Page 10 of Wolfsbane Hall #1

Eight days later

Green Room

Celestine was late.

One hour before the show, the cast drank the Specter’s elixir. On the hour, on time…always. For the Specter, timeliness was truly next to godliness; which, of course, meant Celestine was highly ungodly. For her, time was a blur that tangled into itself like an unwindable ball of yarn.

Impossible to track.

The cast was supposed to be in the Green Parlor ten minutes before six. But it was at three minutes till the hour when Celestine burst in, her damp blonde locks spilling over her shoulders in clumps.

Everyone else was on time, and they were lounging on the couches, waiting for her. Embarrassment stroked across her cheeks.

“Apologies, apologies,” Celestine whispered, averting her gaze and taking her place around the center table.

The Green Parlor was the “backstage” and the only room outside of the North Wing, where patrons couldn’t enter during the show—named the Green Parlor because it was a confection of green.

Everything was coated in a spectrum of seafoam, evergreen, and even salamander, from the velvet curtains to the couches and wallpaper.

Like St. Patrick’s Day had spewed all over the place.

“Thanks for showing up,” Babette said sarcastically from Everett’s lap, playing with his green dress shirt—apparently, he wanted to match the room.

Babette desperately wanted to be one of his girls, and Everett was more than happy to oblige by running his fingers through her long brunette curls.

“At least we can start now, since the Specter would’ve never let us without you. ”

Celestine swallowed, and instead of getting upset at the other woman’s ungracious words, her stomach twisted.

As much as she hated the brunette, she felt for her.

Babette was rude, but her heart was in store for a heartbreak.

Everett would eat her up and toss her out.

She was like willow branches swaying in the wind, trying to capture a butterfly.

The butterfly might grace it with its presence for a while, but it would always fly off.

Everett could make a girl’s heart soar with the weight of his attention, but his love and affection were as fleeting as the butterfly.

The Ashbrook men were uncatchable. It was a rule every woman understood, yet time and time again, they all tried to tame them.

Even Celestine was no exception. But at least she knew she wasn’t a monster trainer.

She knew better than to get attached to an Ashbrook.

Precisely why, while she fucked James, she vowed never to love him.

He wasn’t capable of loving her back. Sex was a fun distraction—that was it.

Despite the fact that it sometimes made her heart sick.

Because deep down, as much as she promised herself she wouldn’t fall for an Ashbrook, she knew she had already fallen for all three of them in different ways.

And they would one day destroy her, just like they would Babette.

The difference was that Celestine knew it.

Because wealthy men weren’t for keeping.

Nor was Celestine. She was for breaking.

“Well, I am glad you’re here.” James’s arms circled Celestine’s waist as his lips stroked her neck, tickling her.

“James.” Celestine giggled. It was impossible not to love the man’s ministrations. He was just as much a butterfly as Everett, but Celestine tried not to care. She’d adore every moment she got with him and let him fly away when the time came.

Even though it would break her already fragile heart.

Dean cleared his throat, unapproving glare fixed on his cousin’s lips as they slid along Celestine’s flesh. “It’s time.”

Dean strolled over to the round table at the center of the room. Six character envelopes graced its edges, along with twelve bottles of elixir—the supplies the cast needed for the night’s private dinner party.

Two bottles of elixir each, because one wasn’t always enough.

The manor had a distinct personality of its own, and it often locked people out of rooms or completely altered the orientation of the halls.

It was, in essence, a magical maze animated through the Specter’s spells, which was precisely why the cast needed an extra elixir after the show.

If the house decided to shift, someone with elixir could change Wolfsbane back, or at least try to convince it to.

A grandfather clock struck six, and like a synchronized dance, Frances, Babette, and Celestine took their places around the table, brought the elixir to their lips, and drank .

But as the liquid touched Celestine’s tongue, a shiver ran through her bones, and her brow furrowed. It felt like lightning ripping apart the lining of her throat, worse than heartburn.

Something was terribly off.

The potion typically tasted of cherry wine, figs, and chocolate, and on rare occasions, a different wine. Tonight, it tasted like orange liqueur and coconut, with a hint of something Celestine couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Welcome, or should I say unwelcome, to tonight’s adventure.” A booming voice shook the room. The frequency of the sound licked at Celestine’s flesh, and her poor little heart jumped, breaking its rhythm as the hairs at the nape of her neck rose.

