I take a few steps back and try to cover as much of the window as the tattered curtain will allow. I mentally flip through every spell and ritual I know, but there’s nothing about protecting myself from deadwalkers, only how to create them.
“Fuck, fuck fu—” My words are cut off when a thick, paralyzing wall of cold hits my back and pushes through my body.
I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth, trying to wait for the sensation to fade. The fear of what I’m going to see keeps me in place for a few extra seconds.
Slowly, I let out a deep breath and turn around, keeping my eyes closed until I’ve made a full one-eighty turn.
It’s not my first interaction with a spirit, but it’s different when it’s not one I summoned in a black salt circle in my room for fun. All of my experience and knowledge didn’t prepare me for something of this caliber.
When I open my eyes, I don’t expect to find him right in front of me.
Biting back a scream, I flinch and cover my mouth for extra measure. It’s nearly three a.m., the witching hour, and the veil between realms has thinned.
Once there’s been a connection to a living person, it’s easier for a ghost to stay on this plane of existence. It’s rare they would use theirwaning energy for something superficial. If they’re in purgatory, rather than fully passed on, it requires much less effort.
Hexate has been calm until now. She lurches forward, mouth open and ready to strike. When her face goes right through his arm, she tries again, angrier this time.
I grab her on the third attempt and gently pull her off my shoulders, letting her coil around my hands. She doesn’t fight me, but her eyes are glued to the ghost in front of us. The sound of her rattle echoes through the hallway.
My already racing heart only speeds up when I take in the handsome features I’ve come to recognize over the last week. When I have a few moments alone, or after the other witches have gone to bed, I stare at the photo of Petra and the two men. I haven’t figured out who the other man is, yet he’s the one who holds my attention every time I pull the film out from under my pillow. Nestor’s face is engraved into my mind, just as much as Petra’s, or my own.
Cautiously, I tilt my head and take a small step forward. He’s still too noncorporeal to be fully awake from his purgatory state, but I’m positive it’s the man in the photo.
“Nestor?” I ask quietly. “Are you Nestor?”
His body flashes a brighter white before fading back to its previous state. His eyes, however, are slightly more focused—a little angry.
“I’m not Petra,” I whisper quickly. I don’t know why I say it, but some of his emotion fades, turning into confusion. “I want to learn what happened here—what happened to her. The truth.”
His apparition begins to flicker in and out again, showing his heightening emotion. He moves closer, and I quickly back up and hit the wall. Letting out a squeak, I remember the other problem.
I hastily turn and pull the curtain to the side, plastering my face to the chipped glass panel. I’m as ready as I can be to find the deadwalkers in the field. What I see is even more harrowing.
Nothing.
There is nothing outside.
No deadwalkers, no upturned dirty, absolutely nothing.
Shaking my head, I close my eyes and use my free hand to press against my lids. I don’t stop until I see dots swirling from the pressure and I’m positive there won’t be any tears when I open them again.
When I do, the field is still empty. So is the hallway.
Hexate hisses at something I can’t see. It’s most likely Nestor, back to his invisible state. I don’t bother trying to summon him, knowing he won’t be going anywhere until the curse is figured out—or until I lose all sense of sanity and succumb to it.
My growing despair brings Hexate’s attention back to me and she tightens her hold around my hand. It’s enough to pull me back to the present while I walk back to my room.
It’s mechanical, but I quickly wash for bed and crawl under the covers, where I finally let the tears fall until sleep eventually takes pity on me.
Chapter 12
Renata
February 09, 1926
I know Nestor is trying. He’s a great husband, and an even better father. Even now, after everything he has endured, he remains the glue that holds this family—and this inn—together.
Yet in other ways, he’s the thing that drives me away from my heart’s desire: both through his presence within the coven, and through the secrets he keeps from me.
