CHAPTER FOUR
The next day, I awoke to soft afternoon light filtering through the tall windows of my bedchamber. The air still felt thick, but there was a calm to it now, a quiet stillness that the night had refused to grant. The events of the night before, while still worrisome, slowly faded from my mind.
I rose slowly, stretching my limbs, the muscles in my arms and legs still sore from the exertion of the previous night.
But I was determined to use the daylight hours wisely.
The castle was vast, filled with rooms upon rooms I had only glimpsed in passing the night before.
I had barely scratched the surface, and there was much more to discover.
The stillness of daylight hours made it the perfect time to wander.
The spirits were calmer, their energy more subdued.
Restless, yes, but not nearly as intrusive.
I could feel them as I moved through the corridors, but they remained in the background, watching rather than approaching.
Their soft whispers didn’t overwhelm me, and I was left to explore without the distractions of restless souls demanding my attention.
I wandered from one grand hall to another, each room more breathtakingly beautiful than the last, though each one crumbled under the weight of time.
Cobwebs hung in every crevice, and the scent of dust and mildew hung in the air, but beneath it, there was a faint sweetness, the scent of forgotten things, memories left to fester in the quiet.
Despite its decay, there was an undeniable beauty in its tragic elegance.
It was as if the castle, in all its ruin, was still trying to maintain its dignity.
I moved onward, my fingers brushing the cold stone of the walls as I went, absorbing the energy of the place, letting it fill me. The house wasn’t just a structure, it had a pulse, a life of its own, albeit one that had long ago withered and died.
In all of my nearly twenty-seven years, I’d never experienced a haunting quite like what I felt in the castle.
There were souls, of course, but there was something deeper.
Something just beneath my senses that was drenched in darkness.
It left my own magic stirring uneasily, yet it called to my own darkness too.
A part of me that I kept tucked deep down inside of me.
The same part some necromancers used to call forth the dead to do their bidding. It was perhaps why so many people feared me.
That part of necromancy was not who I was. It would never be who I was. An image of my father’s pale, death stricken face surfaced in my mind and I swallowed back the tears that pricked my eyes and shoved the memory away.
I preferred helping people, helping lost souls find their way.
Admittedly, the parlor tricks weren’t my favorite, but it was money.
I couldn’t actually make candles flicker, move objects around with unseen hands, or make a seance table tether in the air, and for the most part, spirits couldn’t either.
Unless they were quite strong and had enough energy, I had to improvise for my noble customers.
Regardless of the reason they hired me, they always expected a show.
The truth was, that part was mostly just that…
a show. The majority of the spirits I called forth would simply wait patiently until I’d finished with the theatrics to give their loved ones a message.
Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the creak of floorboards, the occasional gust of wind pressing against the window panes.
I could sense the spirits now, hanging in the corners of rooms, just out of sight.
They were watching, timid but curious too.
I opened my mind to them and even offered a bit of energy, but still, they had nothing to say .
My steps carried me through the rooms that seemed to speak of lives long gone, fine china abandoned on broken shelves, faded tapestries still hanging on the walls, the past scenes of family life now dull and torn.
The once-stunning library had shelves so overcrowded with books that some of them had fallen to the floor, piles of them collecting dust where no one dared to touch.
The lingering smell of old ink and parchment filled the air, mixing with the dampness that clung to the stone.
I spent hours walking the castle, exploring its labyrinthine halls and forgotten rooms. There was something intimate in its decline, a vulnerability that I couldn’t look away from.
I couldn’t help but wonder what secrets it held, secrets not just of the castle, but of its inhabitants, and perhaps most pressing of all, the man in the portrait.
The thought of him made my heart skip a beat. I still hadn’t gathered the courage to look at the painting again, but I could feel him in the air, as if his presence lingered everywhere. Even the stones underfoot seemed to hum with his memory.
I couldn’t quite understand why I felt so drawn to him, why his face haunted me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers to everything I was searching for lay at his feet.
As the day began to fade, the last rays of sunlight slipping away from the tall windows, I found myself back in the kitchen.
I rummaged through the cabinets, gathered some stale bread, some preserved meat, and a few scraps of cheese to quickly fashion a simple meal.
It wasn’t much, but it would suffice for tonight.
The food barely registered on my tongue since there was no time to savor it.
Once night fell, the castle would come alive again, and with it, the restless spirits.
The energy of Ravenspire shifted as the sun disappeared behind the horizon.
I had already begun to feel the pull of it, that electric tension in the air. Soon the castle would stir.
I made my way back to the bedchamber I’d chosen and retrieved the small bundle of items I had brought with me, items that were more for my own piece of mind than anything else. In my exhausted state the night before, I had neglected to properly ward my room.
First, I lit a bundle of sage, its pungent smoke curling up toward the ceiling.
I walked through the room in slow, deliberate circles, reciting the words my grandmother had taught me.
The scent was strong, medicinal, and grounding.
It had become a familiar ritual for me over the years, a small act of control in a world full of unpredictability.
Once the smoke had filled the room, I knelt by the door, pulling from my bag a small pouch of salt.
With practice hands, I sprinkled a generous line of it across the threshold.
A protective boundary. A barrier that would prevent any spirit with ill intent from entering.
I wasn’t exactly sure what sort of restless souls lurked in Ravenspire, but I didn’t want to take any risks.
Not after what I’d felt the night before.
How ironic that I could call forth life or deal out death for others, but I couldn’t do that for myself and I couldn’t risk dying before I uncovered the castle’s secrets. Mortality was a shame.
When I stood, brushing the last of the salt from my fingers, I felt a quiet sense of relief wash over me. The castle still felt oppressive, but I’d made it clear that I wouldn’t be so easily overrun.
