“You left for Hesperus as soon as the funerals were over,” she began, her voice growing distant and dreamy. “I remember how your little frame shook at mine…but when you returned, it was as though nothing had happened! You didn’t remember my death, you didn’t remember any of them, and I…it had been so many months since anyone had seen me, had talked to me…” Her eyes grew bright with tears and—ghosts shouldn’t be able to cry—she wiped them aside with the back of her hand. “It was selfish, I suppose. No. It was selfish… But when you burst into your new rooms for the first time, when you raced up—ignoring your sisters’ worried glances—and hugged me, I was too selfish to say anything to change your view. I know it was wrong. I knew it then too. Every day I tried to hide away, watch over you from the shadows, let your sisters’ wards push me back, be unseen, but you saw me. You always saw me, Verity.”
Tears tracked down my face, salting the water with sorrow. I’d always thought ghosts to be eerie creatures of malice and retribution, haunting the living with their incessant demand to be remembered, to have their wrongs avenged.
But this was Hanna.
She was not a malevolent entity, hell-bent on harming us because we lived and she did not.
She was love. So much love.
It infused everything she’d done, every choice she’d made, every act she’d committed.
“I know you probably want to stay in there and stew on this,” she started cautiously, “but that cold water isn’t going to do you any good and I can see your fingers are wrinkled from here. Can we continue this talk in your room?”
I ran my thumbs over the pads of my fingers and nodded.
Hanna scrambled into motion again, helping me stand and wrapping the soft linen sheet around my quivering frame.
How is she doing this? How is she doing any of this?
She ushered me down the darkened corridor, briskly rubbing life back into my arms as I kept a watchful eye out for any glimpse of movement. It wasn’t just Ligeia and Rosalie I needed to worry about. Six of my sisters had died in this house. My mother. My father. Twenty generations of Thaumases before me. Who knew how many of them roamed the passageways, wanting acknowledgment now that I knew how to see them. How to look.
Thankfully, the hall remained empty.
“Nightgown, tea, and then we’ll do something about those tangles, all right?” Hanna muttered, and I honestly wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself.
“How do you…How are you doing that?” I asked as she manhandled me into my nightdress.
“When you want something badly enough, you make it happen,” she said, fastening up the row of buttons with surprising dexterity. “Besides, what else am I meant to be doing? I didn’t laze about in life and I certainly wasn’t going to start in death.”
“But ghosts shouldn’t…You shouldn’t be able to do that,” I amended, watching her pour a cup of tea. When I took it from her, I made sure our fingers brushed. I could feel them again, whole and tangible.
She paused, leveling her dark eyes upon me. “Miss Verity, only hours ago, you didn’t know spirits existed. Perhaps it would be wise not to presume you understand anything more than that.” Hanna squeezed my shoulder, drawing me to the chaise. “I overheard everyone in the kitchen speculating about the squabble between you and Camille…before all this. Do you want to talk about it?”
I set my teacup down.
My fight with Camille, only an hour before, felt like an eternity ago. So much had happened since then. So much had changed.
Only…
Had it really?
Looking Hanna over, I knew deep in my bones that Camille was right. I’d always been able to see ghosts; I’d just not known how to properly perceive them.
Well…now you’ll know to look.
The thought arose unbidden from the recesses of my mind, from that deep shadowy place I assumed all of my forgotten memories were stored, if only I knew how to get to them.
The voice sounded remarkably like me, only…less. Smaller. Younger.
Who had I been talking to?
Camille, probably. Or Annaleigh?
I pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter now. Both of them had lied to me for years and they would have continued to, covering up an entire facet of my being with ease. But they’d been caught.
Annaleigh’s betrayal stung even more than Camille’s.
“I told her about the duchess’s offer. She doesn’t want me to go. She said that I’ll get caught talking to…” I trailed off, uncertain of how I ought to address it. It seemed indelicate to say ghost in front of her.
“Spirits,” Hanna supplied.
“Well…yes.” I brightened as all my swirling thoughts merged together, forming a perfect, crystalline idea. “Hanna—this is perfect! You can come with me, to Bloem! You’ll know when I’m around other spirits. You can keep me from embarrassing myself—from embarrassing Camille!”
“Oh, Miss Verity,” she interrupted, gently shaking her head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wouldn’t be able to help you with that. With…seeing any others.”
I blinked.
“It’s always been just you and me.”
“You can’t see other spirits? Not even Rosalie? Or Ligeia?”
Her expression darkened. “You’ve seen them?”
“Tonight. It’s what started…all of this.”
“I never knew if they were here or not. I’d always hoped they weren’t, that they’d found some measure of peace…” She licked her lips. “It’s like ships at sea. Two boats might be on the same ocean, but it doesn’t mean we’ll ever bump into one another.”
I pictured Hanna out on a sailboat, tossed about by swells and surges, trapped alone forever.
Not alone, though. Not entirely.
“Well, then it’ll be just you and me in Bloem. Two girls on a wild adventure.” I kept my words light, dazzling. This could still work. This could still be…
Her lips rose but it didn’t look like any smile I’d ever seen from her before. She didn’t need to say it aloud. It was written all over her face.
“You can’t leave Highmoor, can you?” I guessed, disappointment crashing through me.
“I can leave the house,” she corrected. “Walk the island, even wade out a little onto the shoreline—remember when I’d take you swimming?—but that’s as far as I can go.”
“What happens if you try to go farther?”
She dropped her hold on me and crossed to the vanity. “It’s not comfortable to experience and even less pleasant to talk about.”
“I’m sorry.” I glanced down at my empty hands.
She kept her back to me and stared at the table for a long moment. When she tried to pick up my hairbrush, it remained staunchly within its silver tray.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to Bloem, Verity.” Her voice was so soft, I had to strain to hear all the words. “Whenever I think of you leaving…the most awful dread washes over me.”
I sank back against the curve of the chaise. “Dread?”