GOD, WHAT A FOOL SHE’D BEEN. SIGNA KNEW SPIRITS WERE FICKLE beings, just
as she knew what happened when they were reminded of their deaths. Perhaps this was why Fate had suggested a party; not to help her, but to damn her further. She should have anticipated what it would mean to bring so many people into Foxglove, filling it with crinoline and dance cards.
She had re-created the night of these spirits’ deaths, and now all of Foxglove was to pay the price.
Everywhere she looked, spirits were rousing from their daze. One of the twins who’d been stuck in a loop of eyeing a group of ladies now crossed the floor to offer his hand to one. She accepted it, and the two swept into a waltz alongside the living. The other twin’s neck twisted to one side, twitching as his brother slipped away from their loop. Signa’s palms went clammy as she watched. Had the man not already been dead, he seemed prone to snapping his own neck.
Behind him, a woman walked straight through Briar, who whipped toward the nearest table, sending a rush of cold air through the room that knocked over more empty champagne flutes and had guests squealing as they scurried away. One older woman went as far as to scream her surprise, and Signa’s skin crawled from the sound.
“Briar?” Amity’s eyes glowed red as she raced toward the spirit, only for Briar to look through her.
“Amity,” Signa whispered as the spirit’s face darkened, having to pause every few steps to smile at guests who murmured their alarm. “Amity, get control of yourself.”
It was no use. Amity was circling Briar, trying to pry the restless spirit
from her disillusions. Briar’s body spasmed in response, while tears as black as tar rolled down Amity’s cheeks.
Signa remembered the way Lillian had lost control back in the garden; remembered the way that frogs had marred the trees, their blood spilling down onto the soil. Once a spirit lost control, there was no going back. And the more living bodies that filled Foxglove’s ballroom, the greater that threat became.
Signa had to weave around the second twin as he strayed from his table, following a silver serving tray of petit fours. He blinked when his hand went straight through the tray, then tried again with more focus until he was able to seize a cake for himself. His edges dimmed with the effort, and when he tried to devour the sweet—only for it to fall through him and land on the floor—the spirit’s eyes flashed red. Behind him, Amity screamed at Death, backing away as he held out his hand in offering. She cared only for Briar, who was tugging her hair out by the ends in a fit of distress.
Something needed to be done, and fast. Not only for the sake of the spirits—whose pain Signa felt as though it were her own, eating her alive— but for Elijah, too. She needed to help the spirits before they sent her guests sprinting from the party and the Wakefields alongside them. Already they huddled in corners, hungry for sightings of the paranormal. Signa was certain that was why they’d come after all. Not to meet her, but to investigate the notorious Foxglove manor and see whether its rumors were true.
For once she didn’t care. If it gave her a way to gather the Hawthornes and Wakefields into her home and force everyone to reckon with the false blame laid on Elijah, then the residents of this town could believe whatever they wanted. And yet the moment that Signa started toward Amity, a woman blocked her path.
“It seems that I didn’t imagine you, then.” Dressed in her finery, coiled hair twisted into pins, it took Signa a moment to place her as the woman she’d met on the pier—Henry’s mother. She looked like an entirely different person, her skin refreshed and eyes no longer so angry or bloodshot.
“When I received the invitation, I was hoping it was you who was the new owner of Foxglove,” the woman continued. “Is it true what they say about this place?”
“That it’s haunted?” Signa asked through a wince, only half paying
attention as Amity begged Briar to snap out of her haze. Across the room, Death’s offered hand was once again refused, this time by a spirit whose body crackled like an approaching storm.
Foxglove was haunted indeed, and as plates and glasses fell from the tables and the chill in the air grew so intense that Signa’s breath plumed, it seemed more people were taking notice.
“Well, yes.” The woman dropped her voice. “You can see them, can’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. After what you did for Henry, I owe you the world, Miss Farrow. That’s why you’re here at Foxglove, isn’t it? To help the rest of them?”