There was still work to be done, however, work I couldn’t avoid any longer.
I reached for a candle, its wick flickering to life with a soft, steady glow, casting long shadows across the walls.
The light was a small, fragile thing in the overwhelming darkness of Ravenspire, but it was enough.
Enough to give me the courage to leave the safety of my bedchamber and seek out the spirits I knew lingered in the castle.
The halls were dark, but not silent. I could feel their presence like a shiver on the back of my neck, disembodied, ethereal, yet undeniably there.
They were scared, hesitant in their movements.
They watched, but didn’t approach. It was as though something…
or someone… was holding them back, keeping them from reaching out to me.
I wondered if it was the castle itself, the energy of it.
Perhaps the castle truly didn’t want me here.
But if there was a chance I could help these souls, I had to try.
The floorboards creaked as I moved carefully down the narrow corridor. Every step felt heavier, as though the air was thickening with each passing second.
I echoed into the darkness. “Come closer. I won’t hurt you. I can help you.”
But no response came. Only the oppressive silence.
As I continued my search, I passed the large portrait of the man… The one who haunted my thoughts in ways I couldn’t yet explain.
I stopped in front of the painting. The flickering light caught on the edges of the frame, casting deep shadows over his chiseled features.
His eyes, dark, almost impossibly warm, seemed to follow me, and my breath caught in my throat.
For the briefest moment, I swore I saw something shift in his expression.
A moment of emotion, a flash of life, but it was gone before I could be sure.
There was no doubt now. The connection I felt, that nagging sense of presence…
It was real. He wasn’t just a portrait. He was alive somehow.
My magic hummed curiously and I closed my eyes for a moment trying to focus on why it was attracted to the painting.
I could feel something. It was faint, but determined, calling to my magic like it had known it forever.
I tilted my head, studying his face as if waiting for some sign, some indication of what he needed from me.
It was strange, the way he drew me in, but my whole body sizzled the closer I drew to the painting.
I hadn’t even touched him, hadn’t spoken to him, but there was something familiar between us.
My magic warmed, something I’d never experienced before, and it felt like a caress against my aching muscles.
How strange…
”Can you hear me?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the creaking of the castle.
There was no immediate response, but as I gazed at his painted face, I felt a pull, something deep inside urging me to coax him out. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t even something I could explain to myself, but I couldn’t ignore it. I ached to touch him.
I stepped closer to the painting, the heat from the candle warming the air between us. “I know you’re here,” I said softly. “I know you can hear me. If you’re trapped, if you need help, I’m here. I can help you.”
A chill pulsed through the air. Not the usual cold of the castle, not the familiar chill of the dead, but something sharper, more concentrated. It was as if something was stirring, listening. My heart picked up its pace as I waited, hoping.
I could feel him. His presence was pressing in on me, but why was he waiting? What was keeping him from reaching out?
Perhaps he needed help?
I took another step forward, a strange confidence filling me despite my uncertainty.
My fingers trembled slightly as I raised them just to the edge of the thick golden frame that encased him.
My magic hummed greedily in my core and I slid one finger across the frame, testing.
The air seemed to pulse with energy, thick and heavy.
I glanced over my shoulder, the hairs prickling on my neck. Letting out a slow breath, I turned back to the painting and trailed my fingers over the canvas, noticing for the first time a small inscription on the bottom of the portrait.
I leaned closer, holding my candle aloft.
Lucien.
That was it, just one word. His name perhaps?
I stood straight again, meeting his warm, honey colored eyes. “Come to me,” I said breathlessly. “Come to me, Lucien,”
The response was immediate.
My magic pooled at my fingertips without warning or permission, sending a pulse of heat down my arm, straight to my core.
My eyes drifted shut as the warmth spread through me.
I flattened my palm over his chest then slid my hand down his torso.
My palm heated further until I had to fight the urge to pull away.
“Yes, Lucien, you will come to me,” I urged, letting my magic push into him, summoning him .
Immediately, just like the night before, something pushed back against my magic. This time, however, it felt almost as if a third force… equally as strong… mingled with my magic, fighting with me instead of against, as if grasping onto me for dear life.
Warm air slid over my skin like a gentle, encouraging caress and my lips parted on a sigh at the enticing pleasure of it. It felt amazing, unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
I stared at the painting in awe. I’d experienced my fair share of haunted items, but never anything like this. It was as if the spirit was reaching for me, touching me in the sweetest, most sensual way.
I was used to being the one to call to the dead… not the other way around.
The magnetic air continued to swirl around me, slowly gliding over my body.
It felt… good. Daringly, I pushed a little more of my magic into the painting, the edges starting to glow faintly as I did.
More… I pushed, bringing my magic from my core now.
It shot to my fingertips eagerly, until a burst of blue light sprung from my hand, illuminating the man’s beautiful features.
A soft exhale reverberated through the castle and then without warning, blackness consumed me.
I stumbled back, stunned as something hard and fast whipped around me.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the darkness.
I spun around, an endless black hallway swallowing me in deep shadows.
I stepped carefully, reaching for the cold stone of the wall, using it to guide me.
Exhaustion overcame me from using my magic.
It had been reckless to do so again so soon.
I moved slowly, my limbs feeling like iron weights dragged them down.
I couldn’t stay in the hall, unwarded, and vulnerable.
I cursed under my breath as the shadows before me moved and twisted unnaturally up the walls like tangling vines.
I kept my eyes on them as I moved down the corridor.
My pulse quickened as I followed the hallway back to my room and just as I stepped over the salted threshold, a gut-wrenching scream echoed through the castle.
My door slammed closed, startling me and I clutched my hand to my chest.
I truly wasn’t usually fearful of spirits, unsettled at times perhaps, but I had to admit, I was just a little afraid.