“The Ghost of Graven hates intruders,” someone else whimpered.
“It’s the wind,” Maggie said calmly. “Get a hold of yourselves. I’m not paying you to stand around shivering in fear.”
The ghost stared at her and then gave her the slightest smile. It was unnerving that she was finding the Ghost of Graven so starkly handsome. She took in the full sight of him standing in the foyer, droplets of water glistening on his pale face, in his jet-black hair. He wore a black shirt with a high neck. Chainshoulder shields dripped over his shoulders, and his hands were covered in heavy-looking gauntlets. No, just one hand was covered. The right gauntlet was missing. She swallowed. She knew where it was. It had been handed over to her by the Trust, along with a number of other artifacts a week ago.
Maggie knew the Ghost of Graven was Lady Eleanor Montgomery’s husband. Maybe he could help her prove to all the doubters that her grandmother was indeed innocent—his wife hadn’t killed him. But Maggie remembered his rage when she mentioned him killing himself.
But if he hadn’t leaped to his death, then did that mean her grandmother had killed him for certain? No. Maggie chided herself and continued on toward the fortress doors. She didn’t want to believe that besides the monster in her family, aka, her mother, there was also a murderer. No. If Lady Eleanor was guilty then Maggie would not have been given Graven Fortress. Maggie raked her scorching gaze over him and then left.
When she stepped outside, she was hit with the harsh rays and heat of the sun. A familiar sense of the tortures of hell filled her. She almost turned to race back inside, but she heard the door being bolted shut on the other side. Was it real, or had she imagined it?
She looked around, not knowing for an eternal moment what to do next. The stone masons were measuring and cutting while the carpenters and electricians left the fortress and then returned. Everything went on just fine without her. It didn’t matter if she was here, or not.
Her mother’s words echoed through her mind.Who would care if you disappeared, Magnolia? You’re nothing but trouble and will always bring trouble to our doorstep. So why don’t you just go? Get out! Get out!
Maggie had been twelve when her mother had kicked her out. Stepping out of doors had always been difficult after that.Miraculously, she’d survived alone on the streets until Thomas Black, a kind old man in a long coat, a narrow-brimmed cap, and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard, took her off the street and paid for her private education. She loved the man she came to know as Grandpa B, until a guy she was dating from college broke into their house with the intention of robbing them and ended up killing her grandfather. How could she ever trust anyone again? She tried, but carrying around mistrust was toxic and soon destroyed everything she had. When she learned about Graven Fortress belonging to her, she committed herself to the fortress alone.
She thought finally getting ready to begin the restoration would make her happy, but the Ghost of Graven was real. He was very pissed off, and he was ruining everything. She was well-informed on how the ghost used fear and terror to chase everyone away. She remembered Henry claiming to have seen a hideous, rotting corpse. How would she keep her workers safe from him?
She shook her head clearing her unwanted thoughts while the hot sun beat down on her. When she turned away from the fortress, she saw him. He’d followed her outside. Just how far from the fortress could he go? Could he follow her home?
He stood off to the side, transparent at first, then becoming almost solid in appearance. His raven hair grew as dark as shadows against his pale complexion. Was he real? Why could she see him? He stood tall on long, muscular legs draped in hose. She’d seen him in the hall, dark and dangerous in his chain mail and gauntlet, but under the light of the sun, he appeared more ethereal. Though he looked solid, she knew he was made of nothing. She’d reached for him when she was falling and also swatted him away when he came rushing at her, but both times her hands went through him.
Now, if she looked carefully enough, she could see the sun’s rays going through him, saturating the air in tiny specks of gold.
Should she ignore him? How could she? He was bone-meltingly beautiful. No. She couldn’t ignore him. Besides, he would just keep following her around.
“What is it?” she called out to him, then went to him. “Do you want to tell me something? Like, get out? Because I’m not going, and neither are the men. So, you better leave us alone.”
He stared at her with a murderous, somewhat surprised glare. She would admit he could certainly look ominous. But the water droplets seemingly eternally dripping down his face were more heart wrenching than scary. How ever he died, the fact was that he perished in the dark depths of the sea. Why and how had he returned as a ghost? Was hatred and revenge his driving force? She felt compassion for him. She had the insane urge to reach out and wipe them from his brow. She didn’t move. Why could she see him? She didn’t want to see him.
“Look,” she tried. Could one reason with an angry ghost? “I’m just trying to restore this place to its former glory. “Don’t you want that?”
He opened his mouth and a vein in his neck bulged. She imagined he was shouting. She turned her ear directly to him and strained to hear.
At first she heard nothing. Then, a soft buzzing, like a bug. She should have stopped listening, but soon the sound became clearer, deeper, more dangerous.
“…a Montgomery! There can be no glory with you here. I’m warning you, I won’t remain patient for long.”
Huh? She stared at him. She had heard him! “I won’t cause those men to lose their minds if you get them out now.” His eyes scanned the workers in the courtyard, then came to rest on her. “Your mind won’t be so fortunate though.”
Great. Now she could hear him. She covered her forehead with her palm. Why was this happening? Was she sabotaging her dream by having hallucinations?
“Oliver Gracehaven, I presume,” she said, more like an accusation than a fact. Judging from the way he hated Montgomerys, he wouldn’t be of any help in clearing Eleanor Montgomery’s name. “You keep threatening me and I’ll stay for a year.”
His smile was chilling and starkly malevolent. “You might even remain for the next millennium.”
What kind of threat was that? She felt her blood run cold. Could he trap her spirit? No, she wouldn’t let him scare her. She scowled and stepped forward. “And you might be evicted out of here by the next priest I find.”
Did his snarl turn soft for the barest moment? She was sure she’d seen it. Amusement. Humor. And then surprise and shock.
“You can hear me?” he asked in a deep voice that resonated through her. His beautiful eyes widened when she nodded. “How?”
“I don’t know,” she told him. “I just tried to listen harder.”
Something about the way he swallowed…the way his gaze took her in—like the longing look of a soldier when he thinks of home. Then he flicked his gaze off her and turned away to scoff and shake his head.
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” she let him know, folding her arms across her chest.