The question was an innocent one, spoken with the casualness of friends. And yet Signa’s response caught in her throat. Both the fervent whispers of her guests as well as the laughter of the spirits drowned away as her own world tunneled into focus. She looked once more to Amity, who was beginning to fret at her hair just as Briar was, tearing at strands she’d wound tight around her fists.
For twenty years these spirits had been unable to move on with their lives. It made her think of Henry and the smile he’d worn when he’d taken Death’s hand. She thought of Lillian, too, and how her poisoned body had restored itself before she left the living world behind.
Death may have preferred to never take a soul until they were ready, but how could he know whether someone was ready if spirits could not pull themselves from a loop? Signa could not reap souls, nor did she know whether she’d ever have the capability of leading them to the afterlife as Death could. But she could ensure that none of these spirits had to spend one more day trapped in Foxglove.
“That’s why I’m here,” Signa confirmed, and the words tasted like the most decadent chocolate, warm and rich as they slipped past her lips. Her vision swayed a little, chest tight with a spreading warmth. “Yes. Of course it’s why I’m here.”
There wasn’t a bone in Signa’s body that could wait one moment longer. “It was lovely to see you, though if you’ll excuse me…” She hurried away in search not of Death or the spirits, but for a man with sunlight upon his skin. Fate was a beacon on the ballroom floor, dazzling beneath the light that warmed his complexion as he spun from the arms of a beautiful woman to a man who laughed as Fate drew him into a waltz, a flute of champagne
balanced between two nimble fingers.
Signa’s body knew what needed to be done before her mind could catch up. She knew it in her heart of hearts, with such ferocity that she could not rest until she crossed the floor to steal Fate from the man he danced with. His golden eyes slid to her, and he extended a hand.
“Hello, Miss Farrow. Would you care to dance?”
She plucked the glass from between his fingers, setting it onto the nearest table before she slipped her palm into one of his. Signa didn’t pull away as his other hand settled on the small of her back, nor did she care even remotely for the curious stares that lingered upon them, alarmed by the closeness in which Fate reeled her in. His chest was hot as a raging fire against hers.
“You look as radiant as the sun in that dress,” Fate told her.
She smiled, recalling Death’s words to her all those months ago. You are bolder than the sun, Signa Farrow. And it’s time that you burn. Fueled by them, she tilted her head toward Fate. “I need your help.”
Somewhere across the ballroom came a gasp as a wandering spirit tried to take the hand of an older woman. The woman promptly lost her breath to surprise, shivered once, and then fainted on the spot. Hovering over her fallen frame, the spirit screamed.
“It’s happening again!” she cried, fumbling from the dance floor as she yelled those words over and over again.
The night wasn’t going remotely as Signa had hoped. She focused on the heat from Fate’s touch, searing her skin even through the fabric of her gown. “You seem to require my help a lot, lately. Tell me, have you remembered me yet?”
With the question came an unprompted memory of laughter that had once made her feel so alive. The pulse of a heart that had once beat for her alone, just as hers had for him. Signa missed a step, nearly tripping over her boots as the song he’d asked her to remember once again flooded her thoughts.
“No. She forced the lie out, throwing those thoughts as far as she could get them. “I remember nothing.”
Fate sighed, so close that his breath brushed her cheek. “I know I’m asking you to consider possibilities that you don’t wish to believe in, but did you expect a year ago that you’d be where you are now? Did you expect to
be a reaper, or the lover of Death himself?”
He already knew the answer from the look of it, but still he waited for Signa to admit, “Of course I didn’t.”
Necks twisted to watch as she and Fate danced. She felt the buzz of every curious stare upon her skin as he leaned in and whispered, “If you came to live with me, I think it might help you remember who you really are.”
For a moment, Signa lost her breath. Perhaps because of the spirit that passed too closely behind her, or perhaps from the suggestion itself. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Can’t?” he echoed. “Or you won’t? When you look at me, do you truly feel nothing?”
It was a question made to break a person, and Signa felt its weight settle over her. The answer was so plain upon her face that she felt Fate’s resentment before she saw it curl his lips. Step-by-step their dance hastened until the musicians were red in the face and the guests were gasping for air as they tried to keep up. If not for Fate’s vise grip on her, Signa surely would have spun out of control.
