Page 58 of Marrying Bluebeard

If I fail…

No. It isn’t to be thought of. If I let my mind wander there, the resulting dread will only weaken my defenses. I can do this. I’m in control.

I repeat the phrase like a mantra as I make my way into the castle proper. No sign of Edgar skulking about. Perhaps the sight of Ricard’s lifeless body in the foyer pushed him over the edge, and he’s fled. For his sake, I pray that he has.

My feet grow heavier with every step I take, each one a labor of determination. I think of Adelaide, of Emily, of all of my past wives, and press onward. I’m doing this for them. For Constance and my parents, whose home has been desecrated in their absence. I clutch the tower key in my fist.

I’m doing this for me, so that I might finally be free.

A sense of calm washes over me as I reach the tower door, and the tiniest of smiles pulls at my lips as I slide the key into place. Soon. Soon this will all be over. The lock clicks, and I open the door to the stairwell.

My previous wives await, their wraithlike faces pressing through the stone walls as they watch me ascend. For once, they remain quiet, as if they know my intentions and are waiting to see how it will end. I meet each of their accusing gazes as I pass, speaking their names in my mind: Genevieve, Catherine, Anne, Margaret, Cressida. Innocent casualties in Celeste’s and my game. They deserved better, and while I can’t give them back their lives, I can at least offer the rest of mine. May it bring them peace at last.

I steel myself for the final bend, lowering my gaze lest I meet Celeste’s eyes upon entering the room. The gauzy black fabric of her dress brushes the floor in front of the window where she stands, and I quickly glance around to find Miss Garnier sitting in the chair beside the bed. I move to grab her, but Celeste’s silky voice slows my traitorous limbs as I stumble forward.

“Eh eh eh. No stealing my new dolly."

Don’t listen to her. Just take the girl and go.

“It’s not my fault you’ve lost your own.”

Move, damn it.

“Your pretty bride doll with all that shiny black hair…”

My fingers curl into fists. Don’t you dare speak her name with your poisonous tongue.

“…she’s probably on her way to Calais right now. Or she would be”—she giggles—“if I hadn’t arranged for Griffon to be her carriage driver. Edgar’s helping too. Such good little soldiers. Unlike you.”

She’s lying. Adelaide is with Jacob, she’s safe. I propel myself forward, lunging at Miss Garnier and grabbing her wrist. The poor woman is so deep under Celeste’s thrall, she doesn’t even blink as I jerk her out of her seat. “Shift’s over, Miss Garnier. Time to go.”

Celeste doesn’t lift a finger to stop me as I drag the woman toward the door, but her sing-song taunts halt me in my tracks. “Or perhaps she never boarded the carriage at all. Such a stubborn dolly—perhaps she’s decided to come back all on her own. Perhaps she’s here already, scampering across the pass like a wild-eyed creature of the forest, attempting to avoid the hunter’s barrel.” Her tinkling laughter ices my veins. “Poor little dolly. Doesn’t she know she’s headed straight for the fox’s den?”

I refuse to believe Adelaide is here. It’s a trick—a game concocted for Celeste’s amusement. And yet…I turn my head to the window and look.

Straight into Celeste’s glowing eyes.

39

ADELAIDE

I’ve never considered myself to be special. The abilities I was born with weren’t something to be admired or envied but rather something I was supposed to keep hidden from the eyes of society. If people knew what I could do, I’d be considered scandalous. Shameful. An attention-seeking liar at best. So, with the exception of family who truly should have accepted me, I hid them. That is, until a mysterious man with a stunning blue beard smiled at me from the dwindling light of Sister Mercy’s departing soul, and I knew with unshakeable certainty that I’d found a kindred spirit.

Someone who loved me for who I was, abilities and all.

Now, with Jacob’s horse hitched to the post behind me and my boots sinking into the sandy pass leading up to the castle, the time has finally come for me to embrace the gifts I’ve hidden. It’s time to call upon the ghosts.

I only hope they’re willing to listen.

My legs tremble as I climb the stone steps, the blood loss I suffered at Celeste’s fangs stripping me of my usual strength. The wind beats against my face while a storm brews overhead, a cluster of dark clouds drawing together as if summoned by the blood witch herself. I glare up at the tower, shielding my eyes against the sudden prick of rain, and I swear I see a flash of red light emanating from her window.

I shudder as I drop my gaze. “If you’re here, Whisper, I could use a friend.”

The brush of cool fur against my cheek loosens the knot of anxiety in my chest, and I breathe easier feeling the slight weight on my shoulder. Whisper’s tail wraps around the back of my neck in a gentle caress as I press onward. For better or worse, at least I’m not alone.

My determination wavers as I approach the castle door. The memory of blood-streaked walls and a pair of glowing red eyes lock my feet in place, and no matter how hard I try, my arm refuses to lift.

Steady, Adelaide. You can do this.