Page 36 of The House Saphir
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that you are not afraid. Not of ghosts. Or dark magic. Or monsters.”
“Are you joking? I wasterrified.”
“Yet you acted more bravely than any person I have ever met.”
Her mouth ran dry, the remnants of the chocolate still coating her tongue, lying heavy in her stomach. The luscious sweetness had begun to turn bitter.
She wanted to admit that he had been every bit as brave as she was, but she didn’t.
“I can’t explain how I know it,” said Armand, “but I know you can help me. And I feel you might be the only one who can. As though… as though we are already connected, somehow.”
A shadow appeared on the wall behind Armand. A figure looming over the copper pots, a hand stretching toward Armand’s throat. Mallory gasped, standing so suddenly her stool toppled over. She rounded on the intruder—but there was nothing there.
Though Armand scanned the shadowy corners of the kitchen, he seemed unsurprised by Mallory’s sudden unease.
“Monsieur Le Bleu,” he said. It was not a question.
The warmth Mallory had felt vanished at once, leaving her shivering. “Thank you for the chocolate, but I think I ought to be getting to bed. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Mallory awoke the next morning, Anaïs was gone and Triphine wouldn’t stop scratching her neck and calves, convinced that the house had fleas.
After dressing and devouring a few pastries off the tray of morning tea that had been left at the foot of the bed—by the maid or housekeeper, she guessed, certainly not Armand—she grabbed her sketchbook and, after much contemplation, bravely invited the ghost to join her in venturing off to explore.
But Triphine barked a laugh. “Do you want me to have fleasandleprosy?”
Mallory wasn’t sure how a house might give her leprosy, but sensing there was more going on here, she perched on the edge of the bed. In the gentlest tone she could manage, she said, “You can’t stay in this room forever.”
“Why not?”
Mallory considered this for a long, long moment.
Then she shrugged. “Actually, I suppose you can. All right, then. See you later.”
“Wait!” Triphine crossed her arms. “It’s just that…he’sout there. Somewhere. And I… I had hoped to never have to see him again.”
“What happened to giving him a piece of your mind?” Mallory asked.
Triphine pouted. “I’m working up to that.”
Understanding struck Mallory, along with a vexing touch of sympathy. Triphine might have been murdered a century ago, but some wounds never fully healed. Of course she wouldn’t want to risk encountering her murderer if it could be avoided.
She was tempted to point out that, as a ghost himself, Monsieur Le Bleu could as easily come into this room as anywhere else in the mansion, but she didn’t think that would be useful information.
“He can’t hurt you again.”
“No, he can’tkillme again. We ghosts can absolutely hurt each other.”
Mallory frowned. The House Saphir was one of the few properties she knew about that was inhabited by multiple spirits. She’d never considered that ghosts could cause each other pain and harm as easily as people could, but she supposed it made sense, even if their interactions with the mortal world were limited.
“Why did you come with us,” she asked, “if you were so afraid of him? Why not stay in Morant?”
Triphine looked at her, apparently confused. “I had no choice. One moment I was at home and the next I was in that carriage, among your luggage. I don’t think I would mind, though, if Iwasn’t afraid of encountering Bastien. It was awfully lonely back in Morant.”
“You know, his other wives are here. Lucienne and Béatrice. They’ve found a way to coexist with Le Bleu’s spirit, so I’m sure you can, too.”
