“She’s…”Frail. Reclusive. Dyspeptic.“Shy. Like you, it’s been some time since she’s met new people, and I don’t know that she’s ever met any other ghosts. This has been a difficult transition for her. But if you were to introduce yourselves, I think that would be well received.”
“Is she kind?” asked Béatrice.
“Is she fun?” Lucienne added.
“Triphine? She’s thegreatest.” And, Mallory thought, it would be especially great for her to have someone else to cling to for a while. “You’ll adore her.”
“How nice,” said Béatrice. “We can put together a welcome package.”
Mallory sat down on the dusty floor, ignoring the white splotches of bird excrement. “While we’re on the topic of… well,you, there are some things I’d like to discuss.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucienne and Béatrice were laughing. They were laughing so hard that Lucienne had spilled her wine and Béatrice was pressing the folded gazette to the hole in her chest in an effort to stanch the gush of blood that came out with every guffaw.
Mallory was not laughing.
“Go ahead,” she muttered, though they weren’t listening to her. “Get it out, so we can talk about this likeadults.”
They laughed harder, tears glinting at the corners of their eyes.
Mallory picked up her sketchbook and slammed it shut, shoving it into her portfolio.
Wheezing, Lucienne reached over and grasped Béatrice’s forearm. “Just go to Verloren, she says! Just… cross the… the bridge!” She devolved into another burst of cackles.
Béatrice pressed a hand to her face. “Why didn’t we think ofthat, Lucy? What do you say? Would you care to join me in the afterlife?”
“Why, yes! What an idea! Off we go now!”
They bent their heads together, giggling and gasping for breath until finally—finally—their chuckles subsided.
Mallory cleared her throat. “Now that we’ve gotten through that—”
Lucienne snorted. Squeaked. Took a drink and coughed. “Yes, yes, do go on.”
Sighing, Mallory scooted closer. “I am being paid to remove the spirits from this property, and it would bemost helpfulif you would decide to…” She splayed her fingers. “Leave. Hilarious as that may seem.”
While Lucienne burst into another fit of giggles, Béatrice brushed away her tears. “It is hilarious because what you ask is impossible.”
“It is not impossible. I have met dozens of spirits in my life, and seen many of them cross the bridge into the land of the lost. You only need to make the decision and call on the grace of Velos and—”
“You are mortal,” Béatrice said, her soft voice returning. “You are alive, Miss Fontaine. You do not know of what you speak.”
“I know that with some willpower and courage, you can—”
“We cannot,” said Béatrice, almost firmly. But then she shrank back and chewed her lower lip for a moment, as if ashamed of her outburst. “Do you truly believe that Lucy and I have never wished to quit the entrapment of our afterlife? To leave this house—a house that was never a home? The house where we both were killed, mostbrutally, by the man who had vowed to care for us, to protect us? Do you not believe we’d like to forget that heinous betrayal and spend an eternity instead in a land of beauty and peace?”
Lucienne gaped at her friend. “Goodness, Béatrice. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so eloquently on any topic beyond the lurid love lives of the ruling classes.”
Béatrice looked down, fidgeting.
“Actually, now you mention it,” Lucienne continued, “I’m not sure they have wine in Verloren, so I really don’t want to go until I know for certain. Either way, it hardly matters. Velos has summoned us. They have been summoning us for nearly a hundred years. But we cannot go, no matter what we do.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mallory. “Have you tried?”
Lucienne sipped from yet another goblet of wine—Mallory had no idea where she had procured it from. “What’s the use? Thanks to Bastien, we are in limbo. Trapped until… until his dark magic is complete.”
Mallory frowned. “Dark magic?”
