Chapter Forty
ELODIE
Hundreds of candles blinked to life inside the mausoleum, their flames escaping through the open gate and casting long, twisting shadows over the moss-covered headstones, like dark fingers stretching for the living.
“It’s been too long.” The voice returned, ancient and thick, pressing in on the edges of my mind.
The ghost’s gaze was fixed on the mausoleum, but she glided toward me, her faded brown hair swirling around her like seaweed drifting in a tide. Agnes. I knew that name.
Soft, deliberate footsteps approached, and then—
“Elodie.” Lilian stepped through the gate, her white-streaked dark hair a shimmering crown on the top of her head. The purple feathers on her gown absorbed the light, but her eyes—golden, glowing—pierced through me like she was reading a journal.
My fingers twitched around the knife’s cold hilt as I slowly realized what—who—I was seeing.
“What a reunion,” The Great Monster chuckled, clapping her—Lilian’s—hands with delight. “Three generations of Thornburys. The first…” It pointed at Agnes. “The last…” It turned to me, and I swallowed hard. “And of course, the shell I’m wearing now. The grieving widow.”
She swept her hands across her gown, stepping toward Agnes. “My beloved pupil. My first ward,” she crooned to Agnes, her finger twisting through Agnes’ hair as if she were flesh and blood.
The shadows slithered closer, their claws tracing our outlines like hungry vipers.
Then Agnes jerked her head toward me, her voice trembling, but stronger than I ever heard her. “Find the Bluebells.” And then she was gone, like a soap bubble that got poked, leaving behind nothing but her old, floral scent.
Air fled my lungs.
“Where did she go?” The Monster’s head snapped toward me, her eyes glittering with sorrow. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out, pet,” it purred. “Are you afraid?”
I swallowed hard. Was I?
“You don’t have to fear the dark. I could teach you how to use it.”
Before I could answer, the Monster raised Lilian’s arms. The sky screamed in fury, lightning fracturing the air as the ground trembled beneath my boots.
I barely kept my balance, clutching a nearby tree.
The soil cracked behind Lilian like a splitting ribcage, and a pale purple glow seeped through the forest floor.
I held onto my gown as something began to rise.
Forms emerged, slow and steaming like breath on glass.
Ghosts. Dozens of them, clawing free of the earth in fragments.
Women and men, some young, some skeletal, all dressed in the finery they’d been buried in.
Lace rotted to cobwebs and velvet eaten by time.
Their eyes, sunken and luminous, locked onto nothing.
Their mouths twitched open like they were trying to scream…
My stomach turned, even the wind settled, frozen, as if it, too, was watching.
The Monster smiled. “Do you have a favoured dance?” it cooed, lifting a hand.
The ghosts jerked forward like dolls dragged by invisible strings, their movements rigid as if they were made of wood.
A soft melody fell over the clearing like it was drifting up from beneath the earth itself, low and haunting.
The ghosts twirled in broken synchrony. Their limbs cracked and shuddered through each movement.
Some stumbled, others glided with uncanny grace, but none of it looked right. The Monster hummed along, conducting.
One of the youngest among them was shoved toward the centre of the clearing, her eyes wide, pleading. The remains of her burial gown shimmered briefly, its threads unwinding into the illusion of tulle, like a bruised flower forced into bloom.
My breath hitched, but I couldn’t look away.
Then another form stepped forward, a young man, gaunt with hollowed eyes.
His shirt hung in torn remnants as though time itself had clawed it apart, revealing the pale echo of his chest beneath.
He moved stiffly toward the girl, and their arms rose together, trembling as they did a slow, mournful pirouette.
The Monster hummed behind me, pleased. “Odette must have her prince.”
Only then did I realise I was seeing the grotesque re-enactment of Swan Lake.
“Magical, isn’t it?” the Monster asked in glee. But the ghosts’ eyes told a different story. Slow, silvery tears ghosted down the girl's translucent cheeks.
“You’re hurting them,” I breathed, my voice small.
The Monster’s humming didn’t falter. “They’re dead, dear. They feel what I want them to feel.”
That made it worse.
Odette staggered in the centre before the prince lifted her. They danced in the high-mist above the tombs as though it was a lake.
“I said stop.” My voice cracked like glass. I could feel the knife shift in my hand, heavy and cold. I should kill it now. End the Monster before it ends me.
But I didn’t know how.
The Monster twisted around, and the ghosts froze mid-dance turning into glass-like statues.
