Page 571 of Flirting with Darkness

“All of that is true,” she said coolly.

“But you are saying there is somethingsupernaturalin this?”

Again, Ghost struggled to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“…You are telling me all of these families are secret practitioners of the occult arts? ‘Summoning’ demons and fairies from the etheric beyond as part of their yearly Christmas revelry?”

She gave him a pitying smile. “You really are a new little chick, aren’t you, dear brother? Just fluffy and bright eyed without a clue as to how the world really works…”

Studying his face for a reaction, she smiled a bit wider.

“Good,” she said. “Much better already, brother. I could onlyjusttell that my words annoyed you…”

That time he couldn’t help himself.

He rolled his eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Serafina cut him off.

“Precious, sweet, innocent brother… our father summons them as part ofhisritual. Not theirs. They are even more clueless than you. As to our father, he extracts what he needs with them none the wiser.”

“And what is it he needs?” Ghost asked.

She shrugged, her voice matter of fact.

“He needs blood. Lots of it. Even in a normal year. And this year is anything but normal… even apart from you finally coming home at his call… after years and years of his attempting to pull you here, dear brother.”

Ghost recoiled.

It happened of pure instinct, even in spite of himself.

He didn’t recoil so much at the last bit, the part about Ghost himself, which just sounded like more manipulative nonsense.

No, it was the thing she’d said about blood.

It was what his half-sister just said about their father blood-letting his guests.

Something in that rang true to him.

Something in that felt real.

It also evoked that nausea he’d felt on the train.

He found himself remembering the words the apparition spoke to him, the one who showed him the hand-painted cards, who left him with an image of a mystical clock. That sick feeling worsened as he did.

It struck him again that perhaps he wasn’t as damaged in soul as he’d always assumed he was. If he was, then something about his biological father felt exponentially worse.

When he glanced up next, he saw those violet eyes watching him.

Measuring him.

Looking for weakness.

Perhaps she fancied she knew what he was thinking.

Perhaps she fancied herself proficient in those mystical powers herself.

Whatever she was thinking precisely, the look he saw there made him think she was broken, too. Perhaps in mind.

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