“If you haven’t remembered, then I have no reason to help you.” Though he held his jaw high, Fate was as stiff as a rod beneath her touch. More and more she found herself wondering just how much of his bravado was an act. A shield. She wondered what he might be like beneath it, once the layers had been stripped back.
“Surely there’s a part of you that must care, no matter how callous you make yourself seem.”
His laugh was steady, as ominous as rainfall on a cloudless night. “Do you think me enough of a fool to get attached to a life so fragile as a human’s? Why should I weep for the fates I weave when Death will take even the most magnificent of them from me?”
It was perhaps that moment in which Signa saw Fate for who he was—a man as tired of people dying around him as Signa had once been. A man who was willing to do anything for the life he wanted, just as she was.
“Then care for them because I do.” She did not pull from Fate but instead pressed closer. She squeezed his hand tight, trying to ignore the way his touch burned into her like a branding. “Care because everything I love is at stake tonight, and because I’m asking for help that only you can give.
You control the living. Freeze them as you did at Wisteria Gardens, so that I can take care of the spirits. Give me a chance to learn the truth of Lord Wakefield’s death, and for once do not ask for anything in exchange. If you’re not the villain, prove it to me.”
Already the waltz was waning, and the quieter the music became, the more intense Fate’s stare grew until the gold in his eyes was all but glowing. He peeled from Signa the moment the song had finished, as though she herself was a plague.
“Do not toy with me,” he spat. “Do not say soft words in the hope that I’ll go weak. You will have your truth, Miss Farrow—I’ve already promised you as much. I will give you twenty minutes to placate your spirits. After that, the rest is up to you.”
He looked as angry at her as he was with himself, as if hating that she’d pulled this from him freely. There was no reward, no deal struck. It was an opportunity Signa wouldn’t waste, the timer beginning the moment bodies froze around her, faces stilling amid laughter and couples stopped mid- twirl.
“Thank you,” Signa said, though Fate had already turned to seek solace in another flute of champagne. She let him go, noticing then how still Death stood in the corner, watching. She could only imagine what he could be thinking. Though her heart ached, there was no time to console him.
“Later,” she whispered, wishing for nothing more than the ability to reach out and take his hand. “Help me get them out of here.”
Signa made her way across the ballroom toward her godmother, nearly drawing back as the spirit hissed at her.
“Amity.” Signa dared not let one ounce of her fear seep into her voice, even as Amity loomed closer. Her head tilted to inspect Signa, who focused on deep breaths to steady her hammering heart. The moment she started toward Briar, though, it was as though Amity burst open. She glowed brighter than Signa had ever seen, more monster than spirit as she bared her teeth. Signa stumbled back, bracing herself on the edge of the nearest table to keep from falling.
But she would not turn away. There was too much riding on the night, and Amity deserved better. They all did.
“Amity!” Signa wished she had her berries so that she might pool her shadows around her, if only to settle into their protective embrace. “I want
to help! You’ve waited for me all this time. You’ve helped me settle into Foxglove when I never thought I could call this place home. Please, let me help Briar. Let me help you!”
The words seemed to break something within Amity, whose body shook with a sob. In that moment, Signa felt herself drawn to the spirits the same way she’d been to Henry.
She’d always been pulled toward them. And perhaps she finally understood why.
Only when Amity stepped aside, eyes brimming with tears as dark as dried blood, did Signa close the remaining space between her and Briar. Her face was even worse than Signa had realized from afar, the left side so swollen that one of her eyes seemed ready to slip from its socket. A gaping wound on her right temple had splinters of wood still stuck inside. That, at least, explained the stain on the banister.
“Briar?” Signa kept still and measured, and when Death drew forward, she held out a hand to halt him, not wanting to spook the spirit who blinked at her, forehead pinched.
As horrifying as it was to have the spirit’s attention, it was a good sign to have finally earned her awareness. Only, Signa wasn’t sure how she felt about having earned the attention of the others, too.
