Chapter 30
An emptiness crept through her chest as she watched Gabriel walk away from her. Her mind spun, trying to make sense of his words.
If I ever loved you…
What did that mean? Did he love her and he was too afraid to admit it? Too afraid to tell her because he was terrified of Lenore’s wrath? Because surely the ghost woman was lurking somewhere. Listening. Waiting for another opportunity to attack.
Victoria wanted to shout for him to come back, to demand he tell her what he meant. If he loved her, he should let her go? Was that it?
If he let her go, did that mean she had to leave this place and never return? He was bound here. He could not leave. Would he spend the rest of his days hiding from her? From what they could have been because he was more loyal to Lenore than to her, a living breathing human?
No, that was ridiculous. He wasn’t loyal to Lenore. If anything, he preferred to avoid her and keep her quiet than tempt her wrath.
Everything in her mind shouted that Gabriel did love her. He had shielded her during her youth. Even now, as a grown woman, he protected her from the malevolent forces that lingered through the corridors.
She remained there a moment, trying to get her emotions under control. Trying to stop her mind from spiraling out of control.
It all felt so overwhelming. So soul crushing. She had no answers. No way to break the curse. No way to release him from his torment to give him the freedom to love her as she loved him. And that was all she wanted to do. That and to live in peace in her house.
Her house.
The words clanged in her head.
Yes, this was her house. No longer Lenore’s. Her presence should be gone from this place. Not stalking the halls. Not tormenting Gabriel. Not trying to terrify her into leaving.
With renewed fury and determination, she shoved up from the table. Her ankle throbbed, but she ignored it as she snatched up her father’s journal and hobbled from the room.
At the door, she had to take a pause to catch her breath and close her eyes, steeling her nerves against the pain flaring through her ankle.
She could do this.
She would do this.
Gritting her teeth, she made her way to the study, thinking of her father’s desk and all the books. It was slow going. When she finally arrived, sweat beaded her forehead and trickled down her back.
The room was cast in gloomy shadows.
She was tired of gloomy shadows and cobwebs and dust. She vowed to reclaim what was hers. Her birthright. And she was no longer going to allow Lenore to control her.
She moved into the room and halted at her father’s desk, her fingers trailing along the shiny surface. The parchment and inkwell were still where she left them when she scribbled the frantic letter to her uncle. The desperation pounding through her when she did that was no longer there.
Victoria placed the journal on the top of the desk. Then she turned her attention to the bookshelves lining the walls. Faint light filtered through the window. She lit the candles around the room, trying to give it more of a cheerful glow. But even that was not enough to cheer this room.
Favoring her injury, she headed to the bookshelf to examine the titles.
Most were novels. Nothing more than fantastical tales.
A few missing spaces between books made her smile.
Those must be Gabriel’s favorites. One tattered oversized volume sticking out from the shelf caught her eye.
She pulled it off and opened the dark gray cover to the first yellowed page.
The title was written in an archaic hand in a language she didn’t understand.
She moved back to the desk where she placed it on the top and sat.
As she flipped through the aged pages, she saw drawings.
A raven with words written under it she could not understand.
A curved knife like the one in the room with the altar.
She flipped another page and froze, her heart clawing its way to her throat.
This page had pale brown circles. Drops of blood splatter.
It was like the book in the altar room.
She slammed it closed and sat back, her heart racing.
Was this the book from the altar room? If it was, how did it get here?
She clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking.
Footsteps in the hall made her spine stiffen. Then his voice—low, familiar. “Victoria?”
“In here,” she managed.
He appeared in the doorway, the candlelight behind him throwing his face into shadow. For a moment, he didn’t move, as if crossing the threshold itself took all his strength.
“I came to apologize,” he said at last. His voice was rough, as though the words cost him dearly.
Her brows knit. “For what?”
He shifted, gaze darting briefly toward the closed book on the desk before returning to her. “For…before.” Guilt flickered across his face, sharp and raw, before he stepped inside.
He meant before in the dining room. When he practically confessed his feelings for her and then left her there bereft in a sea of her own emotions. Emotions that were on the brink of spiraling. Emotions she somehow managed to rein in before she cracked.
Uncertainty swept through her as she peered at him from her chair. He lingered in the doorway, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp edges of his features.
“Before?”
He pursed his lips, then ran a hand through his hair. “For wanting what I should not.”
“Gabriel,” she said, slowly, quietly. “My feelings for you have certainly changed since I arrived here. I sense the same from you. But if you’re not ready, that’s perfectly fine, too. I’m not leaving this house.”
He shifted then, clearly relieved. Before he replied, she forged on.
“This is, after all, my house, now. Not Lenore’s. It’s time for me to take it back.”