“You’re just like them!” it snarled, wind whipping around us, fierce and wild. “Weakling.” It glided closer, venom dripping from its voice. “And here I thought you were special. Strong.”
I staggered back.
“Your grandmother was strong. Yet she crumbled after your grandfather’s death. Your mother, she abandoned everything and everyone, hiding for years. A true scaredy-cat.”
My knuckles whitened. Every word it spoke sliced deeper, driving a jagged knife into the raw wound inside me.
“And you,” it sneered as my back hit something hard. “You let a boy use you for your blood.”
My eyes widened. Preston?
“I could smell him inside the crypt.” It leaned forward, drowning me with the cloying sweetness of Lillian’s perfume. “Only a Thornbury’s blood can open these gates.”
My lips parted. I remembered my question just as clearly as his answer.
Why do you even care?
I’ve got my reasons.
He really did make a fool of me. Not only by pretending to be someone else, but using me entirely.
He knew what his sister was doing. He knew my mum wasn’t really here, and he must have enjoyed the torture.
Watching me fall for their ploy. Cecily sent me to one place, and Preston—he was already there.
Waiting. They wanted the book and now they got it.
But what good did it bring them? What did any of this bring them?
My chest hurt, tightening, pressing the air out.
A familiar voice cut into my mind like a blade.
Now you know.
I breathed hard. Why was I still thinking of him? Hearing him? He played me. Lied to me.
Liar.
A sharp, icy pull twisted behind my ribs. My breath hitched as I was moved against my will, staggering closer to the ghosts.
“What…” I whispered, but the word tangled in my throat.
The Monster tilted its head, its vile smile spreading. “There’s no Swan Lake without the Black Swan itself,” it purred, its voice low and honeyed with malice. “Every tragedy needs its temptress, doesn’t it, pet?”
I tried to move, to rip myself free, but my feet betrayed me.
They stepped forward.
One. Two. Spun, then I was in the air.
“No,” I whispered, but no sound left my mouth. My hands lifted against my will, my fingers curling like dried petals until they hurt. My limbs weren’t mine.
I was a puppet once more.
My head turned, jerking toward where the ghosts danced above their graves.
I was drawn into their circle, into the cruel performance.
My breath came fast and shallow. The world warped around me, heavy and cold.
I could feel the ghosts. Their grief bled into the air.
Their pain leaked into me like water escaping through cracks.
Odette stood in the centre, her hand trembling in the prince’s. They were still dancing. Still crying.
I was the Black Swan now. Odile.
Their tormentor. The dark feathers shimmered on my dress in the pale moonlight.
Around me, the dead spun and dipped and stumbled in their endless ballet. I could see every detail up close now. Their half-rotted slippers clinging to their feet, the old jewels embedded in decomposed lace, the tear tracks etched into translucent cheeks.
Their mouths moved as they danced, but I couldn’t catch a word.
I tried to stop, but my body wouldn’t listen. My spine arched and my arms flared open into a pose I didn’t recognize. The prince turned to face me. His hands lifted.
I reached out against my will, my stomach turning. Panic flooded my chest. My body lunged forward into the prince’s arms. He recoiled like I burned. Odette reached for him, but my form spun between them, separating the lovers.
I was the wedge.
I was the weapon.
Their screams still didn’t come. Just wide, pleading eyes. Mournful music.
The forest watched.
My skin flared with heat, anger burning through me quickly. Because of my mum, because of him and the monster, dragging me like a puppet.
“Enough!”
The voice cracked like thunder. A silver streak flashed through the air and I fell.
The wind was knocked from my chest as I slammed into the ground, my limbs collapsed beneath me.
My knees scraped against the forest floor and my palms caught on cold stone.
I gasped, choking on the sudden, breathless stillness.
The ghosts dropped too, like marionettes with their strings cut, collapsing inward and vanishing into the soil.
The clearing fell silent. Utterly, horrifyingly silent. A knife glinted, crammed into the ground not far from me, and I grabbed it as though it could keep me safe. Only then did I look up.
Hudson stood at the edge of the clearing, moonlight casting silver flickers across the lines of his face. His hand was outstretched, holding an umbrella half-open. It was crackling faintly, as if the storm itself was trapped in its ribs.
His blue eyes were on the Monster, on Lilian, who had what looked to be a silver umbrella tip piercing its shoulder, sticking through the feathered gown. I breathed hard, the haunting melody of the ballet still vivid in my ears.
