Benedict crouched over it,staring at the well of murky water. He reached in with both hands and pulledout the muddy bundle at its depths. He held it for a long while, hearthammering in his chest. He didn't want to open it. He didn't want whatever thisgift was. But he needed it.
He laid it on the grass andplucked at the thick strings used to bind the package. His hands shook.
It was his mother's work. Hehad seen her put the last possessions of the dead to rest before. It was herway of paying respect and offering peace. It was the greatest kindness shecould ever have been bothered to offer, and it was because she knew—knew—thatthere could be real consequences for leaving a spirit unsettled.
He pulled at the fabric cakedin mud and plastered to itself in layers. The rainhelped, washing his hands every time they lifted from the muddy flaps andfinally rinsing off the items exposed. His stomach twisted, threatening toheave.
A pairof women's black boots. They were well worn,the sole of one even had a little hole in it.
Tears ran with the rain downhis cheeks.
He knew these shoes, didn'the? How many times had he bought a pair just like them for Emmeline?
Someone stepped into the edgeof his vision, and he forced his gaze to slide up, a cry choking in his throatwhen he saw her standing there—his Emmeline. His best friend.The love of his life. The rain cut through her, grayskin dewy in sweat and smeared in blood. The front of her dress stuck to herbelly, holes glinting darkest with blood that bloomed outward into macabreflowers, saturating the thin fabric. The rain, here and now, did nothing towash away the blood from long ago. Nothing could wash it away. Nothing couldchange what had been done.
Hecounted the crimson flowers as they grew, appearing one after the other,clustered against her abdomen. Seven. Seven stab wounds.
Her hands were broken, and herwrists bruised from the ropes. One side of her face swelled as he stared ather, an eye pressing closed while the other, vicious in that brilliant green,called for vengeance.
He heard that call now—clear as a bell.
She had been calling to himall these years with those eyes, with that look and the glimpses of silent,haunted misery. Because that was the true darkness of ghosts—not how the livingimagined themselves to be haunted, but that the ghostswere the ones being chased and choked by regret, pain, and rage.
Emmeline's broken lips pulledinto the smallest of tired smiles he had ever witnessed, and his heart crumbledright there in his chest. She stared at the shoes in front of him likelong-lost friends.
And suddenly his ghost wasn'tbarefoot anymore.
After nine years, she hadfound her shoes.
Chapter Fifteen
"Tell me," Benedictsaid to her as they stood in the rain.
Emmeline stared. "Ihave been."
He carried the boots back tothe house. Maybe she couldn't say it with words. Was that why he had been seeingvisions? He knew now, without a doubt, that Emmeline had ignited his mother'sspirit into her current fury. He could feel that anger himself, coiling in hischest, twisting around his heart. He felt Emmeline in a way he never quite hadbefore, but he was certain that it had always been there.
The first days he ever sawher, crouched and sobbing in his bedroom upstairs, her eyes had burned thatelectric green. He had been terrified of her—of the ghastly appearance of herand all her wild emotions. Somehow, he had gotten used to them, put them asideas something normal for a ghost. But what did he know of ghosts? He only knewEmmeline and the stories of others.
Elysium waited for him at theback door. His eyes flickered from the dirty, old boots hanging from Benedict'shand, back up to his face.
"Why are her shoeshere?" Benedict asked the first question he could get out, tears still inhis eyes. He stepped out of the storm and into the house, and Elysium steppedback to give him space.
"Whose?" Elysium asked, the word quiet as though he didn't even want to sayit.
Benedict smiled furiously andput the shoes down on the narrow table along the wall, puddling mud beside avase of silk flowers. "Emmeline," he said her name to his brother forthe first time.
She came to stand beside them,hand hovering over her lost shoes with wonder.
Elysium's eyes widened."How do you know that name?"
"How do you?"he growled.
"Did someone say it toyou? Have you communicated with Mother's spi—"
"I don't communicate withspirits," Benedict cut him off. He had held on to that secret for so long.He had been sure he would keep the truth to himself until the day he died."I only see one. I only hear one."
Elysium gaped."Benny…"
"What happened? How didher shoes end up here? Where is the rest of her?" The last sentence cameout strangled. He felt Emmeline then, her focus on them and her ghost at hisside. Her anger was body heat now, soaking into his arm, spreading through hischest.
"That's not possible. Youcan't see her. You can't. We put her to rest, Benny. We've never seen her—noneof us. Mother would have—"
"I see her." Tearsrolled down his rain-soaked cheeks. "How can you not feel her, Elys?" His fingers twisted in the front of his ownshirt, pushing hard against his chest. "I can feel her heart breaking. Ican feel the knife."
Elysium jerked back, shoulderhitting the wall. His head shook slowly, still trying to resist believing inwhat he himself could not see. "Benny… Ithink Mother has—"
"It has nothing to dowith her now!" Benedict yelled.
"Ask him again," Emmelinepressed. "Ask him where I am. Where's my body?"
"You really seeher?" Elysium whispered, voice trembling in a way Benedict had never heardbefore.
"Yes," he glanced tothe side. Emmeline balled her hands into fists against her waist. "Who didit? Who killed her? Why?" He had so many questions—though none of themseemed to be the ones Emmeline cared about.
A thunder of steps barreleddown the staircase, Theodore chasing Hazel into the foyer down the hall. Theyspilled into their line of sight just as Theo caught his sister by the elbowand jerked her to a
