Page 1 of Soulbound Shadows: Part 1

1

EVANGELINE

The derelict remains of Belmont Manor loomed over me. It was a massive, old Victorian, with a cluster of turrets that moved around every time you took your eyes off them. I’d tried to count them when I’d first come to scope the place out, and it had left me with a splitting headache for at least half an hour.

Buildings in Eldoria tended to suck up stray traces of magic over time, and the older a place was, the more it absorbed. On the edge between the Arcane Quarter and the Garden District, Belmont Manor had been able to leach both wizardly academic magic and the wilder fae magic that kept the parks lush and a little strange. The combination made the place temperamental.

I didn’t like dealing with haunted houses, but the neighborhood homeowner’s association was offering good money to have the problem taken care of. Apparently, the horrifying noises coming from the manor were starting to drive down property values. Ghost infestations were almost always a pain, but they were usually quick to handle once you’d done your research.

As a rule, early-to-mid-fall was a slow season for private investigators—even the paranormal ones. Things picked up around the holidays, but back-to-school season didn’t leave most people with enough free time for criminal activity or magical hijinks. So, I was just going to grit my teeth, deal with the haunting, and collect the paycheck.

It was a foggy night, and the brass doorknob was damp and cool under my hand. I took a deep breath and pushed the front door open.

It was pitch black inside, so I conjured a small ball of golden light that hovered above my palm. The front hall was in bad shape, with peeling wallpaper and faded carpets. A window must have broken somewhere because leaves were scattered across the floor. The floorboards creaked worryingly beneath my feet, and an eerie hum came from behind me, filling the air with a familiar tune.

I shot a dry look over my shoulder. “I think this place has enough atmosphere already, Marcus. You don’t need to hum the theme tune from The Exorcist.”

Marcus shrugged, unrepentant. “I’m merely trying to set the mood,” he said mildly. Marcus had the build of a retiree who’d gotten obsessed with cycling and rock climbing. He looked like a cross between Gandalf and Jimmy Buffet. He was one of those people who didn’t have to put any effort into seeming powerful. Even in his usual work clothes—cargo pants and a brightly-colored, short-sleeved button-down—he radiated an air of mysticism. He’d been teaching me how to control and use my magic for years, and I’d almost gotten used to how weird he could be. I could’ve easily handled a simple haunting on my own, but I got the sense that Marcus liked having a reason to get out of the house every now and then.

There was a crash followed by a shriek from upstairs, and we moved toward the sweeping staircase at the same time.

“You shouldn’t do that,” said a voice from right behind me. “The staircase is quite rotted through. You might plummet all the way to the basement, and wouldn’t that be just dreadful?”

I sighed. I despised haunted houses. When I turned around, a young woman was standing there, watching us idly. She was in an old-fashioned dress, her hair swept up into an elaborate knot. With her big doe eyes and small pink mouth, she was pretty in a fragile kind of way. She was also dead. When I wasn’t looking directly at her, she shimmered faintly, like the air above asphalt on a hot day.

“Which one are you?” I asked. “Marigold or Primrose?”

“I’m Prim,” the woman said, smiling demurely. Then her face twisted into a sneer. “Marigold is the one making that terrible fuss upstairs.”

According to my research, Marigold and Primrose Belmont, twin sisters, had been the sole heirs of their robber-baron father’s estate. Their father died when they were twenty-two, and after a few months of throwing wild parties every night, they’d fired all their staff and stopped leaving the house. Later that year, a stubborn aunt managed to get inside and found them both dead in their rooms. Now it was my job to figure out why they’d stuck around.

“Prim,” I echoed. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Evangeline Summers, and I’m here to help you. Can you tell me why you’re still here?”

Prim sniffed haughtily. “I have to make sure that harridan doesn’t get to have this place all to herself. She’s an absolute misery, you know, and I simply couldn’t bear it if she were to take over Papa’s estate.”

“We’d like to speak to your sister, too. Do you think you could help us with that?” I asked the ghost.

She heaved a put-upon sigh. “Mary!” she bellowed. “Come downstairs, you miserable cow!”

“Shan’t!” a voice bellowed back.

“Then I’ll entertain our guests all by myself, shall I?” Prim yelled.

There was a clatter, and then another young woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was dressed just like Primrose, except she wore big pearl earrings. Being dead for decades had faded their dresses to the same foggy gray, but their eyes were still startlingly blue, and their lips and cheeks very pink, so they gave the impression of one of those old black-and-white photographs that had been partially colored in.

“You’ll have to excuse my sister for her manners,” Prim said sweetly. “Her hospitality just hasn’t been the same since she killed me.”

“I think you’ll find you were the one who killed me,” Marigold snapped, then looked at me and Marcus as she plastered on a smile. “But, please, let’s be civilized, shall we? We can discuss who killed whom in the drawing room.” She drifted down the stairs and swept into another room off the hall, with her sister floating after her with a huff.

Marcus and I exchanged a look. He raised his eyebrows, and I shrugged, then we followed the ghosts.

The drawing room had probably been magnificent once. It had a massive fireplace with an elaborate mantle carved from dark wood that reached up to the ceiling in a frothy configuration of flourishes and little shelves that held knickknacks. The wallpaper was still a vibrant green after all these years, even though the low sofas and armchairs in the room had long since dulled. I could feel the faint buzz of old, barely there charms coming from one wall, where an ornate mirror hung above a sideboard absolutely covered with half-full cut glass decanters. The ghosts had flounced to opposite sofas and were both hovering a few inches above the cushions, glaring daggers at each other.

“So,” Marcus said, patting one of the pockets on his cargo pants. “You each believe the other killed you?” He found what he was looking for and pulled out a long-stemmed, wooden pipe with glass and metal bands just above its bowl. “Do you mind if I…?” he asked, waving the pipe.

“Be our guest,” Marigold said, still glaring at her sister.

Marcus nodded appreciatively and pressed a button to turn his horrible vape on. I forced myself not to roll my eyes.

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