Seven Signa
SEVEN
S IGNA
Some help you were,” Signa complained as she passed Aris later that evening. Though his skin was healed, Aris was still clutching his arm against his chest pathetically. It seemed he rather enjoyed Blythe’s coddling.
Golden eyes flashed down at her, tempered with indignation. “You wanted me to get her out of the room, did you not?”
“Would it have been so bad if she’d stayed? Honestly, she might prefer to know that her home is nearly as haunted as Foxglove.”
Aris’s lips curled in displeasure. “I’d rather you not liken Wisteria to a place that always gives me the chills.”
“Mind your tongue, Aris. Foxglove is my home.” Were there a pillow around, Signa might have thrown it at him.
“My point is that Wisteria isn’t like that. Even now, knowing that there are more spirits here than I care to give thought to, I do not walk the halls of Wisteria with my spine prickling. “And look”—he held out his arm for her inspection—“not a single hair is raised.”
She pushed his arm back down. Her annoyance aside, Aris had a point.
Even with all the spirits, Wisteria did not feel haunted.
In terms of temperament, it had always been the mildest of the estates.
It did not share the thrashing sea at its doorstep or the sordid history of Foxglove, nor the peculiar design and eerie woods that surrounded Thorn Grove.
Even in Aris’s absence, the palace had retained a sense of magic and wonder that Signa had long admired.
“Should things go poorly for us, I swear that I’ll tell Blythe everything,” he promised, lowering his arm back to his side.
“If you feel strongly about it, we can tell her now, but all I want is for her Christmas to go well. You said yourself that my goal should be to give her the best Christmas possible, did you not?”
“Not exactly in those words—”
“I’ve no doubt that you had many great holidays while I was gone,” Aris pressed, “but I know what it’s like to have spent ages of my life waiting for someone I love to return.
Even in the best of times, a piece of me was always missing.
This year, it doesn’t have to be that way.
I want it to be a time of celebration, not one fraught with strife as she fights against the spirits.
Because you know my wife, Signa. She will fight them.
Until Wisteria is fully ours again, Blythe will make it her entire personality to be rid of them. ”
That much was certainly true. While Signa may have grown comfortable living alongside spirits, most people did not share in her sentiment. Blythe included.
“Very well,” she relented. “Though if this all turns to folly, it’s you who will take the brunt of the blame.”
Each of Aris’s steps clicked confidently against the marble until he seemed to grow irritated by the sound, a plush scarlet rug appearing beneath his feet. “I accept the risk and will do everything in my power to ensure that this Christmas is the jolliest holiday any of you have ever experienced.”
His tone implied that even this was like some sort of competition to him.
Some way to further prove himself or show off his skill.
As much as it made her want to roll her eyes, Signa was glad for it.
Aris had not changed even after all these years.
If he wanted to make this Christmas a grand occasion just to ensure Blythe’s happiness, she would not stop him.
Hiding the spirits from her cousin would make her life more difficult, but not impossible.
Beside her, all the light in Wisteria seemed to pull toward Aris, whose skin gleamed like sunlight.
Even his eyes were brighter than usual, and in her periphery Signa noticed that the palace was beginning to shift, pillars once made of marble becoming striped with red and silver or glistening golden and adorned with red ribbons.
“I have work to do,” he told her. “You monitor the spirits and leave the festivities to me.”
“That’s not a very fair trade—” Signa began, but Aris was already retreating. Blast him.
She sighed when his figure disappeared down the hall, tipping her head up to the vaulted ceilings to take in his work.
The ceiling was adorned with ever-changing murals and intricate gold filigree.
Tonight’s mural was of smiling cherubs donning top hats or bonnets dressed with sprigs of holly and mistletoe.
They encircled a towering evergreen with ornaments in hand.
Snow fell behind them, and though Signa couldn’t feel its cold against her skin, glistening flakes glided upon the palace and disappeared without a trace the moment they hit the floor.
Even the colossal crystal chandelier was designed like a cluster of snowflakes suspended from the ceiling.
The door to Signa’s room was painted to resemble a gingerbread man, with smooth wood that smelled of cinnamon and clove.
There were frosted buttons down the center and glittering sugarplums for eyes.
The knob was striped like a candy cane, and she turned it to enter what was perhaps the coziest space she’d ever seen.
A beautiful stone hearth took up the entirety of one wall, decorated with thick garlands.
Its amber glow made the wallpaper’s golden threads glisten in a way that reminded Signa of a Christmas present.
