CHAPTER SIX #2
I scoffed. “Or they know better than to trust you.”
Lucien pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “You truly do wound me, little necromancer.”
I ignored his theatrics, leaning forward slightly. “But you can see them?”
He gave a slow nod as if regretting his admission.
A thrill of possibility ran through me. If the spirits wouldn’t come to me on their own, if they were too afraid or bound to something unseen, perhaps Lucien could draw them out.
“What if you helped me lure them forward?” I suggested .
Lucien arched his brow. “Lure them? Like bait?”
“More like… an invitation,” I corrected. “They won’t come to me, but you might be able to coax them out. Let them know it’s safe.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “You assume I would be a comforting presence.”
“I assume they might recognize you as part of the castle,” I countered. “Maybe they’ll trust you more than they trust me. It’s likely at least some of them know you.”
Lucien exhaled, tilting his head as he regarded me. For a moment, he said nothing, and I wondered if he would refuse.
“Alright,” he said, pushing back from the table. “Shall we go ghost hunting, then?”
I hadn’t expected him to agree so easily, but I wasn’t about to question it. Rising from my chair, I grabbed a candle and straightened my skirts.
As we moved through the dimly lit corridors, the candle in my hand cast long, flickering shadows across the walls.
The castle seemed quieter than usual, as if holding its breath, waiting.
I glanced at Lucien, walking beside me with that same effortless grace, his hands tucked into his waistcoat pockets as if he were merely out for an evening stroll rather than searching for lost souls.
I decided to take advantage of his presence while I had him. “Tell me about the castle,” I said, watching him carefully. “About the other ghosts.”
He gave me a sideways look. “We’ve already discussed this. My memory is rather lacking.”
I exhaled sharply. “Yes, yes, I know that. But surely you remember something.”
Lucien hummed, looking ahead as we stepped through a wide archway into what must have once been a grand ballroom.
The ceiling stretched high above us, domed and painted with intricate frescoes that time had cracked and peeled away.
Faintly, I could almost hear the echo of music, laughter…
remnants of the past clinging to the bones of this place.
His gaze flicked upward, but if it stirred anything in him, he didn’t say.
I changed tactics. “Fine. Then tell me, where did you go this morning? When I turned to look at you, you were gone.”
That seemed to get his attention. He glanced at me, considering, before finally answering. “Back to the painting. Back to the void.”
I frowned. “You mean… you had to go back?”
He nodded. “It’s where I exist.” He paused, watching me closely. “Until you summoned me, I’d been trapped there for… a long time.”
Something in his tone, something raw, buried beneath the usual teasing lilt, made my stomach tighten. I looked at him more carefully now, taking in the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides .
“How long?” I asked softly.
Lucien’s lips parted, but he hesitated, as if reaching for an answer that refused to come. Then, finally, “I don’t know.”
A shiver ran through me. He truly didn’t remember. Not just how he had been cursed, but how long he had been here. Stuck. Alone.
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “That must have been…”
“Dreadfully boring,” he finished with a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I didn’t smile.
“Tell me,” he said, tilting his head. “Why do you care so much?”
His question caught me off guard. I wasn’t sure how to answer. Because it was tragic? Because no one deserved to be trapped between life and death for eternity? Because, despite his arrogance, his smirking, his games… I could see his pain?
I didn’t know.
So instead I said, “Because I want to help you.”
Lucien studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. “How strange you are, witch.”
“Enough about me,” he said, his voice lighter now, almost forced. “Tell me about you. ”
I glanced at him warily. “What about me?”
He raised a dark brow at me, stuffing his hands into his waistcoat pockets again as we walked. “Oh, I don’t know. What drives a young woman to dabble in the dead? Most people spend their lives avoiding ghosts, yet here you are, chasing them down.”
I hesitated. Not because I was unwilling to answer, but because the question itself felt… personal. Which was ridiculous. My life wasn’t a secret. If anything, it was an open book to those who cared to listen. And yet, the way Lucien looked at me, as if he truly wanted to know—it unsettled me.
Still, I answered. “I was born with the ability to sense spirits. Even as a child, I saw things others couldn’t.
At first, I thought I was imagining it, shadows in the corners, hushed voices in empty rooms. But when I realized they were real, that they wanted to be seen, I learned to listen.
And once people discovered what I could do, well…
” I gestured vaguely. “Word spread. Some wanted my help. Others feared me.”
Lucien hummed thoughtfully. “And which did you prefer?”
I blinked at him. “What?”
He grinned, tilting his head. “Did you prefer their gratitude, or their fear?”
The question sent a chill down my spine. Not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I did .
I turned away, pretending to examine a long-forgotten side table as we passed, its wood warped with time. “I don’t care what people think of me,” I said simply.
Lucien let out a low chuckle. “Oh, that is a lie.”
I shot him a glare, but he only grinned wider.
“Tell me more,” he said, his tone turning almost casual. “What is it like? Speaking to the dead?”
I exhaled slowly, as if the question didn’t rattle something loose in my chest. “It depends,” I admitted. “Some spirits are kind, longing for peace. Others are restless, angry. And some… some don’t even realize they’re dead.”
Lucien was silent for a moment. “And me?”
I hesitated. “You are something else entirely.”
He stopped walking then, turning to face me fully. Candlelight flickered over his face, his expression unreadable. “Am I?”
I met his gaze, steady despite the way my pulse quickened. “Yes.”
Lucien held my stare for a long moment before a slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. He didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he began walking again, his voice lighter. “And do you enjoy it?”
“Enjoy what?”
“Being a necromancer.”
