Chapter 48

Chapter 48

If only I’d cleaned it as I went, this would be so much easier now. Regret wouldn’t clear the mana traces on its own, though.

Most Mythos learned young to tidy every last residual thread of magic. For Rose, whose innate mana capacity was unusually low, it was a habit that never quite stuck.

When I was starved for mana I couldn’t even see these traces, but now…

Some remnants faded with time, but most clung stubbornly to surfaces. They reminded her of the foul, lingering taint Robert Burns had left behind, uncleaned.

Thinking of him only made her mood sink further.

She tried to force the thoughts away, moving deliberately as she worked, when a cautious knock knock came at her door.

“Just a moment!”

Rose quickly finished tidying and opened the door.

Standing outside was a young maid.

“What is it?”

“Miss, my name is Amelie. I’m terribly sorry to intrude, but there’s something important I need to tell you.”

To me? Not Margaret the housekeeper?

As James’s fiancée and a guest, she had no real authority over the staff or household management. She’d kept her door locked most mornings and only showed her face at dinner; there was no chance to form any rapport with the servants.

So for one of them to approach her directly like this was surprising. Rose tilted her head, puzzled.

“It’s really, truly important. Something you need to know.”

The earnest look in the maid’s eyes was too serious to dismiss.

“All right. Come in for now.”

She’d done plenty of “listening sessions” while posing as Olga Blavatsky the necromancer. Letting someone unburden themselves wasn’t hard.

“Have a seat. It’s more comfortable than standing.”

Amelie perched on the plush reception sofa, hands twisting her apron, visibly nervous.

“What did you want to ask me? Don’t worry, speak freely.”

“I’m… a little unsure where to start. Miss, are you aware of the rumors going around the house?”

“Rumors? No.”

“There’s talk that you’re… a witch.”

“A witch…”

Rose’s expression darkened immediately, and Amelie waved her hands in flustered denial.

“I don’t believe it at all! I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Margaret, and she’s going to crack down on the gossip.”

“Mm. I hope it’s handled quickly.”

Witch. A word Logosi had once used to sneer at what they didn’t understand about Mythosi. No one used it that way now, but it was never pleasant to hear.

“The problem is, it’s gotten so bad some people are actually seeing things. Like my coworker Betty.”

“Seeing things?”

“Yes. She claims she saw a ghost in your room. She’s been so terrified she’s been shaking.”

A ghost? That took things beyond mere rumor.

“And… because of that, she’s started seeing someone strange.”

Amelie hesitated, then forced herself to continue.

“A woman named Grace. She calls herself a psychic. Betty says Grace confirmed everything she saw was real. Now she’s clinging to her.”

At last Rose understood exactly why the maid had come.

“You suspect this ‘Grace’ is suspicious. That’s what you really want to tell me.”

“Yes! I’m sure Betty’s being conned. She’s even used up all her vacation time to go see this woman.”

Ah. Rose sighed internally. Another scam artist preying on vulnerable people. She knew the type all too well from her own necromancer act—a bit of entertainment was one thing, but there were always those who crossed the line, draining their clients dry.

“You’re the most famous necromancer in Romberton. I thought… if anyone could expose Grace’s lies, it would be you.”

“Hmm. That’s tricky.”

Rose rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

“I’ve never even heard of this Grace. I can’t just declare her a fraud without meeting her. Besides, it’s almost impossible to convince someone who wants to believe.”

“Oh…”

“It’s not really something I can help with.”

It was true. Breaking someone out of such delusions was nearly impossible. Telling someone their faith was a lie was like telling them their own self was a lie. They’d fight to the end to defend it—morality and laws be damned.

Right. That’s exactly why James said these religious groups are dangerous.

Thinking of their argument made her mouth go dry.

Seeing Rose’s pensive expression, Amelie slumped.

“I see. Thank you for listening, at least.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

She watched the maid stand, disappointed but resigned. Rose’s own frustration twisted in her chest. She wanted to help, but there just wasn’t a clean answer.

As Amelie reached the door, Rose suddenly called out.

“Wait. Amelie, one question.”

She caught the girl’s sleeve.

“Do you know exactly what Betty claims she saw in my room?”

Darkness lay thick over Romberton’s Freehen Street in the middle of the night.

The wavering glow of gas lamps lit the empty road like ghostly lanterns.

It was the hour when everyone should have been deep asleep. Despite the summer warmth, the shadow of a woman pulled her hood low over her face and slipped quickly into a side alley.

She arrived at a cluster of drab public housing. Identical facades crammed close together, yet she navigated with unerring purpose to one particular door and pressed the bell.

Almost at once the door swung open to reveal a voluptuous woman with striking red curls and heavily made-up eyes.

“Come in, Betty.”

“Miss Grace, I’m sorry. I know I’m really late.”

“Nonsense. You’re my soul’s friend, Betty. I’d wait forever for you.”

After finishing a full day at the Dautryche manor, sneaking out of the servants’ quarters, Betty had come straight to this abandoned building where Grace the psychic awaited her.

“Besides, tonight’s important, isn’t it?”

Betty nodded shyly at Grace’s words.

The narrow entrance opened into a large room devoid of any furniture save for a bare old wooden floor marked with intricate symbols.

Candles placed throughout cast flickering light, throwing their silhouettes in uneasy motion on peeling wallpaper.

It was the very picture of something sinister, yet Betty didn’t even flinch. She looked perfectly at home.

“How was your day?”

“Complicated. A coworker switched shifts with me so I could finally avoid cleaning the young lady’s room, but then…”

Betty’s face twisted, voice quivering in complaint.

“She actually called me in to speak with her separately. I nearly fainted!”

“Hmm. I see. What did she want?”

“She asked me what the ghost looked like. And about you, too.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“She asked about me?”

“So I told her about the ghost we both saw under Linden Bridge, and how you banished it for me.”

Betty fell silent, watching Grace’s thoughtful expression grow tense, anxiety rising in her chest.

“Was I not supposed to tell anyone?”

“Hmm, no. It’s all right. Your mistress is supposed to be Romberton’s top necromancer, isn’t she?”

“She is… but it seems like she can’t see ghosts at all. Is she… is she a fraud? Did the master get tricked?”

Betty wrung her hands, as agitated as if it were her own betrayal. Grace’s smile turned soothing and warm.

“Maybe she is. Maybe she isn’t. Don’t worry about it. None of that matters tonight.”

“But…”

Grace pulled Betty into a tight hug, whispering softly.

“You’re more important than some suspicious young lady, Betty.”

“Miss Grace…”

Tears welled in Betty’s eyes at the gentle words, her heart overcome.

“Come on. Step into the circle. We’re going to begin.”

“Okay!”

Betty carefully found the circular shape drawn among the tangled symbols on the floor and stood straight within it.

“Just close your eyes like last time.”

“All right.”

Hands clasped in prayer, Betty squeezed her eyes shut.

“Tonight you’ll finally be free of the ghost’s influence. You won’t see or feel any more spirits. No evil energy will ever touch you again.”

As Betty’s expression filled with hope, Grace’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.