Gabriel’s brows winged upward as he walked deeper into the room. “You found something?”
She motioned to the book. “I think this the book from the…” Her breath hitched. She swallowed hard. “…the room.”
He walked to the desk, pausing at the side and leaned down to look at the hefty tome. When he did, she caught the scent of him. That earthy, smokey scent mingling with cedar and old leather.
“Where did this come from?” he asked. “It is the book from the room.”
“I’m not sure. It was on the shelf over there.” She pointed to the bookshelf. “As if it was waiting for one of us to find it.”
She flipped a few pages. The same strange symbols and writing were on each page.
But when she got to the middle of the book, she halted.
A folded piece of parchment was in the center as though the owner left it there and forgot about it.
She glanced up at him. His gaze met hers and they exchanged the same look of curiosity.
With a shaking hand, she picked it up and unfolded it. Instantly, she recognized her father’s handwriting. Her gut clenched into a tight knot as she read it.
The widow’s spirit clings because her grief was not buried with her body.
She seeks what was taken from her. To sever her hold, the knife must be anointed with living blood, spilled upon the altar.
Three times the banishing chant must be spoken, and the flames must not go out.
Should the flame die, the soul of the speaker will be forfeit. This I have learned too late.
“What is it?” he asked.
She handed it to him. Gabriel’s eyes scanned the paper once, twice. As if reading it again and again would change the words. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he lowered the page with a shaking hand.
“No,” he said.
“It’s the only way.”
He crushed the note in his fist, his knuckles leeching of color. “Don’t you understand what this means? It’s a trap. Your father must have realized it and wrote the note too late. He saw what it required.”
“I know what it requires.” She sounded far more calm than she felt.
“Blood.” His gaze locked on hers, sharp with desperation. “Your blood. It wants you bound to her in exchange. If the flame dies—if anything goes wrong—it will claim you. Do you understand? You won’t be released. You’ll be trapped here. Just like her.”
“What she wants doesn’t matter anymore,” she snapped, her voice stern and hard. “I will not allow her to continue to control me. Or you.”
His shoulders slumped, defeated. Then he dropped the rumpled paper back onto the book. He kneeled next to her chair, reaching for her hands and taking them in his. He squeezed them tight, then kissed her fingertips. Soft and light.
“No, Victoria.” The words were soft, pleading. “I forbid it.”
Her heart tightened in her chest. “We have to at least try. It’s the only way.”
As she said it, the house groaned and sighed in agreement. It, too, knew it was time to banish the spirit that stalked through the halls of Ravenfell.
“I would rather endure Lenore’s wrath for a hundred more years than watch you take her place. I don’t want to lose you. Not like that.”
His words gutted her. It was enough of a profession of love. She tugged her hands from his and placed them on his cheeks, turning his face up to meet hers. In his eyes, she saw the fear burning there and something else. Something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge but deeply felt.
Love.
He loved her.
And he feared if he allowed her to go through with the ritual a second time, he would lose her to the spirit world like Lenore. Or, worse, she’d free him and become tethered herself to the manor.
“You won’t,” she said.
The words sounded more sure than she felt. Her stomach had clenched into a tight knot at the thought of what she had to do, what was at stake.
“You don’t know that,” he said, his eyes still imploring her.
“I don’t,” she agreed. “But I have you. And you’ll promise me that if anything goes wrong, you’ll do what is necessary to keep me from becoming like her.”
Even as she said it, her voice soft, the candles flickered as though a violent wind had torn through the room. She dropped her hands into her lap and gazed about the room. He got to his feet, his hands clenched at his sides, ready to fight back.
But it was difficult to fight something unseen.
“Victoria—”
“Promise me,” she insisted.
She wasn’t certain he’d agree. His body was rigid, his muscles tense. His expression unreadable. Fatigue lined his face. Dark shadows smudged under his eyes. He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek.
“I promise.”
A sudden swish of air hissed along the corridor outside the door, sharp enough to snuff a breath. Both their heads snapped toward the sound.
The shadows rippled—moving against the grain of the candlelight. Something rushed past the doorway, swift and shapeless, dragging with it a child’s broken whimper.
Lily.
The flames shuddered violently, bending low as though bowing to some unseen force. The air grew colder, heavy with the metallic tang of dread. The house shifted, creaking with an unnatural sound.
He shot to his feet. She gasped, the sound snagging in her throat, and stumbled upright, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears.
“Something is happening,” she said. “The house…”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I thought we’d have more time to plan.”
The walls shuddered around them. And that low laugh echoed through the abandoned halls upstairs.
“But we don’t, do we?”
She flipped the large book closed and picked it up. They exchanged a look, both knowing the time had arrived. Gabriel gripped her by the arm and helped her hobble toward the door.
It was now or never.