Page 29 of Wolfsbane Hall #1

Twisted Hallway

The house shifted as Margot meandered through it, looking for Vivian. She was torn between solving the riddle box and hunting down the Ashbrooks. Yes, the Phantom would resurrect them after she murdered them, but she’d still get the satisfaction of the kill.

But the Phantom was one step ahead of her, and he was obstructing her path. Walls melted like candle wax and moved into each other, statues popped up along the hallways, their eyes following each of Margot’s footfalls, and the ceiling swarmed with rotting fireflies.

“This isn’t funny,” Margot yelled up at the ceiling.

The ceiling let out a low chuckle.

“When I find out which one of you assholes is the Phantom, I will hunt you down and torture you for days.”

But it seemed to be her torture that the Phantom was after right now. Because dragonflies and hummingbirds on strings dropped from the ceiling, some of them had their wings ripped off, and from their mouths played the cruel harmony from Margot’s nightmares.

A nursery rhyme.

With a loud creak, the statues also opened their mouths and began to sing in a sinister, off-key tone. Margret, Margret hanging down. It’s cold this Winter’s mourning. Too bad and oh so sad. You caused the Marquess’s scorning.

The color drained from Margot’s face, and guttural fear burned in her veins. Tears dripped from Margot’s face as she fell to her knees and clasped her ears tightly, screaming. She couldn’t hear this. Not this. Not again.

“Please.” The word left her mouth as a hollow plea. “Please, stop.”

“Open your box, and I will stop it,” the Phantom’s voice whispered right behind her ear. “Play my game, Margot.”

“No.” Her throat was raw. “No.”

“For once in your miserable existence, just follow the rules,” the Phantom said softly. While he was torturing her, he didn’t seem to like it. He felt almost compassionate. “Please, Margot.”

“Fine.” Margot pinched her stinging eyes tight. “Fine.”

She opened her eyes and drew the box into her hand.

There was no way Margot would solve the puzzle.

Though the last thing she wanted to do was admit that she was bad at something, it was undeniable.

Margot wasn’t brilliant. She wasn’t stupid, either.

She was merely average and, unfortunately, not the type of average who liked riddles.

The show wasn’t made for Margot; it was made for Celestine. This meant she had to wake up the vessel.

Wake up. Please. I need you to tell me what this is.

The soul sparked to life and slammed so hard into Margot’s consciousness that it was clear the girl was waiting to take her chance to come back into the spotlight.

Why would I help you?

Because if we don’t solve the show, our body is going to die, and neither one of us wants that.

Margot sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. Celestine was thinking hard about helping, and she said into their mind, It’s a stereogram.

What the fuck is that?

It’s a visual puzzle. If you look at it correctly, a two-dimensional image will become three-dimensional.

So, how do I look at it?

Hold your finger up in front of it and look at it through your finger.

But it wasn’t Margot who did it. Celestine gritted her teeth and forced her consciousness to puppet her body, moving her finger in front of the box. A fairly easy puzzle, all things considered.Her vision shifted, and a mockingbird appeared at the center of the box.

She pushed it down, and voilà, it opened.As the box opened, the hallway cleared, and the song stopped.

Celestine inhaled sharply. She turned the small box over and poured a small slip of paper out. On it was a handwritten note.

I knew you would open it first, my brilliant Celine. The first clue to Lorraine’s murder is stuffed inside the couch in the Pettitte Parlar—Your Phantam.

Parts of the note were misspelled. Celestine scratched her hand as Margot clawed at the sides of their brain.

Celestine wasn’t entirely in control, but she was fighting back.

She might be a weak soul, or vessel, or whatever Margot called her, but even the weak could fight. Even an underdog could win.

So, while she had some ability to make choices, she got up and quickly made her way to the Petite Parlor.

Stepping over to the couch, she lost her balance and was struck by a fit of dizziness.

The palms of her hands barely caught her weight as she fell, and her knees knocked against the hardwood floor.

At least she caught herself before striking her head on the coffee table.

Fuck.

Be careful , Margot yelled at the corners of her mind.

Because I want to fall and hit my head .

The poison was wreaking havoc on her fragile body.

On the bright side, now she was closer to the floor and in the perfect position to rifle through the couch. She plunged her fingers between the cushions, and they touched something sticky before they ran along a wet cotton men’s dress shirt.

Celestine pulled it further out of the cushions. It was once a cobalt-blue Gossypium spun cotton shirt, but the blood coating it had made it nearly fully crimson.

One of the twins had changed their shirt. She knew it wasn’t James, because Margot had just seen him in his dove-gray suit, and Celestine had fucked him in the same suit. So James didn’t stab Lorraine.

So it was a twin.