“Let go of my daughter,” Hudson said, his voice calm and as cold as a blade.
The Monster tilted its head. I couldn’t see its face, but I knew it looked anything but kind.
“Daughter,” it repeated, as if savouring the word. “I never thought you’d say it out loud.”
Hudson didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, his umbrella pulsing with power. The fabric was a gleaming obsidian, the seams glowing faintly with shapes I didn’t recognize. Shadows skimmed closer to him, their claws long and sharp, ready to strike.
I clenched the knife, its handle icy against my skin. The shadows scraped teasingly at the ground around Hudson’s feet, and I raised the knife. The Monster was distracted, focused on Hudson. My other hand dug into the frozen soil beneath me as I released my grip.
A flash of silver cut through the clearing, flying straight toward the Monster. The shadows recoiled, and Hudson moved swiftly—flipping something into the air like a coin. It arced above us, spinning toward me through the dark sky.
I reached for it, and the small object landed in my palm, cold and light.
I opened my fingers to find his ring resting on my dirt-streaked skin, its silver gleaming.
Tied to the band was a tiny folded note, edges worn and delicate.
From this close, the letter L was clear, but so was the tiny crow etched beside it, framed by entangled flowers. A small family crest.
I looked up, confused, to see Hudson kneeling across the clearing. His umbrella was discarded by his side. My brow furrowed. I searched for Lilian and found her a few metres away; the knowing smile she wore was bone-chilling. Gooseflesh spread across my back and I straightened instinctively.
“You should’ve paid more attention, pet.”
My head jerked back toward Hudson, a sinister feeling rising from the bottom of my stomach. That’s when I saw the pooling crimson around his knees.
I gasped.
Time seemed to slow. Blood thudded deafeningly in my ears.
I shook my head as adrenaline rushed through my body. No. I was seeing things. Hallucinating. This must have been another play. Another game.
But the silver blade stayed crammed into Hudson’s neck. Nausea pulled me under. There was so much blood.
“It’s alright, Ezzie,” Hudson breathed, his voice hoarse as he forced the words out. Ezzie. Even now, he was elegant and powerful, like a knight. A broken knight.
My head kept shaking on its own. This was anything but alright. My knees gave out and I fell, vomit crawling along my throat. I edged closer to him, reaching out to help him, save him somehow, but his gaze was already elsewhere. Pale with a veil that didn’t belong to this world.
I was drowning.
Something other than blood flooded my veins, thick and heavy. Goosebumps spread across my skin.
Hudson fell back, the knife I had grabbed from Thornhill glinting in his neck like a candle. Final.
My throat ached. I couldn’t blink, couldn’t move. He was dead. I killed him. I had so many questions.
I killed him.
You murdered your own father. A new voice rang out. Not my mum’s, not Preston’s. It was ancient. Evil. Blood pulsed loud in my ears, the high-pitched ringing deafening me. Then silence. It felt eternal, time crawling backwards as I waited for him to sit up.
He was dead. Everyone was dead. My mum, Lilian, and now him. Even Preston was a cruel play. Everything was a lie.
I stared at the smile frozen on his lips. My smile. How did I not notice it before?
“That was quite poetic, pet.” The Monster’s voice rang through the forest shattering the silence.
Shadows swirled around me. Excited and welcoming, muting everything. They weren’t the Monster’s.
They were mine.
They were the ones that had followed me around, waiting for me to accept them. My mother’s warning rang in my head like an alarm.
Bad things lurk in the dark, bug. Never trust the darkness.
But I am the darkness, Mum.
“Miss.”
The voice was soft, warm, like butter left out in the sun for too long. I raised my eyes to Alistair as he stepped toward me, his hand outstretched. The weight of it was impossible to ignore. I wanted to look behind him, to see if Hudson had risen, but I couldn’t.
My gaze stayed on Alistair, on his grey mustache and the sad glimmer of encouragement in his eyes.
I took his hand, and for the briefest of moments, I felt nothing but the familiar suffocating embrace of my own shadow.
He was me, I realised at once. He was my shadow, following me, protecting me.
It wrapped around me, pooling into the gaping holes that had cracked open in my chest.
It wasn’t just watching anymore…it understood me now. And I understood it too.
My hands went numb, my blood thundering in my ears. A scream tore from somewhere, splitting the air, and the ground gave way beneath me.
I fell. Spiralling into the void.
Into nothing.
Into myself.
And then the sound of footsteps hit my ears.