I considered the question. Did I? It was the only life I had ever known. But did I enjoy it?
“Yes,” I said at last, and the truth of it settled over me like a weight. “I do.”
Lucien nodded, as if satisfied. “Then I suppose it is fortunate that Ravenspire called you here.”
I frowned. “You make it sound as though the castle itself summoned me.”
His deep voice lowered a fracture. “Didn’t it?”
A shiver ran through me, but I pushed it aside. “You’re deflecting,” I pointed out. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”
Lucien grinned, stepping closer. “Oh, but I enjoy talking about you .”
I rolled my eyes and walked ahead, but my heart was still racing as his laughter echoed down the darkened corridor behind me. He caught up to me easily with a few long strides. “What about your parents? Were they necromancers as well?”
I looked at him, swallowing as I reached numbly for my locket and rubbed the cool metal. The vague memories of my mother resurfaced, leaving a heavy dread in my stomach.
”My father was, but he died when I was little. He was a wonderful man, always smiling and cheerful. ”
He was silent when I said no more and for a moment I thought he would drop the subject at my obvious dismissal.
”And your mother?” He probed further, clearly unwilling to sense my unease.
I squeezed the locket tighter. “My mother was the daughter of a baron. She was…” I sighed, not wanting to share my life or the pain that had consumed a good portion of it, but the words seemed to flow anyway.
“She died when I was five so I don’t remember her.
Then, after my father died, I went to live with his mother.
She was a necromancer too and taught me how to use my abilities. ”
I left out the worst of my story. How my father had summoned my mother back from the dead, his love for her too great to bear the heartache of her death… how she had ultimately come back as something unrecognizable… how she had killed my father…
I swallowed the memory.
Lucien’s teasing demeanor had shifted in an instant. His smirk had faded. He reached out, his fingers just barely grazing my arm as he stopped me.
”I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“Don’t be,” I replied with a smile I didn’t quite feel. “My grandmother was a wonderful woman.”
He frowned, eyes searching mine. He opened his mouth as if he would say something more, but then something stirred. His attention moved down the corridor, his jaw tensing.
I felt it then.
A presence. Heavy. Unseen. The air around us thickened, pressing against my skin like damp wool. My candle wavered in an unseen draft, the flame shrinking as though suffocated by something unseen.
“There’s a man there,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost thoughtful, but there was an edge to it. “And he doesn’t look too friendly.”
I stiffened, shifting my weight, trying to see what he did, but the hall remained empty to my eyes. A ghost, then. One unwilling to show himself to me.
“Can you recognize him?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Lucien shot me a look.
I exhaled, feeling foolish. Of course he wouldn’t. He could barely recall his own name, let alone anyone else who might have once walked these halls.
He studied the space ahead of us. “Stay here,” he said finally. “I’ll try to speak to him.”
Before I could protest, he was already moving forward, his presence strangely solid, the fabric of his dark coat whispering against the silence.
I held my breath, watching as Lucien approached the unseen specter. The moment he stepped further down the corridor, the air around me grew colder, and a faint prickle ran up my spine.
Lucien stopped a few paces ahead. Though I couldn’t see who he was speaking to, I saw him . The tension in his shoulders. The way he tilted his head slightly.
Then, without warning, the candle in my hand guttered violently, the flame extinguishing with a sharp hiss.
The hall plunged into darkness.
The darkness pressed in, thick and suffocating. The air around me turned frigid, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Then, movement.
A scraping sound, low and grating, like nails dragging along stone. My pulse kicked up.
“Lucien?” I called, my voice barely reaching him where he stood.
A sharp crack echoed through the corridor. The floor beneath me shifted. I staggered back, my boots scuffing against the uneven stone. My candle fell from my hand, rolling across the floor as a sudden force shoved me from behind.
I gasped, stumbling forward. Cold fingers, not real fingers but something unseen, something clawing, wrapped around my wrist, yanking me toward the shadows.
A presence swelled before me, oppressive and wrong. It hated me. I could feel it in my bones, a crawling, venomous rage sinking into my very marrow.
A whisper curled against my ear, though I couldn’t make out the words.
And then—I was falling.
A sharp cry ripped from my throat as my feet left the ground. I was pulled backward, something unseen dragging me toward the darkness at the end of the hall. My arms flailed, trying to grasp onto anything, but there was nothing.
Just as my back nearly hit the cold stone floor, something warm caught me.
Strong hands. A solid presence.
Lucien.
I gasped as his arms wrapped around me, stopping my descent in one smooth motion.
He pulled me upright, twisting so that I was behind him in an instant.
The air around us boiled. A low, guttural snarl echoed through the corridor.
The unseen force lashed out, a violent burst of energy rushing toward us.
Lucien turned, pushing me behind him further. He didn’t flinch as the darkness struck, slamming into him like a physical force. For a heartbeat, I thought it might take him, too. That whatever had grabbed me would drag him down just as easily.
The air shuddered. Whatever had attacked me hesitated.
Lucien took a step forward. Another. The unseen force recoiled, the oppressive presence slipping back into the shadows. The pressure lifted. The darkness receded, leaving only the flickering remnants of my spilled candle.
Silence. I swallowed hard, my breath coming fast.
Lucien turned back to me, his expression unreadable. His hands were still clenched into fists at his sides, his stance tense, protective.
I was shaking. I hated that I was shaking.
His gaze swept over me, his dark eyes sharp. “Are you alright?”
I nodded stiffly. I wasn’t sure if I was lying.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his dark hair. Then he looked toward the shadows where the spirit had disappeared.
His voice was low, dangerous. “The man had no face.”
I shivered.