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Do something, my ghost urges. Stop her.
“Stop it!” I yell, pulling Isolde’s shoulders weakly as she holds the glass up to Gran’s tightly closed lips. “She doesn’t want it.”
As soon as my hands touch Isolde, her head whips to the side, her green eyes flaring with unspoken threats. Struck dumb, I stumble backward.
“I thought we talked about this, Henrietta,” she hisses. “Don’t be stupid.”
My mouth falls open as I look between them helplessly.
“Gran, if you don’t want it, you don’t have to—”
“Give me the cup,” Gran cuts me off angrily, wiggling a skinny arm free and motioning toward Isolde. “I don’t need you to force it on me.”
“No, you don’t have to drink it,” I insist emotionally. My ghost is bouncing around inside me, screaming at me to put up a fight.
She’s poisoning her, my ghost insists. Like she poisoned them. And you’re just going to let it happen?
Her eyes blazing victoriously, Isolde thrusts the glass toward Gran. It’s almost as if she knows what’s going on inside my mind.
Gran’s watching me, too, but her eyes are gentle as she yanks the glass from Isolde’s hand. “Omega Sage is right, Hetty. I must listen to her, and so must you. She’ll be the one to keep you safe long after I’m gone.”
“I don’t need to be kept safe,” I sputter, but she’s not listening.
Her face blank, she holds the glass up to her mouth and takes a small sip, followed by another.
It doesn’t take long. Within seconds, her eyes begin to flutter, and she hands the glass back to Isolde, slurring, “That should do it.”
“Yes, I believe it should,” Isolde whispers triumphantly. “Now get some sleep.”
Gran struggles to keep her eyes open as her head falls back on her pillow, her lank, gray hair spread on the pillow, and her crooked fingers finally relaxing on her chest.
“Don’t let him hurt the baby, Solly,” she whispers thickly, her fluttering eyes struggling to focus on Isolde. “You promised…”
Isolde squeezes her fingers. “I always keep my promises, Tanse. You know that.”
I look between the two of them, confusion coursing through my body. Are they talking about me?
Isolde stands and moves next to me, and we watch Gran together for several silent seconds, her chest moving up and down in deep, regular breaths.
My ghost disappears as relief washes over me.
She’s just sleeping. Not poisoned.
I stand next to the door as Isolde begins to gather the items from her tray off the bureau top before motioning me to follow her out of the room.
We walk up the stairs silently. When we’re upstairs in the empty kitchen, she sets the tray on the island as she begins to prepare another tea with the rest of the hot water and ground flowers left on the tray. My nostrils pique at the scent of dianthus.
Ugh.
“I hate seeing your grandmother like this,” she whispers gently. Stepping toward me, she frowns deeply as if the scene in the basement never happened. “She’s such a noble, well-behaved beta. Really, she’s my best friend.”
I don’t say anything. Instead, I work to control my breathing as my ghost re-emerges, encouraging me to do a number of things Isolde wouldn’t condone. Her eyes flick over me critically as if, once again, she knows my thoughts.
“We’re having a dinner party tonight,” she says slowly, pushing the mug toward me. “Cleo and Beth will handle the dining room, and I’ll bring in Oli to pour the wine. I want you to stay in the kitchen with Nancy.”
“Yes, Omega Sage,” I say with a curt nod, left with no choice but to take the mug.
“Remember, Hetty, be smart. Accountable,” she says in a low voice. “I’m trusting you.”