Several spirits had twisted to observe the only moving body in a ballroom that had gone still. In the corner of her vision, Death stood poised to strike.
There are too many of them, he warned. Be careful, Signa. One wrong move, and you could set off an avalanche.
Signa needed no warning. Her bones ached with the memory of possession, making each of her movements more cautious than the next. There was no guidebook for this. All her life, Signa had relied on instructions. She’d memorized The Lady’s Guide to Etiquette and Beauty from front to back. Had branded every rule of society and propriety into her mind and had been overly aware of every expectation placed upon her. Now she had only her own instincts to command her.
“There’s a reason that no one here looks familiar.” Though she stood face-to-face with Briar, the words were for all spirits listening. “Twenty years ago, you died here in Foxglove.”
Signa tensed as Death threw his shadows toward her, but there was no
need. The spirits shifted but did not attack.
“I’m here to help you.” Signa exhaled a breath through barely parted lips as she stretched a hand to Briar. “You’ve been reliving the night of your deaths over and over again. But you don’t have to spend your days roaming these halls any longer. There’s so much more waiting for you, and if you let me, I’ll show you that this is only the beginning of your story.”
Although Briar remained still, Signa straightened in surprise as one of the twins stepped forward in her place. His eyes flitted from Signa to Death before he looked to where his twin stood. There was no mistaking the recognition that sparked in his eyes, and with a voice tired and cracked from disuse, he asked simply, “Alexander?”
The young man across from him flickered out of view, body spasming before he reappeared at his brother’s side. His lips were dry and peeling as he opened his mouth once, twice, then shut it promptly when no sound came out. Already his eyes were becoming a strange milky white, growing vacant again as his focus began to stray.
You can do this. Death’s words slipped through Signa’s mind, the very encouragement she needed to approach Alexander.
“Look at my skin.” She held her arm out to him. “Look at mine, then compare it to your own. Do you ever remember seeing such a glow upon yourself?” She could only wait, heart in her throat, as the spirit dropped his gaze. He turned his hand every which way, lips twisting downward.
“You are no longer meant for this place,” she urged. “You’re struggling because you’re clinging to the world of the living when you’ve already died.”
“Died,” Alexander echoed, slumping forward as he glanced at his brother. “We… died?”
Signa shared a look with Death, bracing herself. “You did. But that doesn’t mean you’re at your end. There’s more to come—would you like to see it?”
The spirit peered down at Signa’s offered hand, tensing when his twin approached and clasped him on the shoulder. It took a long moment until he relaxed beneath the touch, relief pouring over him as he turned to his brother. “Enough of this place,” said the first, the blue of his skin beginning to fade. “Let us take our leave.”
Color was blossoming on their once-translucent skin, and Signa nearly
cried with relief as Alexander’s peeling lips and the sores around them healed.
One glance at Death was all that was needed for him to sweep forward. He had told Signa that his appearance often changed to give the spirits the face of whoever they most needed in their final moments. Though she could not see what the brothers did, neither spirit recoiled as Death approached. Rather, they softened as they took hold of Death’s hands, setting off a chain reaction of two more spirits who drew toward Death like he was a lighthouse in a storming sea, the haze from their eyes lifting.
“Hurry back,” she whispered, the spreading warmth in her body all the confirmation she needed to know that she had been right. This was exactly what she was meant to do.
Amid the spirits, Death glanced from Signa to Briar. His jaw clenched once before he nodded. “I will.”
He gathered the spirits who flocked toward him and was gone. Several remained on the outskirts, curious but afraid to commit just yet. Briar was among them.
Second by second it seemed that the reality of her death was settling over her, though unlike the others, she had no desire to accept it. Her bottom lip trembled, and Signa knew the instant before a scream tore through the woman’s throat that Briar wouldn’t go so easily. Signa barely had time to shield her ears as the sound came, so piercing that every crystal flute near them shattered. Wind tore through the windows, and shards of glass flew from the tables, marring the skin of guests who were slowly rousing back to reality, jaws clenching and fingers twitching as they held their partners.
