Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)(69)
The spirits shared a look, and Signa all but scowled at them again. “Never mind.” She waved the girl from the piano bench. “Off of that. Off! I won’t have any more of it.”
“Then what do you propose we do?” the girl demanded, eyes flashing with such anger that for a moment Signa braced herself for the worst. “We’ve few other options to entertain ourselves!”
It was then that Signa felt the cold sting of Death settle against her skin. The spirits’ eyes grew wide as they huddled together, away from the reaper that Signa could not see. Still, his presence alone was enough to bolster her spirit.
“You could always try passing on to the afterlife,” she mused. “I’m sure there’s plenty to do there. I hear you can even reincarnate if you’d like.” Still in her nightgown with her hair strewn about, she was far from prepared for this conversation, let alone the situation at hand. Her throat remained raw, voice hoarse and rife with tension.
As she noticed the tremors racking Signa’s body, the woman asked, “What happened to you?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Again Signa cast a look down the hall, ensuring Elaine was still in the servants’ quarters. She took a seat on a footstool across from them, arms wound around herself. The chill within her was easing some, not nearly as bad as if the woman had possessed her. At least she could be glad about something.
“Just how many spirits live in Foxglove?” Signa wished with everything in her for a lower answer. She was unprepared for the truth of it to roll from the man’s tongue, his words spoken too quickly as he glanced between her and Death.
“Somewhere close to twenty, I imagine,” he said. Signa’s arms wrapped tighter as a wave of sickness overcame her, wishing she could look upon Death’s face. Twenty. She had thought it odd enough to see a trio of spirits together. There were places she’d passed in her lifetime where spirits had roamed freely, certainly. Lands that had once been ancient battlefields and hospitals. But for twenty spirits to live under a single roof? It was preposterous.
“Where are they?” Signa pressed. “Why haven’t I seen more of them?”
“Everyone has their favored spots.” The spirit pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “We like ours right here, away from all the riffraff. Most stay in the ballroom, though there are a few that roam the halls.”
Signa’s blood went cold. Of course they’d be in the ballroom.
“They must know I’m here.” She sounded as though she’d swallowed a frog, the words a low rasp. “Why haven’t more of them sought me out, and why have they left my maid alone?” It didn’t seem wise to share with them that she’d been attacked only minutes earlier. She didn’t want them getting any ideas.
What Signa didn’t expect was for them to share another look.
“What is it?” She pulled the footstool closer to them. The two spirits on the couch leaned away as she neared, but rather than look at Signa, the older woman peered just over her head, toward the servants’ quarters.
“I wouldn’t go near that maid of yours even if you paid me to do it. There’s something wrong with her skin. None of us have seen it before, and no one wants to be the first to find out what it means.”
“What do you mean? There’s nothing on her skin.”
“It glows,” the youngest added with such earnest vigor that she seemed more youthful than she was. “You can’t see it? It’s all over her, and it brightens to silver whenever any of us get near.”
Signa forced herself to keep calm beneath the spirits’ scrutiny, not wanting to give away her concern. Was it possible her powers had done something to Elaine without her realizing it?
Death must have shifted nearer, and oh what Signa wouldn’t have given to be able to hear his voice in that moment. If he’d seen anything strange with Elaine, she had no doubt that he would have said something.
“We won’t bother you,” the man promised, though his eyes were trained to a spot just above Signa’s shoulder, where Death must have stood. “But we can’t make any promises for the others.”
The windows in the sitting room flew open as a bitter gust blew in. Darkness crept through, and though she couldn’t fully make out his individual shadows, she imagined they were closing in on the spirits as the darkness spread toward them, sucking all light from the room.
The man drew his family away, stepping in front of them like a shield.
“We won’t harm anyone!” he promised this time, firmer.
Signa believed him. Still, she’d have to be cautious. All spirits who remained in the mortal world were held by an intense emotion or strong desire. For Thaddeus, he’d wanted to read all the books in the library, while Lillian had wanted to save her daughter and find her killer. Magda had remained because she was bitter and jealous and all-around terrible. It wasn’t a surprise that some of those who had died here at Foxglove might be fueled by vengeance.
Signa had no belladonna left, and even if she did, the cost of slipping into her reaper form had become too great. Even now she could feel the weariness in her bones, as though she’d aged ten years within minutes. But the spirits didn’t need to know that, let alone understand how her powers worked. They needed only to understand that she was a threat, and the weight of what she could do. She held her hand out, and at once the windows slammed shut, the darkness retreating.