Page 91 of Shadows of Nightshade
“Do you even know the ghost’s name?” Finn asked, frowning down at the ring. “That would help.”
“I…” I said again, this time allowing the guilt to turn my stomach into knots. But it was true; I’d never asked. Most of our conversations had been of a bemoaning variety.
My skin grew cold as I held the ring and allowed my regret to linger. Would it have helped? I only had one other hint about her life. It was from my earlier dream, and that might not even be accurate.
She’d come here looking for someone.
“I don’t know,” I began, ignoring the chill spreading down my arms. “But I do know she had a sister,” I added, even though I wasn’t sure how helpful the information might be. “Her name was Eleanor.”
The ring pulsed in tune with my rising heartbeat, and the ice spread through my veins. I looked up, capturing Finn’s surprised expression, but was unable to make out his words before the ground fell out from under my feet.
I stumbled forward into daylight.
The vibrant, green grass was a welcome change to the damp room I’d left behind. I curled my toes against the soft ground and breathed deeply. A sweet, soothing scent filled my senses, and thebrightness surrounding me dimmed enough to show that I stood in a field of tall, vibrant lavender.
A robin flew past me, and I followed the bird’s flight. I spotted them as I turned.
Two girls in puffy lace dresses were having a picnic on top of a gingham blanket. One girl was familiar—the ghost that I’d been chasing for days—and one was not. But they had a similar appearance outside of their hair color and the sharp angles of their chins. Their rosy cheeks shone as they leaned toward each other, carrying on a conversation that remained outside the reach of my senses.
Neither one looked in my direction, and when I waved my hand, there was no response.
This was like before—a dream, but also not.
A memory, perhaps?
The giggling stopped after the blonde began to root through a woven basket, and the darker-haired girl’s focus drifted away. She looked to the distant side where—now visible—was the back of a familiar house.
I hugged myself against the chill in her impassive look and flinched as she shuddered. I was choking on her dread.
“Eleanor!” The blonde leaned across the blanket, her voice recapturing both of our attention. She was holding an apple, which she lowered back to her side. “Are you listening?”
“Yes,” Eleanor responded. Her worried gaze lingered before finally returning to her sister. “Sorry, Rose.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her face this time. “I thought I heard my name.”
Rose—yet the name still didn’t feel right—frowned. “Who is he to demand that you jump at his whim? Marrying you heightened his position, not the other way around. He should be grateful.”
Eleanor shrugged, noncommittally. “Don’t misunderstand.”
Rose fiddled with her frilly skirt as she continued without concern. “I’ve heard that arsenic can be quite effective. That’s always an option.”
“That’s nice,” Eleanor replied, her expression unchanged.
Rose remained undeterred by her sister’s disinterest. “Then, afterward, we can bury him in the cellar. I’ve never liked that place—it’s too dreary.” She paused, clearly waiting for a response, but after there was none, she continued, “Though he is quite a bit larger than us. We’ll likely have to chop him into little pieces first to move him.”
“That’s…” Eleanor began but then blinked. “Rosalie Anne Marshall! How dare you joke about such things. He is my husband. What books have you been reading?”
Rosalie… I pressed my shaking hands to my chest. Her name was Rosalie.
Rosalie linked her fingers in her lap, small lips pursed, as she asked, “Does he beat you?”
Eleanor jerked back. “Rosalie…”
“Answer me,” Rosalie pressed, a hint of coyness in her expression. “You might be older and wiser, but we both know that I’m the strong one. You can tell me anything.”
“Don’t misunderstand.” Eleanor sighed and looked down as her long, loose curls fell around her shoulders. “While he’s quite strange, he’s also passive and quiet. It is not him who worries me. He tries his best, but doesn’t understand much about society.”
“Then who is it?” Rosalie raised her eyebrow.
But Eleanor pressed her lips together, obviously planning to remain mute.
