Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(84)

“It’s possible he saw something.” The truth sat on the tip of Signa’s tongue, daring to be spoken aloud. She wanted, very much, to tell Elijah and Marjorie the truth about what was happening. Yet the more people who knew, the more likely the information was to get out. It also wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that they might know more than they were letting on. Too many times Signa’s mind had wandered to Marjorie and the strange situations her governess shouldn’t have been in. Situations that made no sense, no matter how much Signa rearranged the puzzle pieces in her mind.

She needed answers—quickly. Before it was too late.

“I’m just glad this remedy is working,” Signa said. “It’s meant to cure ailments of the stomach, but that was the last of it.” She felt fragile admitting it aloud and hugged herself. They nearly lost Percy tonight. One more incident, and that would be the end of him, Blythe, or whatever other Hawthorne might be targeted next.

“This is no disease, is it?” Elijah said. “This is no coincidence. Someone is targeting my family.”

Elijah was delicate as crystal. Not wanting to give him a reason to shatter, Signa whispered, “Anything is possible.”

Marjorie said nothing as she tucked the blankets around Percy and placed a dampened cloth on his forehead. Worry was etched into every line of her face.

All Signa could think of was Percy’s laughter as they’d danced together during her lessons. How he’d taken to bringing her scones and pastries late in the evening, when he couldn’t sleep or was making himself sick worrying over Grey’s. There was Blythe to think about, too. Blythe, whose laughter Signa wanted to hear more often. She was tired of seeing Blythe struggle—for breath, for comfort, for life.

It was time to put an end to this.

“There’s nothing more I can do for him tonight.” Signa stood, skirts in hand. “He needs rest.”

Elijah nodded. “I’ll find a way to procure more of this medicine,” he promised her. “Marjorie, see if you can find Byron and bring him to me. We might as well see if he knows anything.”

“Of course, sir.” Marjorie’s eyes were glossy as she watched Elijah lean in, his hand trembling as he pressed it gently upon his son’s cheek.

Whoever was behind the poisonings was clever, always one step ahead. Now it was time for Signa to be cleverer.





THIRTY-SIX





THE DRIED BELLADONNA BERRIES FELT LIKE WRINKLED PRUNES AS Signa cupped them delicately in her palms. Still in her gown, she sat cross-legged upon her bed with the window open beside her and the bitter cold pressing against her skin as she recalled her lessons. It wasn’t enough to simply pass through objects. She needed to avoid notice, to befriend the shadows and make herself invisible, just as Death did. With a steadying breath, she focused on her intention—to shed her corporeal form, to join the ghosts of Thorn Grove for just one night—and pressed ten dried berries to her tongue.

Within moments the room around her was spinning. Her temples throbbed, ears ringing as though a pistol had just fired beside her.

Signa? Death’s worried voice cleared a space in her mind and steadied her.

Wherever you are, you don’t need to come, she told him. I’ll be fine. Watch over the others.

When she opened her eyes, she was still in her body, yet it felt lighter. She reached her hand out to the shadows in the corner of the room. They obeyed at once, swirling around her feet and wrapping around her arms, masking her in their darkness.

A thrill of power surged through her blood as the world opened itself for her bidding. Signa moved to inspect herself in the mirror. No face of a ghost peered back at her, for Signa wasn’t like the spirits. She was swathed in shadows, the darkness of the night itself—just like Death.

She’d done it.

You’re not breathing. Death’s voice was hard and icy. Why aren’t you breathing, Signa?

I told you not to worry. With new conviction, she passed through the door to her suite without opening it. I’m going to finally put an end to this.

Signa wasn’t convinced at first that no one could see her, but she willed her invisibility stronger than she’d ever willed anything, and she barely managed to dance out of the way before a maid passed through her. Her hands and feet were bare, and though the shadows protected her, this wasn’t the time to test her fatal touch.

Signa had checked for clues everywhere in Thorn Grove but the bedrooms. She made her way through the rooms one at a time, searching for secrets and lies—anything to fill in the pieces to her incomplete puzzle.

There were ledgers in Warwick’s room, boring leather-bound books filled with notes on what household goods needed restocking and details about each of the servants and their work ethics. When Signa reached for the ledgers, the shadows obeyed her silent command, flipping through the pages for her. She almost laughed, confidence blooming as she called her powers to her and scoured each room. They weren’t much different than the logs she’d already been reading, and she was disappointed to again find no notes on Sylas. There were more ledgers to be searched, but for now there was no choice but to move on.

In one room she found a servant muttering under her breath about curses and ghosts while packing a travel trunk, and in another she found two who were doing everything but worrying over the mysterious disease plaguing the Hawthornes. Cheeks warm, Signa hurried through a wall without looking.