Page 49 of Wolfsbane Hall #1

San Francisco Streets

Celestine only had three minutes left to live.

She didn’t have a plan. What plan was there when one only had minutes to live? The extent of hers was hobbling down the steep San Francisco street with no shoes on and a blood-soaked dress.

If Celestine were going to die, she would do so far away from them. It was her life’s curse that she would die on her own with no one to care about her. She’d known this would be her fate since her diagnosis, but it still hurt to know it was true. Perhaps she had manifested it into reality.

She sucked in a tortured breath, her heart beating lethargically. It was finally giving up on her.

But then, it had been giving up on her for years. She had known this day would come.

All Celestine had ever wanted in life was to be loved, to be chosen, and not abandoned. All she wanted was to be wanted. But this dream—for it was only a dream—had caused her to accept terrible circumstances.

She’d been so recklessly loyal that she allowed the Specter and the Phantom to treat her abominably for nine years.

Torturing her, forcing her to murder, making her into a puppet of seduction at the whims of rich, lecherous men, and turning her into a meek little mouse who refused to stand up for herself.

But no longer.

Celestine was choosing herself, even if it meant she’d only live for a few more minutes.

Swallowing, she looked out at the glittering bay. The lights danced down the rolling hills of San Francisco, Coit Tower standing tall on Telegraph Hill, and Alcatraz cutting through the ocean and fog in the distance.

The city was formed from magic, and its beauty was so breathtaking that it was sometimes hard to catch one’s breath.

With how much time she spent locked in Wolfsbane during the nightly shows, it was sometimes easy to forget the serenity and perfection resting right outside the mansion’s sinister doors.

Celestine closed her eyes and let the icy breeze skim her face and stroke her hair, blowing it behind her, the strands twisting and dancing.

The wind howled a wicked song, and sailboat rigging clinked against masts, each ding sending a jolt through her.

Seagulls cawed at the night sky, flying over the brick-and-mortar shops, searching for food scraps.

Sea lions barked at the frigid wind. It all created a symphony of sound that warmed Celestine’s soul.

It was a beautiful city in which to die.

“Celine!”

Celestine pinched her eyes tighter closed at the sound of her favorite nickname, uttered by the one she both loved and despised.

Tears prickled at the back of her eyes. She didn’t want to care for him, but it was impossible not to. She would never be able to keep him, he also would never be able to keep her, but the nights they spent together talking were the best moments of her life.

She had always been dying.

Celestine always only had limited time with him, and as much as she hated him, she also loved him. He had been her rock, and for the last moments she had left, she would remember him. Her time with him would coat her mind as she took her last steps and last breaths.

And that hurt more than her terminal heart.

“Go away, Dean.” It was a broken sob.

“I can’t.” He caught up to her and clutched her shoulders. “I can’t let you die. I won’t.”

Her lips pinched together, and her cheeks ached from holding back all her emotions. “Tell me why.”

“What?” His azure eyes were pleading.

“Why do all of this?” Devastation ate away at her stomach. “Why become the Phantom for one night? Why poison me and torture me on my last night to live?”

He didn’t seem to understand her last words, because he ignored them and said, “Because you have to get away. This place, this family, will kill you…” He cupped her face, his fingers sliding through her hair. “I will kill you.”

“You already have.” Celestine wanted to fall into his touch, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. It hurt too much.

“I am trying to save you from me.” The light from the streetlights flickered in his eyes, highlighting the desperation lingering there.

“How noble of you,” she spat out. Anger wasn’t an emotion she’d felt that often until tonight. She didn’t feel like it was a very useful one. Yet it was all she could focus on now. He’d stolen her peace. He’d stolen her peaceful last breaths. “Save me by destroying me?”

“You’ve met my family. My mother nearly killed you, and she won’t ever stop.

She thinks she owns us, and she can’t be killed.

Ever.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “Go to Hollywood, become the star you were always meant to be, and leave this…” He motioned to the city around him and back at Wolfsbane. “Leave me in your rearview mirror.”

If only she could do that. But it was as impossible as Dean genuinely loving her. “I can’t do that, even if I wanted to.”

“Yes, you can.” His whiskey-coated voice was hollow with fear. “All you have to do is answer the riddle.” Dean knew she’d solved it but refused to say it. “Who is the Specter, Celine?”

“No. I won’t say it.”

“This isn’t a game, Celine. You will stay dead.”

“I know.”

“And you would commit suicide like that?”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. Answer the riddle,” he begged. “Please.”

Celestine shook her head, the movement causing her to feel dizzy, and Dean had to reach out and steady her.

“When, Dean?”

He scrunched his face.

“When? When would you like me to tell you who the Specter is? How about when I am looking into mirrors or talking to an animated painting? That’s Everett.

Or how about when he’s the voice in the darkness or smoke?

Then that would be James. And in my bedroom, after it’s all over…

or when I need the Specter the most, and he shows up as a hovering voice to help me?

” Her voice cracked. “That’s you, Dean.”

Her forehead scrunched, the veins popping out from the anger, tears, and unending sorrow she was holding in her head.

There had been three elixirs. There had always been three Specters.

“There have always been three men who betrayed me,” she seethed. “There is no answer to this riddle, because it is all of you. Congratulations, you made an impossible game and killed your entire cast.” She offered a slow, sarcastic clap. “Truly, congratulations.”

She felt the poison leave her body, lifting from her like a wave. It was gone, but still destructive. It had already done its damage. It had already ravaged her sickly body.

A proud smile stretched on Dean’s face. “It’s like your favorite book. I thought you would enjoy the final solution.”

He cupped her face again, his eyes measuring her reaction and the effect of the poison leaving her body. But his brow furrowed, because he instinctively understood something was wrong.

“I hate you, Dean.” The pain was unbearable now, and hot, thick tears dripped down her face. “But mostly, I hate myself for loving you.”

Celestine’s knees buckled, and she fell down the street she’d just walked up, and Dean caught her in his arms. Blood trickled from between her blue lips, and she felt the color leaching from her face.

Celestine’s secret had finally caught up to her.

The things she had never told anyone else were forcing her to pay up.

And Dean’s machinations had sped up the process. The truth was that Celestine Sinclair had always been dying, long before she was ever poisoned.

She’d been dying long before she’d ever met the Specter. Celestine had a broken heart in far more ways than one.