Radiance (Riley Bloom #1)(27)

“Okay,” I said, my voice hoarse, nearly a whisper. “But at least let me try, please. I’m eager to learn as much as I can.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching my face before he nodded in consent. And the second he opened the door I heard it.

In fact, all of us heard it.

Including Buttercup.

This low, awful, moaning/wailing type sound.

The sound of despair.

The sound of someone so lost in their grieving, they could no longer function, no longer do anything but emit a noise that rang of nothing but death.

It was continuous. Unceasing. Going on and on and on in a way that felt like forever.

In a way that definitely gave me the creeps.

Bodhi looked at me and I at him, our gaze holding for a moment before he slipped right in front of me and climbed the set of steep narrow steps, as Buttercup and I trudged up behind him.

And when we got to the top, I saw her. Though I have to admit it actually took me a moment to really focus and zoom in to just exactly where the noise was coming from. Because even though it probably sounds weird, it was like she was so old, so gray, so faded, and so washed out, she practically blended right into those old, gray, faded, and washed-out walls.

Like she’d been in that room for so long, she’d started to resemble it.

To become a part of it.

Like a solid piece of heavy old furniture that’s never been moved from its place.

I slunk back, clinging to the farthest wall as Bodhi approached her. Knowing that if I’d still been alive I’d be holding my breath in absolute horror, terrified to think of what might come next.

But, as it was, I was frozen in place. The bundle of energy that normally comprised the new, dead, ghostly version of me had come to a screeching halt as I hovered in place, with Buttercup crouched down beside me.

But no matter how close Bodhi crept, the woman remained totally and completely oblivious of his presence, unaware that we’d even entered the room.

She stood there, pressed up against the wall in a way so close, so seamless, it was like she was part of it. Appearing small and trim, her back curved as her narrow shoulders hunched forward, rising occasionally when a spasm of fresh tears overtook her, then dropping back again, falling well below the usual place. Her long cotton dress clinging to her in a series of unflattering, soaking wet clumps, everything about her so bland, so lackluster, so nondescript, the only thing that stood out, the only thing of any color was her hair. It was long, wavy, and dark, swept up into a careless bun that was barely held together by two pearl-tipped pins.

The three of us watched as she continued to stand there, peering out of a small, square window, grieving over something none of us could fathom, much less see.

Listening as the wailing continued, refusing to let up for even a second. It just went on and on and on, the sound of it so heartbreaking, so disconcerting, so disturbing, so discombobulating, even Buttercup sank all the way down to his belly, rested his chin flat against the old stone floor, and placed a paw over each ear in a desperate attempt to avoid it.

And honestly, the second I saw that, I came this close to doing the same. Stopped only by Bodhi glancing over his shoulder, checking to see how we were doing, and not wanting him to know how completely freaked out and disturbed I was, I just waved my hand in the air, fluttering my fingers in a way that meant for him to not mind us, to just continue his business. Knowing that the sooner he got down to it, the sooner we could clear out of this small, stone, practically airless prison of sorts.

Only a handful of seconds in her presence and my Rapunzel fantasy was over, not to mention my previous fascination with castles and turrets and anything else of the sort. It was awful, small, dark, dingy, and damp and completely claustrophobic even for those of us that no longer breathed, and I couldn’t even begin to see why anyone would choose to spend even a portion of their afterlife in such a horrible place, much less camp out here for hundreds of years.

The reasoning of some ghosts was beyond me.

Some of them just didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

Bodhi spoke to her, calling to her softly, quietly, and though I couldn’t exactly make out the words, it was clear he was trying to steal her attention, gain her trust, and convince her to turn around and face him. He even went so far as to remove those ridiculous glasses he wears, and place them in his inside pocket. Though I wasn’t sure if it was so he could better see her, or so she could better see him—if she ever decided to turn around, that is.

Still, even though he looked a gazillion times better without them, the act alone pretty much amounting to one giant step away from total geekdom and one baby step toward, well, the opposite of geekdom—in the end, it’s not like it made the slightest bit of difference, or at least not to her anyway.

She remained right there in place, rooted to her post. Still crying, still staring out the small, square window.

Oblivious.

Uninterested.

So lost in her grief, she had no idea she had company.

And watching her carrying on like that, well, I couldn’t help but wonder if she ever got tired of it.

If she ever just stopped for a few minutes, and took a little break to at least wipe her eyes or blow her nose before she started up again.

Only to find out that she did.

And that the wailing would soon be replaced with something much worse.





19


She turned.