The Specter sounded…his voice, it wasn’t his . It wasn’t liquid chocolate and smooth liquor. It was rotten ash and spiced whiskey. Close, but oh so wrong. An impersonation.

And it was a floating voice. Floating . The Specter only used that in her presence, and usually only in her rooms.

It was their special thing.

Now, he’d used it in a room of six people. The Specter would never betray her like that. Never.

This—whoever it was—was not her Specter . Of this, she was certain.

With gentle fingers, Celestine turned the shot glass, inspecting it. Nothing about the container was different, but she brought it to her nose and instantly shuddered. It smelled the way the voice sounded. Distorted.

“Ah, yes, our beautiful little seductress has sensed it.” The false Specter’s words stroked her spine like a knife.

“Tonight, I’m not your Specter; I am the Phantom.

” His deep and sordid laugh coated the walls like clotting paint.

“You are all his favorite, loyal toys—too loyal for my liking. Tonight, I’m going to play a little game with you. Tonight, you are mine . ”

Light drained from every bulb in the room like a slow death.

Celestine sucked in a breath, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. Then rows and rows of beeswax candles burst into high, unnatural flames, outlining everyone in an anxious, flickering light.

The green fabric coating the furniture began to refashion itself into black, as if it had been dipped in ink.

Celestine’s throat closed up, and fire scratched at her vocal cords, cutting them off from use. Her gaze shot first to Frances, who was equally confused, and then to Babette, who was shivering, though she tried to cover it up with a clenched jaw.

They instinctively knew this was bad and could feel it in their bones, too.

But when Celestine’s gaze stopped on the men, she realized none of them seemed surprised at all.

She knew they had already betrayed her; she just didn’t yet know the depths of their depravity, nor did she know how.

“Tonight’s game is simple,” the Phantom said, cutting into her thoughts and starting an eerie rhyme.

“Your Specter will in attendance be; find him first, and you will be free. Fail, and death will be the only thing you see.”

Find the Specter? What did that even mean? Did he mean for the cast to unveil the Specter’s true identity?

That was an impossible task.

No one had ever unmasked the owner of Wolfsbane Hall. Ever. Not in over a hundred years, since the palace first appeared in New York in 1833.

Celestine’s heart thundered, and her limbs grew weak.

Placing a hand on the table for balance, she tipped her chin up to catch James’s gaze.

He shrugged, not so baffled by the situation.

But he reached out and clutched her waist tightly, drawing her into the curve of his side.

She burrowed into his protection, even though she knew she shouldn’t.

It was moments like these when she wished she could keep him forever, but that was as impossible as unmaking the Specter.

“Ah, the rhyme doesn’t fit, does it?” the Phantom asked, and the inky blackness spilled from the couches and across the floor, slithering like snakes.

“Let me explain more simply. I have poisoned your elixir, and you have until the end of the show—give or take five hours—to let me know which of the rich assholes in attendance tonight is your Specter.” He let the words sink in before continuing.

“Your options include the three fine male specimens standing before you. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now they didn’t drink their elixir. ”

Her eyes dropped to each man’s full, untouched bottles.

What? The question rang in Celestine’s head, and her gaze touched each of theirs in turn, but it was Babette who vocalized the question.

Celestine was too stunned to process the word poison or even the concept that one of her friends could also be her Specter.

“Haven’t you wondered why these three are cast members, despite being as rich as King Midas?” The voice vibrated with glee. “Perhaps it’s because they’re related to the Specter…or perhaps because they are him.”

“Tell me it’s not true.” Babette faced Everett, her expression glistening with hurt. “Please, Ev.”

Everett pinched his lips together and refused to speak, but his eyes spoke volumes. Saying things like, I’m sorry. It’s true, the Specter is a member of my family. A member I know intimately.

Celestine didn’t have a moment to process the exchange, because the Phantom cut in. “To solve my riddle and make a guess, all you must do is speak the Specter’s name into existence. Don’t worry, I’ll hear you—for I will also be in attendance.”

A fog traveled through the room on the wings of magic, the Phantom making his point utterly clear.

He was evil, and the cast members were his marionettes on strings.

Celestine sucked in a tight breath as soft violin music underscored the point even further, but the notes were sharp, like the strings had been tightened just a little too much.

The Phantom was just as much of a showboat as his counterpart. “Unmask the Specter and live; guess incorrectly, and you will die. Forever. This time, there will be no resurrection.”