“Grace!” her brother said in alarm. “Grace, don’t be frightened! It’s only me. It’s me.”

“You’re not real,” Grace said, numb. She forced herself to look up at him.

“I am,” Jesse said, sounding a little offended. “I’m a ghost. You know about ghosts. You weren’t hallucinating that time you saw that fellow drinking blood, either. He was a vampire.”

Grace gave out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “By the Angel,” she said—an expression forbidden in the house, but she could not help herself. “You are real. Only the real Jesse could be so vexing.”

“My apologies. I suppose it’s hard for me to be sensitive to your mourning. Since I’m right here.”

“Yes, but a ghost,” Grace said. She allowed the meaning of this to penetrate her mind and, feeling a bit sharper, allowed herself to look curiously at her brother’s spirit. “Have you been a ghost all this time? Why did you wait so long to come see me?”

Jesse looked grim. “I didn’t. I tried, but—you didn’t hear me. Until now.” He shook his head, puzzled. “Maybe it takes some time for ghosts to return fully. Perhaps there’s paperwork that needs to go through.”

Grace hesitated. “Perhaps,” she said. “Jesse—Mama is up to something. Something secret. I don’t know what it is, but she’s been digging books out of dark corners of the house, and a gentleman came to … assist her with something. Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse said, his voice thoughtful. He reached out and stroked Grace’s hair, almost absentmindedly. She could feel his touch like cobwebs brushing her. She leaned into him, determined to take what comfort her brother could still offer. “I’ll find out, Grace,” he said. “After all, I can come and go as I please in the house now.”

“No chance of waking Mama up, anymore,” Grace said. “Come back soon, Jesse. I miss you.”

When she woke the next morning, she was half convinced that the whole encounter had been a dream, that it was only a trick of her mind, fevered with sorrow. But Jesse came back the next night, and the night after that—and only at night. And finally, on the fifth night, he explained.

“Mother can now see me as well,” he said in an odd, flat tone. “And she is determined to bring me back from the dead.”

Grace felt a surge of conflicting emotions within her. She could understand why her mother would be driven to do so—the thought of Jesse returned whole to her filled her with such intense hope that she could hardly bear it. And yet. “That man who came—was he a necromancer?”

“A warlock versed in dark magic, yes.” Jesse looked grim. “I have been … preserved,” he said, pronouncing the word with distaste. “That is what she hired him to do. There is a glass coffin in the cellar, with my body in it, unchanging, as if I were some sort of—vampire. Around its throat—my throat—is a gold locket that holds my last breath.”

Grace wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disturbed. “So she will have all the time she needs to—to try to bring you back.”

“Yes,” he said. “In the meantime, I remain trapped here, in between life and death, sun and shadow. Haunting the house at night, when I am awake, and vanishing when the sun rises. At sunset, I awake to find I have slept unaware all day in my coffin.” Grace could not imagine how terrifying that must have been, must still be. “Even without necromancy, it is still dark magic that keeps me in this state. It cannot stand like this forever.”

She knew that Jesse was right. And yet a curl of happiness had twisted in her stomach, a guilt-inducing happiness maybe—but having Jesse with her, even only at night, was so much better than being alone forever. Alone with her mother, in a dark, cold house.

7

TREAD LIGHTLY

Faintly I met the shock of circling forms

Linked each to other, Fashion’s galley-slaves,

Dream-wondering, like an unaccustomed ghost

That starts, surprised, to stumble over graves.

For graves were ’neath my feet, whose placid masks

Smiled out upon my folly mournfully,

While all the host of the departed said,

“Tread lightly—thou art ashes, even as we.”

—Julia Ward Howe, “My Last Dance”

The sight of Anna was a pleasant hurt in Ariadne’s chest.

Pleasant, because Anna had only grown more beautiful since the first time Ariadne had seen her, when she’d been all long dark hair, ill-fitting dresses, flaming blue eyes, and terrifying scowls. Now her beauty shone through how at home in her skin she was—the scowls were gone, her lips curved red and smiling as she took a sip from her glass of champagne.

And hurt, because Ariadne could not touch her. Anna was a fortress surrounded by her friends: tall, handsome Thomas; Christopher, who shared his sister’s stern delicacy of features; peacock Matthew, who always looked as if he’d just rolled out of an unmade bed piled with silks and velvet. If James and Cordelia hadn’t been waltzing on the dance floor—Cordelia looking lush as a flower in a dress Ariadne was sure had been Anna’s suggestion—she was positive they’d have been surrounding Anna too.

The group eyed Ariadne suspiciously as she approached Anna. Anna didn’t seem to see her at all; she was leaning against the wall, one booted foot up behind her. She was all lean black-and-white lines, her close-fitting jacket following the outline of her slim curves, her head thrown back as she laughed. Her ruby pendant, which Ariadne knew was sensitive to demonic energies, glimmered in the hollow of her throat.

“Hello, Anna,” Ariadne said.

Anna flicked a lazy glance in her direction. “Miss Bridgestock.”

Ariadne raised her chin. She was wearing her newest dress—a midnight-blue confection with matching ribbon strung through her hair. The color of Anna’s eyes. She knew Anna would take note. “Would you honor me with this dance?”

Anna sighed and gestured to her cohort: they scattered just enough distance to give Anna and Ariadne some space. “Once more unto the breach, eh?” Matthew said in a low voice as he passed Ariadne, and dropped a wink.

“Ariadne,” Anna said. “Do you really mean to dance with me? Here, in front of all these people?”

Ariadne hesitated for a moment. She’d waited until her parents had gone into the withdrawing room, but still, plenty of her family’s friends were here and watching. The Rosewains, the Wentworths, Lilian Highsmith with her sharp old eyes …

It didn’t matter. She firmed up her jaw. All that mattered was Anna.

But Anna was already looking at her skeptically, having noticed her hesitation. “Of course not,” Anna said. “Nothing’s really changed with you, Ari, has it? How many times are you going to ask me to dance when you know there’s no point?”

Ariadne crossed her arms over her chest. “A thousand times,” she said. “Infinity times.”

Anna set her glass of champagne down on a windowsill. “This is ridiculous,” she said, and Ariadne saw with surprise that her eyes were blazing. “Come on, then.”

Picking up her heavy skirts, Ariadne followed Anna through a pair of sliding pocket doors into a deserted dining room. White cloths covered the furniture. Anna continued confidently down the length of the room, opening a narrow door and disappearing through it.