"Benedict…" awhisper hissed over his shoulder. He spun toward it, blinking at the emptydining room. Distantly, he heard Lucy, Theodore, and Elysium talking on theirway down the back hall. A door opened and closed, and the house fell quiet.
"Benedict." The voice again.
"Em?" He took two steps toward thecenter of the room. It wasn't like her to play games with him, but Emmelinefollowed her whims, and he would put nothing past her. He waited, hands balledin his pockets, but the quiet hum of a large house was all that met him. The shuffle of shoes upstairs—probably the staff. A tea kettle in the kitchen, whistling through the walls.
He turned to leave and stoppedshort, staring at the wall of family portraits. Every single one of them hadchanged, backs to him, faces hidden. Everyone but Gloria Andrea Lyon. His mother'spainting stared at him, turned fully forward now. She stared at him, and hestared back, horrified that her image might move or speak. His pulse slammedagainst his skin, making his temples throb. The paint grew glossy, bubbling atthe edges before slowly running. The black of her pupils spread into the darkgray of her irises, staining the whites. Darkness welled in her eyes beforefinally spilling over, rolling down her face like thick tears of tar.
Benedict shuddered out abreath, unblinking. The paint rolled in globs, gathering against the frame,dragging the color from her cheeks until he saw the white glint of bonebeneath.
"Benedict."
He jumped and twisted around.
Elysium stood in the doorway,brow pinching. "Are you okay?"
Benedict looked hurriedly backto the wall, the muscles of his arm jumping, ready to point—but all thepaintings were back to the way they had always been. EvenMother's. He coughed and nodded stiffly. Had Emmeline done that? Couldshe? He glanced out the windows at the graveyard again, swallowing hard when hesaw her out there, far from the house, sitting in the grass by the gatheringfamily.
"Are you sure?"Elysium's voice lowered.
Benedict nodded again andhurried out of the dining room and past him, taking long strides through thenarrow hall and out the back door.
Chapter Seven
Benedict had never seenanything like that before. Oh, he had heard about visions and thehallucinations ghosts could cause, and he had faked the experience a hundredtimes, but other than Emmeline, he had never seen anything supernatural exceptfor the occasional levitating object and zombie feline.
His hurried pace only slowedwhen he neared the graveyard. The grass field stood almost as tall as the oldtombstones, kept back from the beds by the groundskeeper. The stones were allsimilar to one another, though material had changed with the times. No angelstatues or heart-shaped marble in the Lyon family graveyard. They knew for afact that their dead did not reside in this yard, that it was a place forbodies and last rights—to reassure the lingering spirit that all was tended toand that they could move on. After today, the yard would be cared for by thegardeners, kept clean and trim, and no one would visit until the next of themdied—probably Uncle Vernon. He was only sixty-two, but a hard life had left himcrooked and tired in a way that left permanent bruises under his eyes.
Luis stood over the freshgave—Mother's. His eyes were rimmed red from crying, and his light hair was amess of curls. He was something of the black sheep in the Lyon family, or, intheir case, the blond sheep. Aside from being fair skinned and lighthaired—contrary to everyone else in the family—he was also prone to rawemotions. Today, he looked like the picture of grief, rumpled and drawn.
Strange, that he was the oneout of place in this yard. Even Uncle Vernon, her ownbrother, had no tears to shed. Had dealing with the dead since childhood madethem callous to their own? Or did they simply not believe in loss because theyknew that souls went someplace else?
Benedict shook the old man'shand, smiling a little when he felt his own grip lacking compared to hisuncle's. Uncle Vernon smiled, too, perhaps thinking the same. Benedict'scousin, Hazel, hurried over, cocking her head to the side. She was the model ofunderstanding today, her light-brown hair braided loosely over one shoulder andwhite, tea-length dress moving in the warm breeze. She was nearing forty andmanaged to look authoritative and innocent at the same time. Benedict had neverfigured out how she did it—though she had mastered it since her early teens.Hazel liked to play matriarch whenever Gloria wasn't looking, bossing the restof them around.
"We're so happy you camehome," she said, sounding very much like the mistress of the estate. Hesupposed she was the eldest Lyon woman now. Maybe that did put her in charge?He doubted it. Not with Elysium governing over them all in the shadow of theirmother. Hazel might lay claim to the estate, with her father to back her up,but she didn't have the natural authority Elysium had. Benedictimagined his brother would even give her reign of the house—like a Pope giving rulership of the land to a King. When the people wantedfood, they would turn to her. But when they wanted their souls saved, they knewwhere to find Elysium.
Rumor had it that Hazel had acouple of kids hidden away someplace. She had never liked the way Mother ranthe house—accusing her of being loveless and neglecting her children. WithGloria gone, would Hazel bring her kids to the family home now that no onewould interfere in her mothering plans? Theodore, Hazel's brother, had met themon holidays but wouldn't let slip their names, how many, or if they were evenher biological kids. When Gloria had pressed for answers a couple of years ago,Hazel had insisted they were the children of
