Emmeline had at least a dozenpairs of the same black ankle boots in there, boxes on top of boxes, with oneor two shoes set out. Her ghost was barefoot; he supposed that meant she haddied that way. He had asked once why she always picked the same style, andEmmeline had given a little shrug and sigh, "Because I want them."And there had been so much honest want in her voice that he didn't pressanymore. She wanted her shoes, and he didn't have the heart to point out thatshe couldn't wear them no matter how many she bought.
Benedict swung out of thenarrow hall and turned toward the front door, the living room and kitchen stilldark. He opened the door, not sure who he expected, but surprised all the same.
His eldest brother, Elysium,stood in the hallway. His hands were in his pockets, matching jacket unbuttonedand black vest perfectly snug. Benedict did not like how similar their work attirewas. He hadn't realized he was imitating his brother until just now—probablybecause he hadn't actually seen him in four years, not since the last timeElysium swung by to check up on him. But, of course, for Elysium, it wasn'twork attire—he dressed this formally all the time.
Elysium was nearing forty,fit, and teetering between handsome and beautiful. He had a casual authorityabout him, putting anxious people at ease and gently commanding every room hewalked into. He was the golden child of the Lyon family, the heir to thespiritual throne—if there were such a thing.
"I thought you'd still beat the Whittle house," Elysium said, deep voice offering no suggestion ofopinion one way or the other.
Benedict remembered hismanners, plastered on a smile, and took two steps back from the door. "Ididn't know you were on your way or I would have waited. The job wasn't so bigthat I couldn't handle it." He gestured for his brother to enter.
Elysium walked in, casually surveyingthe apartment, as though not to judge it though they both knew he couldn't helphimself. "I never doubted you, Benny. I am just surprised how quickly youmanaged it. And from what Henry said—"
"Henry?"
"Mister Whittle."Elysium ran his dark gaze over Benedict. He had lost points in this inquiry fornot knowing the man's first name, it seemed. "It sounded like quite theghost. I heard you were thrown from a window."
Benedict laughed before hecould stop himself. "Did you come to check on me? You know I had to haveseven stitches after that haunted farm upstate, right?"
Elysium appeared unimpressed."How do you do it?" he persisted instead. "Everyone else has tohave some sort of tact, some charm or clever ploy to get a ghost to give uptheir name. But not you. You're something of asledgehammer, baby brother."
Benedict noticed that Elysiumhadn't turned on any lights or looked for a place to sit, loitering in thefoyer instead. "Oh, I don't know if that's so special. You and Mother havenever been particularly charming or cunning about it. You usually just wear thepoor bastards down. Perhaps bluntness is a family trait."
Elysium stared back at him,surprised for a moment, and then said, "You need to come home for a fewdays."
Benedict blinked. "See, there'sthat family bluntness. Why on earth would I go back to the house?"
"Mother is dead."
Benedict wished they had goneinto the living room and sat down. His mother, Gloria Lyon, had never been awarm person, not as he had known her anyway. She had another life outside ofthe family, he was sure; they all did. But the woman he had known had been allbusiness, all about preparing her children to be honorable examples of thefamily name and history.
"How?" he managedthe only question.
"Lungcancer. It developed quickly. She decided against treatment."
Benedict wanted to be angry.No one had told him, but that was about right. He wasn't sure he would havephoned any of his relations if he had been the one dying.
"The family is gatheringfor the funeral to make sure her soul is at rest," Elysium went on, makingit sound as though it would be a particularly large gathering when, in fact,the family had dwindled down to eight members—now seven. At twenty-eight,Benedict was the youngest of his siblings and cousins.
"Okay," Benedictsaid feebly, not sure what else to ask. He hadn't been a part of a familyfuneral, not really. The last one had been his Aunt Vendean,and he had been four years old. He vaguely remembered a séance in the parlor,but that could have been any other occasion. His family had a habit ofperforming séances. It was there version of watching sports.
Elysium lingered a secondlonger, as though searching for something else to say. Finally, he turnedtoward the door. "I will be returning to the estate at once, but I bookedyou on a flight this evening so that you can pack. I'll send you theinfo."
Benedict rolled his eyesfreely while his brother had his back turned. Elysium was the king ofmicromanaging. He would never leave it up to Benedict to get himself home. Atleast they weren't flying together. "I suppose you'll send a driver topick me up, as well?" he asked, his tone an expert imitation of the otherman's—minus that elusive authority, of course.
Elysium paused in the doorway,glancing back at him with the smallest of smiles. "A car will be waiting,but I assumed you'd rather drive yourself. Why inconvenience a driver with thetrip back from the estate?"
Benedict prickled, irritatedthat his brother managed to know him so well. They weren't close,more than a decade between them and very little other than their disturbingchildhood in common. But Elysium had many tricks, notleast of them was the ability to take measure of the people around him.
"I will see you at home,baby brother," the eldest said before turning
