Page 59 of Marrying Bluebeard

I push the heavy door open.

“H-hello?” I take a tentative step inside, braced to defend myself should one of Celeste’s lackeys be skulking about, waiting to ambush me and drag me to the tower, but the foyer is empty save for a few cobwebs and the maggot-riddled body of Bertrand’s valet splayed before the entrance. Bile stings the back of my throat and I clutch my stomach as vomit spews across the floor.

“Oh god, the smell⁠—”

I cover my nose and mouth as I stumble forward, skirting the putrid remains as best I can. When I’m far enough to breathe without retching, I wipe my mouth and straighten my shoulders. I suppose I should have felt something more than disgust at the sight of Ricard’s corpse. Sympathy, perhaps.

But all I can think is good riddance.

Peering into the shadows, I search for a hint of movement. Some sign that the ghosts are near. When I see none, I summon all of my daring and call out.

“My fellow wives, I beseech you. Show yourselves to me so that we can join together in our revenge.” I turn in a slow circle. “Help me end the blood witch’s reign.”

There’s a beat of silence, then darkness as the chandelier dangling overhead stutters out.

A softly glowing figure appears.

Tall and stern-faced, with spectacles that slip to the tip of her nose and a brown muslin dress buttoned all the way up her neck, the woman hovering before me is little more than a wisp. “We’ve been waiting for you, Adelaide Brindamour,” she says, holding her hands out to either side. A shimmer of light breaks the surrounding darkness, and I can’t help but gasp as four additional figures appear, skin glowing in much the same way.

“You’re Bertrand’s wives,” I whisper, taking them in with round eyes. It doesn’t matter that I called them here, that I knew of their existence. Seeing them gathered like this is still a punch to the gut. Oh, Bertrand. The things you’ve done.

The woman in brown tilts her head. “Something we have in common.” Her brow lifts. “The singular thing we have in common, it would seem. You are the only one he took for himself. The only one he set free.”

A flush of guilt warms my cheeks. “I’m sorry for what happened to you all. Truly, I am.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to advocate for Bertrand. To tell them he’s changed. But these women have suffered far too much for such simple words. They deserve justice.

“You have not gone entirely unscathed, yourself,” the woman replies, her gaze dropping to my neck. “You are well aware of what lurks in the tower, and yet here you are. Tell me, Miss Brindamour. Why have you returned to this god forsaken place?”

I lift my chin, mustering as much confidence as I can manage. “It’s Madame de Montragoux, and I’ve returned to save my husband. Although”—my voice wavers—“I’m hoping you know how.”

The woman’s mouth curves into a satisfied smile. “Well then, you’re in luck. Because it just so happens we do.”

The other wives smile, and one of them steps forward, her blonde ringlets framing a translucent face. “We have not been lingering here for the sole purpose of tormenting Bertrand. Though, I’ll admit we tend to get carried away in our theatrics at times. There’s little in the way of entertainment when one is stuck in the in-between.”

I recall the mournful wailing that echoed through the castle the night I arrived. It was all a performance. But… “Why then?”

The wives exchange loaded glances.

“Observation,” the blonde says.

“Experimentation,” another adds, her freckled face creasing in a knowing smirk.

A flutter of excitement sets my heart to pounding. “Experimenting with what, pray tell?”

The woman in brown raises her hand and twists her wrist with a flourish. A glowing chain appears in the air, its linked rings clinking together as it falls lightly into the palm of her hand. She grins. “Smithing.”

I can’t tear my gaze away from the shimmering length of metal. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. “You made this?” I breathe.

“It wasn’t easy,” the woman in brown replies, “but between the five of us we finally created one powerful enough to render even the strongest monster helpless when properly bound.”

“You made this for Bertrand,” I whisper, a pang of fear lancing my breast. “To keep him from doing Celeste’s bidding.” Is that really the only option?

“That was our original intention,” the woman in brown concedes. “But your arrival has provided another option. Assuming you’re willing to risk everything for the man you love?”

A chance to save Bertrand. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

The woman in brown whisks the ethereal chain away with a flick of her hand, a challenge lighting her eyes. “You must enter the tower.”

The ghosts outline their plan in hushed whispers, and anxiety grips my chest with each word. It’s an impossible feat that they’re asking. I’m certain to fail.