The air even tasted of gingerbread, and by her bed a steaming cup of hot cocoa waited for her alongside a note written in elegant script.
We hope this room is to your liking. Should you find that you have poor taste and require alternative lodging, I would be happy to provide you with inferior service upon your request.
—Aris
Signa snorted as she set the note aside, grabbing her cocoa and taking a long sip, then a hastily followed second one in her surprise.
Dear God, it’s glorious.
She’d heard Blythe rave about the hot chocolate before but hadn’t expected it would be this good. Aris truly did have spectacular—though admittedly sometimes peculiar—taste.
Though… it would have been nice if Death was around to experience it with her.
Signa lay back with her eyes closed, enjoying the evergreen pillows so plush they might as well have been clouds, testing the bond between herself and the reaper. While he typically kept it open, it seemed Death had shut himself off to her entirely.
She rolled onto her pillow, scowling. “Just what on earth are you up to?”
She was content to lay there for a while longer, stewing in her thoughts and letting her annoyance fester, but there was no hope.
She felt the familiar prickling of her skin and knew there were spirits in the room.
Cracking one eye open, she sighed as they filed in one by one, awed by the decor.
In their strange attire, they fit in with the theme remarkably well.
Eerily well, in fact. There were several spirits not in excessive tulle or strange wigs and headpieces.
Some wore only plain black suits and blank expressions, their fingers moving as if to a tune she could not hear.
They were out of place among the others, who seemed to pay them no mind.
It was clear they saw the other spirits, they just didn’t seem to care.
“ We could use that ,” one of them said, pointing to the garland above the hearth.
“The chandelier, too. Did you see it? It would be perfect.”
“If it were perfect, it’d be bigger.” One of the girls sniffed. “Large enough to sit on, at least.”
“ Not every entrance needs to be grand ,” said another. It was clear by her face that the first girl disagreed.
The costumed spirits looked from one corner of the room to the next, skimming their fingers over the wallpaper and taking stock of the design. One even tried to take a sip of Signa’s cocoa, and Signa had to temper her annoyance as the perfectly delicious chocolate spilled onto the floor.
The men in suits did not share the others’ excitement. They looked around the room only once before a few of them sighed, seeming disappointed by their findings. They disappeared not long after. The others, however, were much more rambunctious.
Three were left in her room—two girls and a young man. All had slender frames and pink cheeks, and they perched contentedly on the edge of Signa’s bed.
“If you don’t mind,” she told them, “I’m going to try to sleep.”
They flinched, as if surprised that she’d spoken, then crawled higher up the bed. “ How could you sleep during this? ” one of the girls asked. “Are you not excited? Heavens, I feel like I’m about to burst from my own skin.”
“Please don’t.” Signa cringed, kicking out of her boots.
She couldn’t very well change with the lot of them staring at her like that, and so she only pulled the blankets over her and slammed her eyes shut with great hope.
Unfortunately, she could still feel the spirits hovering over her, the hairs along her neck and arms raised in their presence.
It didn’t help that they were noisy, too, one of them humming some choppy tune.
At this rate, Signa was convinced she might never sleep again.
That feeling, however, was admittedly not just because of all the noise and fuss the spirits were making.
Rather, it was because they were there .
Because they were in this house, unable to pass on, and Signa’s mind was racing to figure out why.
Given how all the spirits had at least a few singe marks on their clothes or bodies, it was clear that a fire had played some role in their death. But that was hardly enough information.
When did it happen? How did it happen?
Piece by piece, Signa tried to sort through the puzzle, her body buzzing with an anticipation she hadn’t felt in some time.
She didn’t want to ruin Blythe’s or Aris’s holiday, nor did she want Wisteria to be haunted or anything to happen to the palace…
but oh, what a delight it was to be at the forefront of another mystery.
How dull her days had become. For years her life had been turmoil, one upheaval after another.
She’d believed that she’d find peace with the stillness at Foxglove, and for a while she had.
But too much stillness had made her antsy.
She enjoyed her work at the hospital, though those deaths were never part of a grand mystery.
Instead, she spent her days consoling frightened or upset spirits whose deaths had come too quickly for them to be able to process.
They were not mysterious , just unfortunate.
It was good to feel once again like there were secrets in this world that only she could unravel, and beings who relied solely upon her for assistance.
After all this time, Signa finally had another mystery to solve. And God, was she looking forward to it.