“Father,” Jonathan snapped. “You’ve been dead a year! Why are you torturing me?”
“What are you talking about?” the ghost answered.
“He doesn’t understand,” Giselle said. “Give your father a moment. The more he is merged with me, the more he will understand.” She shrugged. “Death is a confusing process.”
Jonathan nodded, though now that he believed, all his frustration was boiling over at his father. “I cannot believe you would do this to us!”
“You need to stay calm,” she said. “Let him focus.” Then she turned to the old viscount. “What is the last thing you remember?”
The ghost looked at them. His brows narrowed, and he extended one weak, shaky arm. She had no idea if it was in body or just a shaping of her imagination, but either way she knew what it meant. He needed to bond closer to them. He needed more of her energy to strengthen his thoughts.
Steeling herself for the pain, she extended her hand. The moment she and the ghost connected, she felt him slide more fully up her arm and into her mind. It was horrible, that slow creep of another’s presence into a place that had always been her own.
Still, she let him in. And so, apparently, did Jonathan because she saw him take the ghost’s other hand.
And then they were speaking as if in one mind. She could feel the viscount’s emotions as if they were her own. She felt his fury at his frailty. She felt the ache in her chest left over from coughing day and night. Fatigue rolled through her, along with anger. And yet the more she railed against it, the more her body—the old viscount’s body—betrayed him.
She erected a mental wall. She forced a division that kept the viscount’s pain as separate from her own as possible. It worked a little. Enough that she could keep some sanity. But Jonathan had no such training. He gripped his ribs, his body shaking from a coughing fit that wasn’t his own.
“Stop it!” she commanded, speaking to the old viscount. “Those coughs are over now. There is no more pain, no more frailty. You are whole.”
And as she said it, she felt the transition. It was as if everything dissolved and the body sensations ended. There was the echo of form.Here is my arm. Here are my legs.But no sensation from them. Because this was the feeling of passing out of the body.
Jonathan straightened, and so did the old viscount.
“Did I die?” the ghost asked. Then before she could answer, he nodded. “I remember now. I did die.” Then he clutched his chest.
“You had a heart attack,” Jonathan said.
“I remember.” But he was still clutching his chest. And when she looked closer, she saw why. He held a crucifix in his hand.
A crucifix? She didn’t remember the man being especially religious. Had he become more devoted toward the end? Then Jonathan gave the answer.
“That’s the vicar’s crucifix. He put it there. You were buried with it.”
His father nodded. “I remember now.”
“Good,” she said. “Do you know why you’ve been haunting your son?”
The man’s ghostly eyes widened as he focused on Jonathan. “You’re here. You’re with me. I must have it!”
Jonathan frowned. “What? What do you want?”
“Is your mother here? Your sister?” The old viscount twisted around, clearly looking for the others.
“I can get them,” Giselle said. “Susanne and—”
Another voice cut in, loud and clear despite not being in this place of nothingness.
“We’re here. We don’t know what’s going on, but Mama and I are here.” Susanne’s voice trembled with fear, but her tone was clear.
Meanwhile, Jonathan shook his head. “I can’t see anything—”
“Just relax,” Giselle said. “Everyone, stay calm. Please.” She was struggling to keep her mind centered. She had never done this with a ghost, much less a ghost and Jonathan. It was chaotic, trying to sort through who said and felt what. But she knew she was the only one who could do it. If she faltered, so would everyone.
She steadied herself and spoke clearly.
“Everyone is here, my lord. What is it that you want?”
