Benedict's head snapped up toglare at the ghost in his cousin's eyes. She had never done anything like thisbefore. She had never possessed anyone. "What's going on with you?"
Theodore took a step back,face still twisted in a bitter scowl.
"Are you doing this, Em? Are you infecting my mother's spirit?"
Theodore took another stepback, tears gathering in his eyes.
"You think I haven't seenhow you rile other ghosts? I see the way you whisper to them before I getthere, before they go violent. If you wanted to hurt me, why not just do ityourself?"
Theodore laughed miserably,tears rolling down his cheeks. "Oh yes, you see me, Benedict. But just me. Maybe the other ghosts aren't even there. Maybeit's just me. Maybe I'm the only ghost and I've been the one trying to kill youall along," Emmeline said.
He was grateful for the wallagainst his back, holding him up when his mind raced. He went through all ofhis memories, searching for the possibility of truth. No. No, she couldn't havebeen the other ghosts. If he could see her, then she couldn't be someplaceelse—his mother had taught him at least that much.
She cried angrily, Theodore'sfists balled and pushing hard into his own sides. His fingers wrapped aroundhis thumbs—the way she did when she was afraid or sad. Maybe—that washow she had said it. Maybe she had done it. She couldn't lie, so theclosest she could get was leading him to the conclusion himself. "Say itthen," Benedict prompted, tears in his own eyes now. "Tell me you'rethe only ghost. Tell me you've been trying to kill me all these years."
Theodore's lips pressed shut.She couldn't say it because it wasn't true.
"I always thought it wasthe pain and anger of the ghosts we met that spilled over onto you. I thoughtit was their temper that affected you when we went out to cleanseproperties…"
Theodore stood still, liftinghis chin high, and Emmeline peered out from his eyes—daring Benedict to realizethe truth.
"It's your anger, isn'tit? It's your anger that makes the other ghosts violent."
Theodore sat down, back intothe chair where he had started. "You wanted to talk to ghosts, so Italked to them for you. You wanted to know their secrets, their pasts, andtheir names—and I gave you everything about them. I helped you push them fromthis world." She put Theodore's hands back on the surface of thetable, palms flat. "You have no right to judge me, Benedict Lyon."Her gaze cut deep into his soul. "And I am not sorry foranything."
Before Benedict could eventhink of a reply, Theodore's head flung back. His mouth opened wide like hemight scream, but he only convulsed before collapsing forward again. Hisforehead whacked the surface of the table, and the dark room went still again.
Seconds later, his cousin wascoughing and sitting upright, rubbing at his head. He started when he sawBenedict there, no memory of him coming into the room—no memory of anythingsince the moment he went into his trance in search of spirits. "Whathappened?"
Benedict slid his hands intohis pants pockets. "Nothing. I heard you talkingto yourself and came in. Jumping the gun on tonight's séance?" He tried tomake his voice sound casual.
Theodore swallowed, fingerspushing his hair back into place, away from his face. He had a red mark on hisforehead from where it had hit the table. "I guess. What was I saying whenyou walked in?"
Anothershrug. "Couldn't tell. But youprobably shouldn't do this again—not after what Mother made that maid do."
Theodore flushed, noddingtightly. "Yeah. Yeah, it was dumb. But AuntGloria wouldn't do that to us." He sounded distant, glancing around theroom as though almost remembering something.
"I'm going to go downstairsto get something to eat," Benedict said, though he couldn't imagine eatinganything right now. "Do you want to come with me?"
Theodore started to nod againbefore he shook himself out of it, standing from his chair. "Give me a fewminutes."
Benedict hesitated, suddenlyafraid his cousin really would try his communing with spirits again—and thistime, it wouldn't be Emmeline who accepted hisinvitation.
Chapter Eleven
Benedict stood in the doorwayof the dining room, staring in but unable to step through. The bodies weregone, and the floor cleaned. Two deputies were outside, taking photos of ashattered window, the body on the ground near the driveway, and the otherlaying in the grass.
"You should have calledus immediately," Sheriff Martin berated Hazel on the other side of theroom. Her deputy, a man in his early twenties who Benedict had never metbefore, sat at the dining table, taking notes.
Elysium had gone through thestory of what happened. And it was a story at this point, no longer thetruth. Their mother had taught them what parts of the truth to use and whatparts to put away when talking to the public. According to Elysium, half thehouse had woken to the sound of an argument. He and Hazel, not Lucy now thatshe was hiding away in her bedroom, had rushed downstairs and out the frontdoor to find the maid, Amelia Jane, with a kitchen knife. Elysium said thewoman had been in tears, screaming and flailing the knife about, and that shehad attacked the footman, John Moreau. When he and Hazel tried to help Mr.Moreau, Miss Jane ran away, back into the house and upstairs.
Hazel took over the story atthat point, claiming to have run up the stairs after the maid, horrified tofind her in the study, stabbing herself with the kitchen knife. When Hazeltried to stop her, she jumped out the window.
Benedict listened to themrepeat the story four times, never missing a step—never forgetting a detail nomatter how the sheriff turned her questions. He wondered how long it had takenthem to move the bodies, to come up with their story, and clean the rest of thehouse. Which one of them had created a blood trail up the stairs? Which one hadthrown Amelia Jane's already broken body out the window?
And whose idea had it been totalk in the dining room, where the murders had actually occurred? Was it acoincidence? Had the sheriff chosen the spot? Or had Hazel and Elysium beenthat cocky?
"We
