Haunting Violet
Page 47
“And the closer you get, the more danger you’ll be in,” Colin pointed out.
“But we can’t stop now. Rowena deserves justice, doesn’t she? And what if I’m the only one who can help her?”
“I don’t much care about her. I care about you.”
I felt warm all over when he said that, as if we were sitting in a field in full sunlight. “I can’t leave, Colin.”
“I reckoned you’d say that.” He jerked his hand through his hair. “Mind you don’t forget to carry salt. And you remember that punch I taught you?” I nodded. “Don’t tuck your thumb in or you’ll break it.”
“I don’t think punching ghosts works terribly well.”
“And I don’t think a ghost loosened that chandelier. Or pushed the urn over.”
“I suppose not.” I pulled the spirit-board out of the armoire. Elizabeth had left it behind for me to experiment with but I hadn’t had a chance. “We could investigate the spirit world while we’re at it, though,” I suggested. “Just to be thorough.”
“What the devil’s that?”
“A spirit-board,” I explained. “Elizabeth and I have already used it to speak to Rowena.” I sat on the carpet and placed the planchette in the center of the board, a lock of my hair falling over my arm. Colin reached out to brush it away, holding it between his fingers for a long, silent moment, as if it were something precious. I slid him a glance out of the corner of my eye. He was very close and very serious. I thought he might kiss me again. He sat back and cleared his throat before I could consider kissing him.
“How does it work?” he asked hoarsely, his brogue so thick he sounded as if he were speaking Gaelic.
“You put your fingertips on this piece here and then ask a question. A spirit answers by spelling out words.”
His hands brushed mine. His skin was warm, sending tingles up my arm. I concentrated on the board. It was ridiculous to get all swoony just because Colin was sitting next to me in the half darkness.
“Spirits,” I whispered. For some reason my throat felt hot. “Spirits, speak to us.”
We waited, barely breathing. The planchette stayed still.
“I don’t think it’s working. We must be doing it arseways.”
“Give it a minute,” I chastised him. “Spirits, we listen,” I announced again. “Spirits, speak! Join us here!”
The planchette trembled, like a butterfly pinned to a board. Colin sucked in a breath, cursing. I raised an eyebrow in his direction, as cheekily as I could.
“Yeah, all right,” he muttered.
The planchette didn’t point to any letters, however; instead, it spun in place. We snatched our hands away but it continued to whirl, abandoning any attempt to spell out messages. It moved so quickly it lifted into the air, then stopped abruptly and landed with a thud, denting the board.
A cold wind crackled, fluttering the candlelight. Our breaths turned white, mingling. The spirit of an old woman coalesced over the board, the hem of her tattered gown leaving frost on the carpet. She smiled at me, most of her teeth missing. Then she crouched down to peer into Colin’s face. She wore a towering wig, the kind that was fashionable a hundred years ago. White rats crawled through the curls and moth-eaten ribbons. Hoarfrost clung to Colin’s boots.
“Colin, be careful!”
Too late.
The old woman whirled around him, kicking up a cold wind that had my teeth chattering. She crouched behind Colin, then pushed at him until her knobby hands poked out of his chest. He went so pale he was faintly blue. He clutched at his chest though I knew he couldn’t see the ghostly hands. He shook harshly, fighting the possession. He was strong and clever.
But he was losing.
“Stop it!” I leaped forward. She just clicked her teeth at me. Snow drifted from the ceiling. “Oi!” I hollered, abandoning all of my elocution and diction lessons in a fit of rage. I yanked Colin forward by his shirt and then fished the salt he’d warned me to carry out of my pocket. I dumped some on his head and threw the rest in the old woman’s face. He shook some of it onto his hand and licked it. Once he’d swallowed the salt, the old woman screeched and vanished, rats and all.
Colin gasped for air, his chest moving violently as he knelt on the floor. His hair fell into his eyes.
“You should carry salt in your pockets too,” I said shakily. He took my hand before I could step back and pressed his lips to the backs of my fingers.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I had the urge to kneel down in front of him so we’d be eye to eye, mouth to mouth.
Before I could move, a sound outside the door broke the moment.
Colin dove under the bed. I whirled, making sure I was blocking the spirit-board. The door opened suddenly.
“Violet, what are you doing?” my mother demanded, glancing around suspiciously.
“Practicing for the séance,” I answered blithely.
“Well, do be quiet,” she snapped before marching back to her bedroom. I crossed the carpet to shut the door properly.
Colin poked his head out from under the bed. He was disheveled, in a faded linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Even now, with all the strange new energy between us, he felt like home.
He got to his feet and flipped his hair back. “You’re not safe in this house.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d narrowly escaped great injury in Lord Jasper’s house twice now, and the spirit-board did belong to him. Colin was right. Something wasn’t quite right. I wanted to ask Elizabeth about it, but I knew she’d never think anything but the best of her uncle.
