Page 64 of The Scarlet Veil

“Lou! Coco!” I raise my hands to wave at them, but it’s a mistake. The instant I lose purchase with the room, that pulling sensation intensifies, and I can’t find it now. I’m not strong enough. “I’m here. Please,please, I’m right here!” My voice drifts away, quiet to even my own ears, as though I’m screaming underwater.

The last thing I see are Lou’s eyes as they somehow find my face in the dark, and I’m thrust into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twenty

A Warning

Golden light dances behind my eyelids when I wake... which I do slowly. Gently. Wherever I am, it is lovely and warm and smells of my sister—like beeswax candles and summer honey. Unwilling to open my eyes, I burrow deeper beneath the blanket, rubbing my cheek against what feels like silk. A strand of hair tickles my nose, and I sigh in deep contentment.

Then I remember the theater, the ghosts,Michal, and my eyes snap open.

Thousands of candles litter every surface of my room. They trail the grand staircase, line the silk screens, circle the floor around the squashy armchairs. A fire crackles cheerily in the hearth, and branches upon branches of brass candelabras twine together on the mezzanine, their tapers illuminating a gilt-framed gallery. Though the darkness previously hid them, portraits cover every inch of the wall around the windows. Each face regal and exquisite.

I sit up in awe, and black sheets—once coated with dust—slide to my hips. They smell of jasmine now.I, however, still smell of rainwater and must. Nose wrinkling, I lift the sheet to examine my damp gown; speckles of mud stain the hem, and the wrinkled lace is probably forever ruined.Spectacular.Throwing myself back upon the pillow, I mutter, “Odessa is going to kill me.”

I lie there for several more minutes, counting each tick of the clock on the mantel. Dreading the inevitable—that I must rise, that I must continue, that I must eventually face Michal and his isle of vampires again. All Hallows’ Eve creeps ever closer, and all I’ve learned is vampiresmighthave an aversion to silver.

Groaning, I roll over to face the insurmountable wall of books.

Without Dimitri and Odessa at my disposal, I have only one option left, and I really shouldn’t waste the candlelight. The thought of poring over onionskin pages until my eyes bleed, however, makes me want to scream. I push the blanket away regardless, grimacing, and force myself to slide from the bed. The carpet has been freshly scrubbed too. It feels slightly damp under my bare toes as I trudge to the bookshelves, as I trail my fingers along their infinite books.

And still onHow to Commune with the Dead.

A chill skitters down my back as I stare at the ancient, peeling letters.

Don’t be stupid.The logical part of my mind instantly rejects the idea, and my hand falls from the spine. The ghosts in the theater made their position quite clear—that I need to leave, to flee, or suffer the consequences. Surely they wouldn’t help me now, even if I asked. However...

I wrench the book from the shelf, throwing myself into one of the squashy armchairs and studying the cover. It would be stupidernotto ask, right? I need information about vampires, and they could give it to me. Besides, it isn’t as if they can scamper off and tell Michal. He can’t see them.No onecan see them except me, which means ghosts would be the perfect allies. True, I passed out the last time I communicated with them, but I hadn’t been preparedto meet them in the theater. I hadn’t even thought they werereal.

This time could be different.

With that thought comes another startling revelation—in both of our encounters, the ghosts haven’t tried to harm me. Not truly. They’ve tried to intimidate, to frighten, but they haven’t lifted a single finger against me. My hand lingers upon the peeling letters, tracing theDinDead.

Canthey lift a finger against me? Can they even touch me?

I flick my gaze around the room—hardly daring to hope—but there is no ache in my head, no spectral light or eerie presence or voices of any kind. “Hello?” I call softly. No one answers. Ofcourseno one answers—and why would they? I’ve made my position quite clear too.

Is it your emotions that attract them, I wonder? Could it beanyemotion strongly felt?

But how does oneforcestrong emotion?

Dismissing the idea, I flip openHow to Commune with the Deadand skim the pages, landing on one in the middle.

The theory of realms, of course, is one long debated by scholars of the occult. Most agree that realms coexist in tandem, or rather, folded together like the flesh of an onion—layered, identical, impossible to isolate yet separate in identity. As such, the realms of the living and the dead prevail one on top of the other. Rarely do denizens of either realm cross between the two—despite sharing the same physical space—and those who do cross never recover.

I slam the book shut without reading another word. Not that I understood most of them.Those who do cross never recover,though—that part seems clear enough. Gingerly, I place the book on the side table, wiping my palms on my skirt for good measure, and comfort myself that it’s all conjecture, anyway. Even vampires do not know how this strange new ability of mine works. Thesescholarsprobably grasp even less.

Perhaps I can simplyaskthe ghosts to appear.

Clearing my throat, feeling ridiculous, I adopt a tone of polite inquiry. “If anyone is there, could you, er—could you please show yourself? I’d like to speak with you.”

When still no one speaks, I clasp my hands together and try again. “I understand your... reluctance to appear, but I think we all want the same thing. With your help, I’ll be able to leave this isle much sooner—tonight, in fact, if we’re very clever. We just need to work together.”

Silence.

Irritation begins to prick at my patience. “I need to know about silver on Requiem. Everyone here turns rather evasive when I mention it, but I assume ghosts are no friends to the vampires.” Repressing a shudder, I add, “Michal himself probably put that axe in your neck, after all, when he tricked you and your family here.” More silence. “Perhaps silver could be a weapon against him? Monsieur Marc mentioned poisoning his brother—I assume that means vampirescandie. Unless the poison just weakened D’Artagnan somehow? Howdoesone trap a soul in the body of a cat?”

Whenstillno one answers, I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and scowl at the empty room. If the ghostsarehere, listening out of sight, they certainly don’t care to participate in their half of the conversation. “There’s no reason to be difficult, youknow,” I tell them irritably. “All you’ve done since I’ve arrived is terrorize me—blathering on about how I need tolistenand how I need toleave—yet here I present an actual opportunity to do those things, and you choose to ignore me. It’s perfectly asinine behavior.”

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