Page 60 of An Inheritance of Monsters

These were no ghosts, not in the way I had ever seen them before. A man and a woman, dressed in old-fashioned clothes and arguing intensely at the top of the stairs, standing around Sierra,inher.

It was like watching a black-and-white movie superimposed over my crewmate as she carefully pushed one door open…

And the shadowy man flung one open as well, grabbing the woman by her arm and dragging her to it. She clawed at him, hair coming loose as she screamed at him soundlessly.

He snapped back, veins in his forehead popping, the white of his knuckles standing out from the force of his grip. I couldn’t read his lips, but I could read the blind hatred in his eyes.

Aston Clarke… and Beatrix Marsh. Not ghosts, but a figment of the past.

His voice seemed to waver up from a deep well, spitting words like bullets. “...willmarry me and deed the manor in my name, you bitch. By all accounts, you are a bastard child—not even a true Marsh. Your mother was a lying whore.”

Beatrix’s voice was just as hollow, but passionately furious. “I would rather die and burn in Hell than give you my inheritance. You’re a snake, full of poison, just like my uncle. All of you are. But I am a Marsh, my mother’s true daughter, and I will not bow down to you.”

Aston’s eyes glittered. “Allow me to grant your wish, darling. I will have this island, one way or another.”

He moved to fling her beyond the doors, to the drop that would lead to her death—

But an unseen something tore Beatrix from his grasp. She cried out, wrapping her arms around whatever it was…

And that invisible force smashed into Aston, his eyes wide with horror. The apparition vanished through the doors, blown through them like he’d been hit by a train.

I blinked, gasping for breath, and saw nothing but Sierra staring at me from the top of the stairs.

The apparitions were gone.

“What iswrongwith you?” she asked, sneering down at me.

I couldn’t breathe, my chest drawn tight as a vise. I leaned against the staircase railing, trying to piece it together.

Aston hadn’t walked into that death trap. He’d been flung there, after threatening Beatrix’s life.

Maybe none of the men who had lived on this island had been suicidal… maybe they had threatened the women, and gotten on the bad side of something far older, and far stronger, than themselves.

“Juno?” This time, a hint of concern tinged Sierra’s tone. “Seriously. What’s going on?”

I came up with the only excuse I could think of that she wouldn’t laugh at or call me a liar for. “Getting sick. I’ve had a cough since the storm.”

“Hmm.” She twisted her lips, glancing back at the open door leading to nothing. “Okay, here’s the plan: you go sleep it off. I’ll set up the camera and record this part myself, if you’ve got the notes.”

Nothing sounded better, although I had no intention of sleeping. I slipped the script for this section from my notebook, gladly handing it over.

I didn’t care if Sierra became the face ofSpirit Squad. Right now, she was welcome to it.

I had other places to be, where deeper mysteries beckoned.

She took the script with a satisfied smile, flipping through the pages. “Excellent. Look, Juno, this is good for both of us. Nobody takes me seriously right now, and this could really help my acting career. And you can split the workload with me, so you don’t have to bother to dress up all the time.”

I nodded, barely hearing her.

“It needs more…drama, though. You’re so dry sometimes, Juno. All fact, no juice. I’ll spice it up a little. They love hearing about gore.” Sierra whisked a small compact out of her bag, touching up her makeup. “You just go get some rest, okay?”

Once upon a time, that fake-sweet tone would’ve rankled my nerves.

Now I just got up, grateful that she was so willing to take my place.

“Good luck,” I breathed, and fled.

Back to my room, where I stowed my Black Book under my pillow once more for safekeeping.

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