CHAPTER SIX
The grand foyer of Ravenspire Castle loomed around me, its vast stone walls swallowing the flickering glow of my candles.
Shadows stretched unnaturally long, as if the castle itself leaned in to watch.
Dust hung thick in the air, disturbed only by the occasional draft swirling through the abandoned corridors.
The scent of old wood and decay clung to the space, a reminder of just how long the castle had been left to rot.
The following night, I had dragged a round wooden table to the center of the grand room, closer to the fireplace where the dim glow of embers offered the illusion of warmth.
With careful precision, I laid out a black velvet cloth, smoothing it over the uneven surface, then arranged my tools, each item exactly where it needed to be.
A spirit board, its carved letters and numbers gleaming faintly in the candlelight.
A brass pendulum, cool and heavy in my palm before I set it beside the board.
A ring of black tourmaline and salt, sprinkled in a protective circle around the table’s edge.
I hoped the seance would lure the other inhabitants of the castle out without having to exhaust myself in the process.
Perhaps at least one of them might have some memory…
some information about Lucien or his curse.
So far, none had offered so much as a whisper and I didn’t have the strength to force them all out.
Even if I did, it didn’t seem like they’d be willing to talk.
I struck a match, lighting three candles—one for the past, one for the present, and one for the restless dead. Wax dripped in slow, languid trails, pooling at the base like frozen tears.
Taking a steadying breath, I placed my hands on the table, fingertips grazing the planchette, and pushed just a tiny bit of my magic into it. Not enough to exert myself, but enough to entice.
“If there are spirits here,” I said, my voice steady despite the heavy silence pressing in. “I invite you to come forward. I mean no harm. I only wish to speak.”
The flames wavered, and a hush settled over the room. The castle itself seemed to inhale, waiting. I closed my eyes, reaching with my senses beyond the veil, feeling for the presence of the lingering dead.
A moment passed. Then another.
A chair creaked.
My eyes snapped open.
Lucien sat across from me, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair, the other resting on the table, fingers tapping idly against the wood. He looked amused, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief, his lips curved into that slow, insufferable grin.
“Good evening, witch,” he drawled.
I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers to my temple. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “You just summoned me.”
“I was summoning any spirit. Not you specifically.”
Lucien tilted his head as if considering this, then frowned. “Your disappointment wounds me.”
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. I should’ve been more specific.
Of course, he would take advantage of an open invitation.
Despite my annoyance, however, his presence made my heart give the smallest flutter that I couldn’t ignore.
His gaze flicked over my setup, the spirit board, the candles, the silver dagger.
“Expecting something dangerous?” he mused, nodding toward the blade.
“You, apparently.”
His lips curved. “Flattered.”
I ignored him, lifting the intricately carved blade, and twirling it between my fingers .
“Forgive my ignorance,” he said smoothly. “But how exactly would a knife work on a ghost?”
I smiled at him. “It’s enchanted, meant for protection against evil. If I were to stab you with it, it would send your soul to hades.”
“But I intend you no harm,” he countered with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
I rolled my eyes, returning the blade to the table before reaching for the planchette, but before I could set my hands on it again, Lucien leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table.
“Tell me, necromancer,” he murmured, his voice like warm honey, “what exactly were you hoping to find tonight?”
I hesitated. The air between us felt charged, like a storm waiting to break. “Answers,” I admitted.
“About what?”
I met his gaze. “About this castle. About the spirits trapped here.” I paused. “About you.”
He tsked softly. “Digging into my past already? You must be very interested in me.”
I ignored the heat creeping up my neck. “I just want to know how to break your curse and complete my job here.”
Lucien leaned back, looking almost smug. “And what have you figured out so far?”
I studied him. He was too real, too solid to be a ghost. And yet, he wasn’t quite… alive. Somehow he existed in the space between life and death, bound to something even he didn’t understand.
“Nothing yet. You’re cursed,” I said simply, repeating what we already knew. “And you have no memory of why.”
His smirk faltered for the briefest second before he recovered. “So it would seem.”
