Lucienne released a heavy groan. “Bastien was not just a murderer. He did not kill merely for sport. He was a very powerful sorcerer, and he was trying to accomplish, well, something.”
“And that something is…?”
Béatrice shrugged, her whole body shrinking as small as she could make it. “We can speculate, but we believe only Gabrielle figured out his true ambition. She knew things.”
“But what does that have to do with younothaunting this château and instead passing on to the afterlife?”
“The magic is holding us here,” Béatrice said, as if this should have been obvious.
“Great gods above,” said Lucienne, rubbing her temple. “You are the worst at explaining things. Do you realize how out of practice you are when it comes to civil conversation?”
Béatrice blushed—though her ghostly cheeks became more violet than pink. “At least I can carry on a conversation when I’m still sober.”
Lucienne tapped the side of her glass. “This is my better half.” She turned to Mallory. “We do not know the particulars, but we do know that Bastien was attempting some awful spell. One that required five sacrifices. The blood of five wives, to be specific. Something about the vows that tied our spirits to his made us acceptable fodder for this particular magic. But obviously, he never finished the spell. He sacrificed only three wives before his death.”
“And as he never finished the spell, the magic was left incomplete,” said Béatrice. “And now we are stuck here. Bound to this place where our bodies were sacrificed and our blood spilled.”
“Literally,” said Lucienne, pointing to a spot on the floor. “I was standing right there, enjoying an afternoon cordial, when he stabbed me.” A shadow crossed her expression as she rubbed at the scars on her arms. “He didn’t even wait until I was fully dead before he started carving the words into me.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Mallory, wondering if the dark stain on the wood was from Lucienne’s blood. “I know you’re stuck here… forever?”
Lucienne hiccupped. “Not in this tower, specifically, but on the estate, yes.”
“Don’t feel too bad for us,” said Béatrice, noticing Mallory’s horrified expression. “It isn’t so terrible. Or at least, it wasn’t. Until…”
“Until Le Bleu returned,” Lucienne murmured. “Seven years ago.”
“But what was it that he was trying to accomplish?” asked Mallory. “What was the spell meant to do?”
The wives blinked at her, then—in unison—shrugged.
Mallory tapped her pencil against her lips. Five wives. Five sacrifices. A dark spell left incomplete. And now he was back. What did it mean?
Armand had made it clear that there was only one ghost causing trouble at the château. One spirit who needed to be eradicated. She could pretend to be making progress on the wives, while focusing her energy on the real troublemaker.
“I am going to try to help you,” she said, and though she wasn’t sure if she meant it or not, in that moment, she wanted it to be true.
“How?” said Lucienne. “In order for the spell to be fulfilled, two more women must be sacrificed.Aftermarrying the brute. Good luck with that.”
“I’ll think of something,” said Mallory. “I always do.”
Lucienne made an unconvinced sound in her throat, then took another sip of wine.
“In the meantime, will you do something for me?”
The wives said nothing.
“I need Armand to believe I’m capable of ridding the house of Bastien’s spirit. Is there some way that you could convey that you recognize me as a powerful ally? Perhaps even that Bastien is afraid of me?”
“Bastien? Afraid of you?” Lucienne’s lips twitched.
Mallory raised a hand. “Don’t start laughing. It doesn’t have to be true, I just need Armand to believe it.”
Béatrice picked at the dried blood beneath her fingernails, though after nearly a hundred years, she had to know they would never come clean. “I suppose we could try to think of something…”
“Thank you,” Mallory said, grateful she hadn’t received an outright refusal. “Now. Where can I find Bastien?”
Béatrice frowned. “He is always near. He is… in the house. The walls. The floors. Every closet, every chimney—”
