I slipped out and made my way down the corridor, back toward the study where the other volumes waited on the shelf. I needed to find the next one. I needed to trace theprogression from successful creation to whatever tragedy had followed.
But as I descended the stairs, I heard the distinct echo of boots moving through the corridor into the entry hall.
I froze mid-step, my heart leaping into my throat.
Dr. Ambrose passed the stairs without looking up, disappearing through the door and into the darkened night.
Fate had decided to bid me mercy.
This was my opportunity to retrieve another journal, find out what had happened to M., and discover the truth about—
A sound above made me freeze. It was soft, barely there, like fabric brushing against wood. I turned around cautiously, already dreading what I might see as I glanced up at the landing.
A silhouette hovered at the top of the stairs.
The woman I had seen before.
She stood motionless, her face obscured by the dim light, wearing a dark dress that seemed to absorb what little illumination reached her.
I stared, mouth slack, unable to move or breathe or do anything except watch as she began to descend the staircase. Her feet made no sound against the wooden steps. She flowed rather than walked as she descended.
The dim lighting from the hallway lamp below began to cascade over her translucent form, revealing her features inch by inch. I stepped back, pressing myself against the wall as I cautiously looked up at her face, intrigued and terrified at what I might see.
There were no bloody vines or hollow eyes this time. Where her features should have been, there was only smooth, blank skin the color of ash, like someone had erased her identity entirely.
The woman continued her descent, oblivious to my presence, her faceless head turning neither left nor right. She passed by me on the stairs, close enough that I could have reached out and touched her if I had dared. In her wake came the scent of roses—heavy and rotten, preserved rather than fresh—and a chilled air that pressed against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.
I pressed harder against the wall, watching as she continued her silent descent. She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned, moving down the corridor toward the study, disappearing from my view.
For a moment, I stood anchored to the spot, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing.
She was real—I had not imagined her.
Follow her, the voice urged, snapping me out of my shock.
I hesitated before my feet began moving of their own accord, carrying me down the remaining stairs. I paused at the bottom, my hand still gripping the banister for support, watching as the woman glided down the corridor toward the study. Her dark dress trailed behind like a cloud of smoke.
She paused on the threshold, faceless head turning toward me. Even without features, I sensed her looking at me, the weight of her attention pressing against my skin.
Then she lifted one hand, one pale, skeletal finger beckoning me forward.
Come, it seemed to say.Come and see.
I took one cautious step toward her, my heart pounding so hard it made me dizzy—then Agnes crossed the threshold from the study into the hall, walking straight through the spirit as though she were made of nothing more substantial than air.
The ghost dissipated into a wispy haze that scattered like smoke blown in a breeze, leaving only that lingering scent of foul roses and the fading chill in the air.
Agnes turned and beamed at me, showing no sign that anything unusual had just occurred, not even the slightest indication that she had just walked through the spirit of Dr. Ambrose’s dead wife.
“There you are, dear! Supper is ready.” Her tone was warm and cheerful, completely unfazed. “I was just coming to find you.”
She turned without another word, heading back down the corridor toward the dining room with her usual purposeful stride. I stood stunned in the hall, the journal still clutched against my chest, my mind reeling.
I glanced back toward the doorway where the woman had beckoned me. What had she wanted me to see? What was in that room that warranted a spectral summons?
The journals. The answer had to be in them.
“Are you coming, dear?” Agnes called from down the corridor. I looked down at the leather-bound volume in myhands, realizing I could not go to supper carrying it. I could not let Agnes see it.