“But we can’t stop now. Rowena deserves justice, doesn’t she? And what if I’m the only one who can help her?”
“I don’t much care about her. I care about you.”
I felt warm all over when he said that, as if we were sitting in a field in full sunlight. “I can’t leave, Colin.”
“I reckoned you’d say that.” He jerked his hand through his hair. “Mind you don’t forget to carry salt. And you remember that punch I taught you?” I nodded. “Don’t tuck your thumb in or you’ll break it.”
“I don’t think punching ghosts works terribly well.”
“And I don’t think a ghost loosened that chandelier. Or pushed the urn over.”
“I suppose not.” I pulled the spirit-board out of the armoire. Elizabeth had left it behind for me to experiment with but I hadn’t had a chance. “We could investigate the spirit world while we’re at it, though,” I suggested. “Just to be thorough.”
“What the devil’s that?”
“A spirit-board,” I explained. “Elizabeth and I have already used it to speak to Rowena.” I sat on the carpet and placed the planchette in the center of the board, a lock of my hair falling over my arm. Colin reached out to brush it away, holding it between his fingers for a long, silent moment, as if it were something precious. I slid him a glance out of the corner of my eye. He was very close and very serious. I thought he might kiss me again. He sat back and cleared his throat before I could consider kissing him.
“How does it work?” he asked hoarsely, his brogue so thick he sounded as if he were speaking Gaelic.
“You put your fingertips on this piece here and then ask a question. A spirit answers by spelling out words.”
His hands brushed mine. His skin was warm, sending tingles up my arm. I concentrated on the board. It was ridiculous to get all swoony just because Colin was sitting next to me in the half darkness.
“Spirits,” I whispered. For some reason my throat felt hot. “Spirits, speak to us.”
We waited, barely breathing. The planchette stayed still.
“I don’t think it’s working. We must be doing it arseways.”
“Give it a minute,” I chastised him. “Spirits, we listen,” I announced again. “Spirits, speak! Join us here!”
The planchette trembled, like a butterfly pinned to a board. Colin sucked in a breath, cursing. I raised an eyebrow in his direction, as cheekily as I could.
“Yeah, all right,” he muttered.
The planchette didn’t point to any letters, however; instead, it spun in place. We snatched our hands away but it continued to whirl, abandoning any attempt to spell out messages. It moved so quickly it lifted into the air, then stopped abruptly and landed with a thud, denting the board.
A cold wind crackled, fluttering the candlelight. Our breaths turned white, mingling. The spirit of an old woman coalesced over the board, the hem of her tattered gown leaving frost on the carpet. She smiled at me, most of her teeth missing. Then she crouched down to peer into Colin’s face. She wore a towering wig, the kind that was fashionable a hundred years ago. White rats crawled through the curls and moth-eaten ribbons. Hoarfrost clung to Colin’s boots.
“Colin, be careful!”
Too late.
The old woman whirled around him, kicking up a cold wind that had my teeth chattering. She crouched behind Colin, then pushed at him until her knobby hands poked out of his chest. He went so pale he was faintly blue. He clutched at his chest though I knew he couldn’t see the ghostly hands. He shook harshly, fighting the possession. He was strong and clever.
But he was losing.
“Stop it!” I leaped forward. She just clicked her teeth at me. Snow drifted from the ceiling. “Oi!” I hollered, abandoning all of my elocution and diction lessons in a fit of rage. I yanked Colin forward by his shirt and then fished the salt he’d warned me to carry out of my pocket. I dumped some on his head and threw the rest in the old woman’s face. He shook some of it onto his hand and licked it. Once he’d swallowed the salt, the old woman screeched and vanished, rats and all.
Colin gasped for air, his chest moving violently as he knelt on the floor. His hair fell into his eyes.
“You should carry salt in your pockets too,” I said shakily. He took my hand before I could step back and pressed his lips to the backs of my fingers.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I had the urge to kneel down in front of him so we’d be eye to eye, mouth to mouth.
Before I could move, a sound outside the door broke the moment.
Colin dove under the bed. I whirled, making sure I was blocking the spirit-board. The door opened suddenly.
“Violet, what are you doing?” my mother demanded, glancing around suspiciously.
“Practicing for the séance,” I answered blithely.
“Well, do be quiet,” she snapped before marching back to her bedroom. I crossed the carpet to shut the door properly.
Colin poked his head out from under the bed. He was disheveled, in a faded linen shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Even now, with all the strange new energy between us, he felt like home.
He got to his feet and flipped his hair back. “You’re not safe in this house.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d narrowly escaped great injury in Lord Jasper’s house twice now, and the spirit-board did belong to him. Colin was right. Something wasn’t quite right. I wanted to ask Elizabeth about it, but I knew she’d never think anything but the best of her uncle.