Twenty minutes had passed in the blink of an eye. They were almost out of time.
Amity recognized it, too. She pressed closer to Briar.
“We’re out of options,” Signa warned Amity, whose eyes flashed red in warning as Death’s chill marked his return. “She’s going to hurt someone.”
“She’s scared.” Never had Amity’s voice held such venom, and Signa knew without hesitation that should she try anything, Amity would become the most terrifying spirit she’d ever encountered. Amity cut across Signa, ignoring Death entirely as she grabbed hold of Briar’s hand. When the spirit snarled and tried to pull back, Amity clutched her tighter.
“Come back to me.” Amity held her even as bloodied black tears rolled down Briar’s cheeks and neck. “Come back to me,” she said again, lifting onto her toes to press the softest kiss onto Briar’s temple, just below the wound. “I’ve waited too long for you to hear me say that I love you. Come back to me, Briar, so that I might tell you properly.”
Briar stilled beneath the kiss, blinking the last of the tears free to focus on Amity, whose fingers were curled tight into Briar’s as she held her. Though she said nothing for a long while, the sharpness of the wind died down and she laid one trembling hand upon Amity’s.
“Is it really you?” So soft was Briar’s voice that Signa thought she’d imagined it until Amity’s laughter broke with the happiest sob Signa had ever heard. Amity wound her arms around the spirit, fingers smoothing over Briar’s hair as she kissed her once more.
“It’s me. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Amity bowed her head against Briar’s and whispered words that Signa turned from, knowing they weren’t meant for her ears. She wished she could give them all the time in the world. Wished that she was not so worried about Briar losing control once more the moment the bodies unfroze.
“It’s time for you to go,” Signa whispered.
Amity lifted her head, offering the tiniest smile on those heart-shaped lips. “I believe you’re right.” Signa hadn’t anticipated how badly those words would sting, though even amid so much sadness, she felt relief for her friend. Finally, Amity would have what she wanted. “Your parents will be so proud when I tell them about the woman their daughter has become. These twenty years were worth the wait. I am happy to have known you, Signa, if only for a moment.”
Signa couldn’t say with certainty when her tears came, only that they flowed with abandon. “I’m glad to have known you, too. Tell my parents that I look forward to meeting them one day, would you? It’ll be the most beautiful reunion.”
“It will.” As Death drew closer, pieces of Amity wisped away with the breeze that slipped in through the still-open windows. “Though I do hope you make us wait for a long while. Enjoy this life, Signa. Enjoy it freely, and do not let anyone keep you from who or what you love. When I see you again, I hope you’ll have the most magnificent stories to share.”
Briar’s wounds were healing fast, and Signa knew there was no time for more words. She bit back her tears as Briar and Amity followed Death’s call hand in hand, eager to explore all that awaited them.
There was barely a moment for Signa to wipe her eyes as the ballroom surged into motion once more.
There were more spirits still, some of them even likely wandering rooms of the manor that Signa hadn’t yet explored. The trio she’d met on her first night at Foxglove had poked their heads in and were watching while several others panicked from the surge of bodies that had kicked back into motion as golden threads spun around the ballroom.
Signa ignored them, as the worst of it had settled and, for the time being, all seemed to be in control. The music picked up midsong, but laughter was quickly shifting to whispers as people noticed the thin cuts along their bodies and shattered glass that several maids were already hurrying to clean up. Signa caught sight of Byron and followed his gaze across the floor, to where Eliza Wakefield was gathering her skirts. She’d been far enough from the tables to avoid injuries, though she appeared more sickly than ever seen, with ashen skin and eyes as hollow as a spirit’s as she stumbled toward the doors.
Behind her, Fate wore a grave expression and Signa understood that the moment Death returned, he would have someone else to claim.
Blythe’s eyes found Signa’s from across the ballroom, and without a word between them, they pushed through the crowd and followed Eliza down the stairs, out of Foxglove, and into the night.
