Page 21 of Wolfsbane Hall #1

The Hallway

Dean walked with Celestine, a chasm of space between them. Lord forbid he touch her or guide her back to the ballroom on his arm—like a gentleman—as Everett or James would have done. Dean was just so frustratingly distant. But she longed for him to be the devil she saw beneath his eyes.

But he never would, or at least not with her.

What was wrong with her? She couldn’t want three men. Three was too many. Right?

Clicking footsteps approached, mingling with the echoes of long-played, drawn-out arguments. Dean’s eyes latched to hers, and quick like wildfire, he pulled her behind a red curtain just as the voices turned the corner. His hand covered Celestine’s mouth, and his body pressed her into the wall.

“Will this ever cease?” Anger dripped from Lorraine’s voice like water from a leaky faucet.

Irene snickered. “Probably not. If you wanted to live a certain way, you probably shouldn’t have chosen this life.”

The sound of the slap ricocheted against the marble floors. “You are worse than that whore we ki—”

“Ladies, ladies…” Firm footsteps rushed into the ha ll. “The arguing needs to stop.” It had to be Archibald trying to break up the women.

His hand frozen against her lips, Dean looked heavenward, exasperation seeping onto his face. It was an expression that said, For the love of God, again? If it were a typical argument between his family, why did he need to hide Celestine’s presence?

“Fine,” Lorraine scoffed, and a dramatic huff accompanied the snapping of her heels, fading away.

“Now that she’s gone, and no one seems to be around,” Archibald said, and a crash sounded on the wall next to the curtain where Celestine and Dean were hiding.

“Oh, God no, not again.” Dean’s words were lower than a whisper and were covered up by the frantic passion erupting next to them.

His father and aunt were kissing, and maybe more, in the middle of the hall.

Oh, no, it was definitely more from the moans and flesh slapping together coming from next to them.

A hallway quickie. Was everyone sex-addled in this house?

Celestine certainly was.

Dean shook his head and looked like he wanted to disappear into the wallpaper and never be seen again. Death might have been preferable to this. At every slight movement and moan, he flinched.

Celestine cupped her hands over his ears to relieve some of his pain.

She couldn’t imagine what it would be like hearing her mother rutting around with someone inches from her.

Not pleasant. Dean’s smokey eyes tilted down and captured Celestine’s, and she had to suck in a deep breath, because she suddenly realized how close they were standing.

Far, far too close.

And his skin against hers was nearly unbearable.

Both hot and cold, all at the same time.

Like a metaphor for the two of them. He was always ice, and she was an eternal fire.

Her heart beat into her throat as Dean’s hand slid down to her neck, the movement a caress.

All the while, he didn’t take his eyes off hers.

His irises were painted in either hidden seduction or ruthless hatred.

It was hard to tell with him. A part of Celestine believed they might be one and the same.

He hated her, but perhaps he wanted her at the same time?

Or she could be making it all up, because his hand dropped to his side a moment later, and his gaze slid away.

“Not in the hall,” Irene said, panting and cutting through whatever Celestine felt toward Dean. Thank God. “One of our children could hear us.”

Too late.

The pounding in Celestine’s ears rattled her composure as Dean’s aunt and father slipped away into another room to finish what they had started.

“Why do we need to hide from your parents?” Celestine asked.

“One should always hide from my parents.” He looked like he was going to be sick.

Celestine laughed. “I understand why.”

His parents are the worst monsters imaginable , Margot said.

Celestine chose to ignore the ghost. “But there was more to the hiding than that.”

“There was.” Dean skated out of her arms and held open the curtain for her to exit. His jaw was tight and his bones rigid, as if he were trying to rid himself of the feel of her. All the tension she felt building between them surely was only in her head.

He swallowed. “We should return. I assume someone will be getting murdered any moment now.”

“Right.” She gulped and gave a terse smile. “We mustn’t miss the show. ”

As soon as they reached the ballroom, they were accosted by Lorraine, who rushed up to them in a tizzy. “Dean, dearest, have you seen your brother?”

“Which one?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“How dare you?” Lorraine said with horror and let out what could have been described as a scoff. “The only one that matters.”

“Oh.” Dean slid his hands into his pockets. “I haven’t seen Everett.”

Lorraine ran a hand down the leopard fur on her coat. “If you see him, will you tell him we must talk?”

