Page 92 of Shadows of Nightshade
“Would you like to borrow Snowball for a while?” Rosalie asked.
“No!” That broke Eleanor’s silence and she sat straighter, shaking her head. “In fact, it’d be for the best to keep yourshikigami away, at least for the time being. Not many people know that you have one, and I don’t want to draw any attention to our abilities.”
“Eleanor?” Rosalie’s lips turned down as she tilted her head. “What did you see?”
“Nothing I understand.” Eleanor moved to her feet. “But enough to warrant concern for any girl of our age. Especially an overpowered one who likes to brandish her wayward shikigami to seek out my husband’s family’s demise.”
Rosalie crossed her arms, grinning, and my pulse raced. The expression suited her. She’d changed so much. “I’m not scared of them.”
“You should be,” Rosalie answered.“ At least in some regard. I fear that your safety will only be the cataclysm for an event far more deadly.”
Darkness dropped in around me, and my sight went black as the wind moved around my bare calves. By the time I’d blinked next, I was back in the basement.
“Bianca!” I could hear Finn calling me. It felt like ages had passed, but his expression was the same as before. Only now, he held my elbow with his left hand, and my skin felt damp from sweat. “What were you…” His words trailed away as our gazes locked.
My throat went dry as I saw his shocked, pale face. In all our years of knowing each other, rarely had anything caused him to look this way.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Finn lowered his hand from my arm and stepped away, and in the time it took for me to suck in a breath, his surprise had already passed. “Did you figure out your ghosts’ name?” he asked, his tone conversational, but definitely wary.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, looking back at my hand. While Iwasn’t sure why he’d think such a thing, he wasn’t wrong. This ring must have belonged to her—or to Eleanor—although nothing like this had ever happened in the past.
“I think… Rosalie,” I said out loud, scarcely hoping, but also wanting it to be real. I hadn’t gone anywhere this time, nor, apparently, had any time passed—so things were slightly different from my last ‘dream.’
If I was right, though, it’d be nice. Maybe I could finally set her free.
“Yes?” A new voice jumped into the conversation.
Finn jumped—although I wasn’t sure how he knew we had a visitor—and spun until the light shone towards the center of the room. There, in the place between us and the foot of the basement stairs, was the girl who’d been haunting me for days.
“Rosalie.” I wasn’t sure what to do now that I’d gotten her attention. “How—how are you?”
“I’m deceased.” She was blunt for someone who’d once worn a puffy dress. But then again, she was outspoken in the scenes I’d witnessed—and was obviously far more nervous despite her harsh tone. “Why are you wasting your energy with me?”
“I—” I stuttered. “I wanted to help you.” It was the only explanation that I could offer.
“I asked you to stay away,” she answered, refusing to meet my gaze. Instead, her focus was anywhere else—particularly towards the ceiling. She linked her fingers together in front of her as she added, “Please.”
My skin flushed as I felt Finn’s eyes on me. He was thinking, ‘I told you so,’ triumphant in the knowledge that this ghost did not want help. I knew it deep in my bones.
“That isn’t what I’m talking about…” I muttered, feeling properly embarrassed. Despite her constant warnings, my blood was singing as an electrifying sensation ran down my arms. She was lying, trying to protect me.
And things weren’t meant to be this way.
I’d seen many ghosts throughout my life—including spirits that were content in their current states. And usually, I wouldn’t be bothered.
But I was beginning to grow a sense of confidence in my skills, and something about Rosalie that was not right. Maybe it was because she’d asked for help once, and since then, her intentions had shifted.
A spirit that really didn’t want assistance would be far more aggressive—she would try to force me to leave. The more powerful ghosts could manipulate nature, to an extent. She should take no issue with making her stance perfectly clear. But instead, Rosalie was passive.
It didn’t feel right at all.
“Why don’t you want me to help you?” I asked. “You asked once.” Very briefly, and I’d almost missed it.
But she had.
“I didn’t realize who you were,” she answered, pulling on a loose, silvery curl. “It was presumptuous. You’ll likely become a target in exchange, and it’s not worth the risk. He’s a pawn and is not able to make rational decisions. There is no way to end this without someone getting hurt.”
