Page 107 of Ghost
Besides, perhaps Mr. Cole didn’t hear me. And his servants also remained unavailable to receive guests. It was highly unlikely, but possible. Maybe.
It was unbecoming, but what if someone inside needed help? That could have been why no one answered my call.
“I’m coming in,” I called, announcing myself as I pressed the heavy door open. My parents would have been so angry to see me trespassing. But what other choice did I have? There could be an emergency.
My conviction was so strong I almost fooled myself.
One step inside, and I was overcome with the weight of grief. My heart clenched, and I gasped for breath as the familiar sensation of death threatened to consume me.
My abilities weren’t the most powerful out of my family, but I was strong enough. I could reanimate certain aspects of a body.
Reanimation was a basic practice of a necromancer’s work. There were different nuances of it, and my specialty was in reading impressions that remained behind. To grasp images of the life the owner of the body lived. Those memories had a way of staying with the body, even after the spirit moved on.
Necromancers were also able to feel a shift in the air. The one that alerted us to the fact a spirit had recently vacated its shell.
Someone had died here, and not very long ago. What if the dead person was Mr. Cole? I was a terrible person, but I couldn’t help but hope.
However, as I searched the main floor of the house, only to find no corpse, tension began to settle in my bones. Someone should have been here, even a servant. Wandering through the kitchen, I planned my refusal in my head.
A noise—a clattering from the cellar—broke into my thoughts.
I jumped, freezing into place. Clearly, I had not thought this through. A half-moment later, the basement door slammed open, and an elderly woman hobbled into the kitchen.
She startled at seeing me, and I her. Both of us too stunned to say a word.
After a pause, she frowned and levelled a spoon in my direction. “Well then,” she said, not sounding worried. “You’re a tad bit early. You shouldn’t be breaking and entering into places where you’ll meet your doom. And here I’d thought that you’d be running the other way.”
Something about her tone caused my hackles to rise. It sounded as if it was a common occurrence for women to appear here.
“I’m not breaking and entering,” I rebuffed, even though her words were technically true. “I’m the future mistress of this place. Mr. Cole was supposed to meet me for tea.”
“Mistress?” The expression on her face morphed into surprise, and then into a slight panic. “Why would he have you come here? He must have forgotten, the fool. The shields have been lifted for his arrival. Today is not a good day, the ritual is underway. We need to—”
The sound of a door slamming rang throughout the house. Gales of laughter and voices followed, and I turned toward the noise. It could be no other than Mr. Cole, and some friends.
Mr. Cole and I would need to have a little chat. How could he have forgotten about me? And why was this woman claiming that other ladies frequented this place?
I was not happy with this arrangement at all. “Mr. C—”
I was silenced as the woman, who was stronger than she appeared, slapped her hand over my mouth and pulled me against herself. “Be quiet child, and come with me. There will be death tonight.”
My heart raced frantically in my chest, and my earlier fear returned with a vengeance. How could I have forgotten someone had already died. And why was she threatening me?
I wanted to push her away, but she had transformed from someone frail to a person of great strength within an instant. There was nothing I could do but scream into her hand and claw at her arms.
But it was useless, and she manhandled me back down the cellar stairs from where she had come.
I jerked awake with a strangled scream, moving to safety before I even had time to take in my surroundings. When awareness began to trickle into me, I was huddled into the corner of a couch, shaking so badly I could hardly think.
People were around me—men I didn’t know. They were trying to get my attention. But nothing registered past the terror that flooded through my veins.
The last thing I recalled was being dragged into the creepy basement. Where was this place?
“Bianca!”
The men were talking to me, but I couldn’t imagine why. Bianca wasn’t my name, my name was—
“Bianca, it’s me.”
