Page 16 of Wolfsbane Hall #1

The Grand Ballroom

The grandfather clock chimed seven o’clock. The official start time for the Ashbrook show. Celestine stood in the ballroom, her head resting against the golden ballroom wall. As soon as she could stand on her own, she got as far away from Dean as she could manage.

The night glowed with enchantment, but it rotted like long left-out fruit—once beautiful and life-giving sustenance, now just a waste of space. The room smelled of roses and aged brandy. Sweet yet pungent. It was a night of contradictions.

None of the guests had arrived yet, so Celestine rested, holding her character card, once again refusing to open it. Apparently, this was becoming a thing. But she didn’t want to open it, because if she did, everything would be too real.

So, like a child, she refused. Celestine was becoming rather defiant. It wasn’t one of her usual traits, and it surprised her.

But in this case, avoidance was the best practice…wasn’t it?

It had to be.

Celestine’s simple red dress shifted around her shoulders as she watched Wolfsbane Hall.

The club sparkled and gleamed like a far-off star.

Brilliant yet untouchable. Jazz music floated through the halls, calling to the depths of her soul.

Ghost-like illusions danced the jive, emanating laughter and excitement.

They were like dolls from a music box, given life and one magical night to live like Cinderella.

The light shining through the stained-glass ceiling painted them in hues of purple and magenta, and they looked like a whisper in a dream. Glimmering, beautiful, but ethereal.

The only real people in the room were the cast.

Dean stood off to the side, taking everything in like a brooding prince on the edge of a battlefield, yet he wore modern attire, a cobalt-blue suit jacket, vest, and tie.

James, Everette, Frances, and Babette played a hand of poker at a round dinner table, set off to the side of the dance floor, a ghost dealer handing them cards and telling them scandalous tales.

The ghosts were such terrible gossips. So much so that Celestine sometimes had a hard time believing they weren’t real—the actual dead appearing for a night of terror and debauchery.

At a closer glance, Babette sat on an unopened briefcase, as if guarding it. She kept it away from the rest of the cast, hoarding it like a dragon’s treasure. Per usual, Babette was stingy with her clues. She always refused to help anyone else.

Celestine couldn’t relate. She didn’t see Wolfsbane as a competition. It was an experience—one that could be far more enjoyable with cooperation and friendship.

But they were fundamentally different in this way.

Celestine’s eyes tracked to Everett. He wore a moss-green jacket with a matching vest and tie, while James wore shades of dove gray and ash.

All three men looked like a kaleidoscope of bad ideas.

Charming, gorgeous, and bound to destroy one’s reputation.

Celestine had already fallen prey to that indecency too often—especially with James.

He was a tempting disaster, and far too good of a fuck for his own good… and hers .

“You look absolutely atrocious tonight,” a sweet, saccharine voice said from Celestine’s left, and she jolted, clutching her already erratic heart.

“Vivian,” Celestine said, “you scared me.”

“Jumpy tonight?” Vivian Ashbrook, James’s younger sister, asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Does it have anything to do with your sickly complexion and general sad sack demeanor?” Vivian pulled Celestine into a hug and held her tightly.

“I am not sure why you look so atrocious, but clearly, you need this.”

Celestine allowed herself a moment of comfort.

Vivian was a life raft in a sea of betrayal.

She was both Celestine’s best friend and eternal adversary.

They could read each other’s moods down to the smallest microexpression, which was both wonderful and horrible.

It was great to be known so deeply by someone, but it also meant she was left vulnerable.

Because Vivian saw everything. Worse, Vivian didn’t always handle their closeness well.

She had two sides, an angel or a demon. It depended on the day and the moment.

She could make you feel so safe and loved, but she could also rip you to shreds.

She was one of those rich girls with mommy issues and deep emotional instability.

Not that Celestine was much better as the sad little orphan girl with abandonment issues.

“You didn’t answer me.” Vivian pouted.

Because what did one say to you look atrocious ?

“Do you know about the Phantom?”

“Phantom?” Vivian questioned, smoothing out her sleek black dress spun from spider silk.

She wore a platinum-blonde wig with a full face of makeup—her real hair color was dark brown.

Pearls laced her neck, and rubies draped from her ears.

Everything about the girl screamed old money.

Except she never wore furs, as an act of rebellion.

