.
There was never one answer.
There werethree.
Three fucking Specters. But Celestine wanted to confirm it before she said it out loud. Pivoting around, Celestine sucked in a breath and called upon all her remaining energy. She picked up James’s gun off the floor and slowly trudged to her room.
The pain of each step caused pained tears to skate down her face. In the corner of her room was her nightstand, which held her stockpile of elixirs. She swung open the glass cabinet and sifted through the elixirs. She brought several up to her lips.
Her body gave out, and she fell to her knees, her broken heart pounding monstrously in her ears. Her fingers shook as she grasped the vial from November fifth and took a sip.
Champagne and raspberries.
Fuck.
That was one.
She turned to September seventeenth. It had been a special show that was more subdued and mental, more like a chess game than all the pomp and circumstance of the usual shows. She took a swig.
Orange liqueur and coconut.
Two.
Then she randomly selected four more. All tasted like cherry wine, figs, and chocolate.
Three.
Three fucking Specters.
And she even knew which was which. It was so evident to her now.
Everett was the Specter responsible for designing thecherry wine shows. They were always flashy and over the top—a large production. The nights when James played the murder victim, he was in charge of the show, and while Dean so rarely put on the show, he still sometimes did.
But they didn’t take days off. It wasn’t like Everett was the Specter one night, Dean the next, then James. No, they were all the Specter, every night. But they just showed up differently. She saw it all now. She’d known them so well and always found it funny how the Specter communicated so differently in different situations and moments.
It was so obvious now.
James was the shadow and smoke Specter, which fit his methodical and careful personality. Everett was the Specter in mirrors, the one puppeting paintings and objects. He was the flashiest and had the biggest personality.
And Dean?
Dean was the floating voice. He was simple and understated, and he only showed up when people were at their greatest need. He was the helper, and they were the puppet masters, yet he was also the mastermind behind it all. He was the storyteller of the three.
Well, fuck.
An anger like no other burst through Celestine’s chest, and she threw the vials against the wall. The glass shattered, painting the room with the liquid. She didn’t stop until she had destroyed every single one. She didn’t stop until she had eradicated them from her life.
She was fury made manifest.
And in that fury, she devised a plan. She would finally live her life on her terms, outside of the manipulation of Wolfsbane Hall and its wretched inhabitants.
She inhaled sharply and pooled all her energy. Then shestormed back into the ballroom, James’s gun in her hand, checking the bullets. Five.
Perfect.
She kicked her shoes off so that her skin would have direct contact with the floor. She wasn’t sure if the house would answer her call because it was a manifestation of the Specters’ magic, but she wanted to try.
Trap them.