I sighed, placing my fingers on the planchette. “If you’re not going to be helpful, you can leave.”
Lucien arched his brow. “Are you banishing me, necromancer?”
“I’m asking you to go away,” I said dryly. “There’s a difference.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.” But he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he watched me. “You really think you can cleanse this place?”
I met his gaze evenly. “Yes.”
Lucien’s smirk softened, just slightly, into something unreadable. “Then I suppose I’ll have to stick around and see if you succeed.”
I let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fine,” I muttered. “If you’re going to stay, you can help.”
Lucien smirked. “Oh? Am I to be your apprentice now? ”
“Hardly.” I straightened, placing my hands palm-up on the table. “Give me your hands.”
His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his dark eyes, but he obeyed. His fingers slid into mine, warm and solid… too solid. A shiver crawled up my spine, but I ignored it.
“Stay still,” I instructed.
“I do love a woman who takes charge,” he murmured.
I shot him a glare before closing my eyes, focusing.
I inhaled deeply, drawing my magic forward.
A familiar tingling sensation began at my fingertips, spreading outward like ripples in water.
I shifted my fingers slightly beneath his, feeling an odd pull as if my magic was curiously…
and annoyingly… drawn to him instead of the task I was trying to achieve.
I concentrated harder. The room around us faded, the candlelight dimming as the world shifted.
And then…
A jolt. A sudden, violent pull.
I gasped as something dragged me under. The world around me changed—hazy and indistinct, like looking through fogged glass. Yet I felt the castle around me, its presence familiar, unmoving.
Then I saw him .
Lucien. But not as he was now. He was alive.
Dressed in dark, fine clothing, he stood in a grand study, his posture rigid with tension. His hands were braced against an ornate desk, his expression unreadable, but his eyes, those same dark, piercing eyes, were stormy with emotion.
He was speaking to someone.
I strained to see, to make out the other figure, but the vision was fragmented, shrouded in mist. The voice of the unseen figure was muffled, distorted, as though the memory itself was resisting me.
Lucien’s jaw tightened. He said something, his voice sharp, edged with emotion.
Then…
“Mia.” The voice calling my name wasn’t from the vision. It was close, urgent.
Suddenly, the fog shattered. I lurched forward, gasping as I was ripped back into the present.
Lucien was gripping my hands tightly, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Mia,” he said again, this time softer, searching my face. “What just happened?”
I stared at him, disoriented, my pulse pounding in my ears. My visions had always been controlled, intentional. But this… this had pulled me in. It had forced itself into my mind.
“I…” I swallowed, trying to steady my breath. “I saw you. ”
His brows drew together. “Me?”
I nodded. “When you were alive. You were in a study, speaking to someone, but I couldn’t see who it was. It was like… like the memory was fractured.”
Lucien’s grip on my hands tightened slightly. “Has that ever happened before?”
“No,” I admitted, shaking my head. “Not like that.”
A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Curiosity? Unease? It was gone too quickly for me to decipher.
Silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken questions.
Finally, Lucien leaned back slightly, his smirk returning, though it was tempered by something more thoughtful. “Seems I really am quite the mystery, aren’t I?”
I exhaled sharply, pulling my hands from his grasp. “That’s one way to put it.”
I could still feel the remnants of the vision clinging to my mind, like smoke from a snuffed-out candle.
Lucien’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something more serious as he studied me. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice lower now, more careful.
I straightened, rolling my shoulders back. The last thing I needed was his concern. “Of course,” I said lightly, waving a hand. “That was just… unexpected.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he didn’t believe me, but he let it go when I turned the conversation elsewhere. An idea had formed, and I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.
“You’re not exactly a ghost,” I said, watching him carefully. “But what about the other spirits in this castle? Can you see them? Speak to them?”
Lucien leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest as he glanced around us. “I can see them,” he admitted. “Though most of them are nothing more than flickering shadows.”
“Shadows,” I repeated, intrigued.
He inclined his head, motioning around the room. “They linger at the edges of my vision, watching. But they haven’t spoken to me, if that’s what you’re after.” A lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps they find me intimidating.”