“Well, the Specter isn’t— ”

“Wait.” Vivian held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. It will ruin the show, won’t it?”

Would it? Celestine wasn’t sure.

“Well, I got this.” Vivian handed over an envelope. “It’s my invitation.”

The letter was written on parchment, giving it the illusion of age. It smelled of beeswax with a slight hint of coconut. And like all good Murder Mystery parties, Vivian had received a mysterious note directing her to the mansion and the game.

Dearest Vivian,

Tonight is our night of reckoning. Your past might be buried fifteen feet deep, and perhaps it will stay that way, but if you do not appear at Wolfsbane Hall at 7:00 p.m. on November 13, I will expose all your secrets to your family and the world at large.

See you then, liebste Schwester,

The Specter (or something like it)

The Phantom must have been a fan of Agatha Christie’s recently released book, And Then There Were None , because the game’s setup was nearly identical: threats to uncover secrets and being summoned to a mysterious, secluded mansion.

But the note also contained a clue.

Liebste Schwester

Celestine knew these words, but it had been far too long since she studied German. Her lessons ended after her family’s horrific deaths and her being placed in foster care. Her foster parents only cared about the money they received from the government and did not continue Celestine’s lessons.

“It’s so macabre,” Vivian said with an uninterested droll.

“ Liebste Schwester ? What does it mean?” Celestine asked, handing the note back.

“Dearest sister.”

Celestine’s heart pounded like a snare in her ears, and her eyes flashed to James. James . Was her sweetheart the one torturing her—the Phantom?

Was there another option?

“They love calling me that or wenig liebe ,” Vivian said, her eyes tracking her brother and the twins.

“They?”

“All three of them.”

“They all call you sister?”

Vivian sucked in an exhausted breath. “Of course. It’s their favorite thing. Now, if you would excuse me, I have a bone to pick with my brother…and cousins .” She added the last bit as an afterthought.

The fake blonde strolled off like a feline about to pounce on her prey, curls bouncing with each footfall. A part of Celestine felt sorry for the men, but the vengeful part of her thought they all deserved the storm coming their way.

Celestine rubbed her face, the ghost of a spider crawling up her skin.

James. James? Truly, she didn’t want him to be the Phantom.

He was supposed to be her comfort, her escape, not her executioner.

But then it could make sense. Celestine was nothing to James except a good fuck, and James was a bit of a psychopath. He didn’t possess the ability to love.

A stinging sensation cued at the corners of Celestine’s eyes, and she tried to suck in the emotions threatening to fall as she watched the men receiving their verbal whipping. The sound didn’t travel far enough to reach Celestine’s ears, but she still gathered that none of it was good.

Everett clenched his fists and turned the shade of a fresh apple, while James merely painted a stoic smirk on his sharp features and played with a metal contraption. Another one of his little inventions.

“Do you think I’m James?” the Phantom asked, a soft voice at the back of her neck, like a lover whispering into her ear. The sensation grated against her heart. All at once, wonderful and rotten.

“Were you listening to my conversation with Vivian?” Her voice came out breathy and far too intrigued. No. Get it together, Celine.

“I always listen to you, my sweet Celine.”

“Don’t call me that.” She swatted at the disembodied voice behind her ear. It was no longer seductive. Now, it was infuriating. Celine was the Specter’s name to call her, not this terrible beast.

“I like you in red.”

“Well, red looks good on most blondes,” she snapped back, and her eyes locked once again on James. Possibly the traitor speaking in her ear?

“Oh, this night is going to be a delight.”

Celestine scoffed. “I am sure it will be for you, but mark my words: If you are one of my friends, and you’ve done this to me, I will never speak to you again.”

The air around her sparked with heat, like a blanket coating her skin. The Phantom reacting, of sorts. But it was unclear what the warmth meant. It wasn’t embarrassment, nor was it anger. “As you should.”

“I hate you.”

“And I enjoy you just a little too much.” He chuckled, deep and husky, and the sound vibrated through her body, sparking a feeling she wished would vanish. Lust pooled in her core. One was not supposed to desire their torturer. “I always have and probably always will.”

Celestine shuddered, and gooseflesh skated over her skin.

“Stop flirting with her.” The painting of a grand duke awoke from its slumber, and it was not happy. At the sound of his voice, a star burst to life in Celestine’s chest, filling her with its burning, energetic force. Her Specter was finally here.