“I doubt he’ll speak to you,” Dean said. “He hasn’t in years. Why do you think he’ll start now?”

“He needs to get over it.”

“He won’t. Perhaps you should have considered the consequences of your actions before taking them.”

Lorraine’s face deepened into fury, and she looked like a Victorian painting that had red poured over the canvas. “Not you, too.” Lorraine waved her hand dismissively. “Go fetch me a glass of wine. You know you’re my favorite.”

Dean released a low chuckle and shook his head. “Yes, Mother.”

His eyes flashed to Celestine’s momentarily, and they shared a grimace. If Dean hated Celestine, he hated his mother far more. He’d take any excuse to get away from her, and Celestine would have put money on him not returning if she were a betting gal.

“So, you’re their new whore.” Lorraine’s lips pursed together as she examined her prey like a scientist about to dissect a strange animal. Glee lit up her every feature.

Celestine had been called a whore many, many times before.

This didn’t faze her. It was the nature of being a poor girl who ran with the rich and glamorous.

A poor girl who openly flirted with and fucked said rich men.

Everyone assumed she only hung around for the money and access to their abundant lives.

It couldn’t be that they needed her talent and skills to better their lives.

No, she couldn’t possibly be adding anything valuable.

“You’re the girl my son is obsessed with,” Lorraine continued, and Celestine laced a poisonous sugarplum smile on her lips.

“Don’t feel special. Occasionally, my sons latch on to a beautiful, poor ingénue to fight and obsess over.

They promise her riches and a better life, but what does she actually get? Devastation.”

All poor girls who chased after rich men received devastation. This wasn’t news. It was one of the primary reasons the Ashbrooks were only for show, possibly a fun time, but nothing more. She knew it already. Celestine would never get to keep one for herself.

When Celestine said nothing, Lorraine added, “You’re like all the rest. You’ll be discarded sooner or later…or possibly even worse.”

Definitely worse , Margot whispered at the edges of her mind.

Lorraine ran her fingers through her pearls as if drawing attention to her exorbitant wealth. “You’ll never be good enough for him.”

Celestine raised her eyebrows. “Which one?”

“Do not talk back to me. You are a maid unworthy of my presence or attention. You will answer when addressed. Do you understand me?”

Yes , Margot growled, and Celestine said aloud, “Yes.”

Was Lorraine speaking to Margot then? Was this another scene playing out? Or was she talking to Celestine? Probably both .

“Nothing will affect our image, our reputation, or get in my sons’ way. Do you hear me, girl?”

Yes. Perhaps this was for Margot’s sake—for the show—because Margot rattled inside Celestine like a beehive, feeling attacked and furious. “Yes,” Celestine repeated the character’s line.

“You will not affect their future.” Lorraine gripped Celestine’s arms, her fingernails digging in. “You are not their future. Do you understand me?”

This felt like overkill. Lorraine liked to hear herself speak and couldn’t be content with just one threat. She needed many.

“Yes.” Celestine gritted her teeth.

“That includes Margot, your character for the night, and you, too, little actress .” She said the title as if it were a weed infecting her garden.

Ah, so she was speaking to both.

“Right,” Celestine said disrespectfully.

“You are a pathetic actress in a tiny little town. You’re beautiful, but that’s the only thing you’ve got going for you.

” Lorraine truly enjoyed her insults, and she dispensed them as if they were candy.

“You will never amount to anything.” She clutched Celestine’s chin.

“Useful to use and play with, useful to fuck, but you’ll never be worthy of one of them. Do you understand?”

Celestine didn’t give her the respect of an answer. Lorraine might push her husband around, but perhaps, for once in her life, she would not give in. She wouldn’t let this horrible woman affect her.

“Heed my warning, girl, or you’ll end up just like her.”

Her? Margot? Did Lorraine know what would happen to the ghost? Was she going to be the victim?

Fuck. Celestine hated playing the victim just as much as the villain. And she wouldn’t put it past Lorraine to murder anyone.

She does like to murder. Margot scratched at the lobes of Celestine’s brain.

A rotten feeling snaked over Celestine’s skin.

Typically, the humans were Specter’s little playthings.

They came to get lost in their fantasies and an escapist story, to be in an Agatha Christie novel for one night of fun.

But tonight, Celestine couldn’t help but feel like she was the entertainment.

The cast members were the puppets on strings.

She felt like an object, a toy for these rich and powerful people.