For that he needed Ysabelle, and there was no time to waste. The sun was just rising over the glittering bayou as he ruthlessly kicked his horse toward her house. The steady beat of its hooves marked out the next steps in Elijah’s mind, and he repeated the list to himself as they raced.
The spell to speak with Hugo’s ghost shouldn’t take long at all, not once Ysabelle had the grimoire in her hand. There was a protection spell in that book as well, and it was a powerful one. As soon as she saw that Hugo’s house truly belonged to Elijah, he would throw her on the back of his horse and race her to the property, so that she could make it into a fortress. Something told him that any moment now, one or both of his siblings was going to need a stronghold.
Ysabelle’s door opened before he could knock. She was ready for him. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled into a braid that coiled neatly around her hairline, and her cream-colored gown highlighted her elegant collarbones and chest.
“Are you in more of a hurry than before?” she remarked lightly, taking in his windblown appearance with a deliberately searching glance.
“I feel a new urgency this morning,” he agreed, wishing he could simply drag her from her house. But she was safe from even his lightest touch until she chose to step across her threshold, and so he would just have to remember to be courteous. “I took time to read the spell and gather what you would need,” he said.
Her lips pursed together, “I liked you better when you were a supplicant,” she snipped. “But very well. If you have all that is needed, we can begin.” She stepped out and meaningfully closed the door behind her. No matter how closely interwoven their interests became, he knew that he would never be welcome inside her home. At the very least he could prove to her that he wasn’t a liar, no matter what else he might be.
Elijah opened the grimoire to the correct page, setting it carefully in the forked stump of one of the scrubby trees in front of the house. As if they had worked together before, he and Ysabelle arranged the spell quickly and efficiently. Contrary to his assumptions, it was no simple thing, and Ysabelle’s inexperience with this type of power was evident. He never thought he’d miss the more powerful witches of Europe, but he did.
By midmorning they were ready, and she took her place in the center of the circle they had drawn in her front garden. Elijah stepped back, not wanting his presence to interfere. Ysabelle sat quietly, with her wrists resting loosely on her knees and her brown eyes closed, for what felt like a year. He was sure that the sun moved to its zenith during the time she struggled to master the forces at play within her circle. Clouds covered the sun, and the meadow darkened—taking on the feeling of twilight. The birds stopped chirping, and everything was still.
Then, from one instant to the next, Hugo appeared between them.
Elijah jumped back in surprise, then stepped forward, eager to see the ghost’s face clearly. He could hardly believe it, but it had worked. His human friend stood in the shallow iron bowl at the circle’s center.
“Well met, spirit,” Ysabelle murmured, so low that Elijah barely heard her. “I am sorry to trouble your rest, but you guard truths I need to know. Will you help?”
Hugo’s clever blue eyes found Elijah before he answered. He looked much younger than Elijah remembered him, closer to thirty than seventy. It made sense, he supposed, that a person would not be forced to spend eternity exactly as they had died...unless that person became a vampire. “Witch,” Hugo said pleasantly enough for someone who had just been dragged out of eternal rest, “what is it that you want of me?”
Ysabelle’s eyes flicked sideways toward Elijah, then back to Hugo. “This—Elijah has come to me with the deed to your former house,” she explained, sidestepping whatever word she might have chosen to describe him. “He wishes me to place a protection spell around the land, but I have doubts about how he acquired it....I cannot allow a murderer to profit from his crime,” she clarified when Hugo did not immediately respond.
“There has been no murder,” Hugo responded, and Elijah marveled to see an echo of the old man he had known in the young one who stood before him. “I knew death was near, and I decided to make it count for something. When that boy there arrived on my land”—he gestured at Elijah, who raised an amused eyebrow at his choice of words—“I saw a chance to do just that.”
“You expected to die that very night?” Ysabelle’s face was troubled, and her gaze flickered between Hugo and Elijah as if she was not fully satisfied.
Hugo’s answering smile was genuine. He seemed to be enjoying some private joke of his own. “I certainly did,” he agreed. “Predictability is one of the benefits of taking matters into your own hands. Or your own mug, as the case may be.”
Elijah’s head spun, and then he realized what Hugo must have done. “You drugged the liquor?” he asked in surprise.
“I was finished.” Hugo shrugged. The sunlight glowed in the grass around his feet, but to Elijah it looked like Hugo was standing in a different light entirely. “I have given too many years to my conflict with the Navarros. With you, I saw a chance to vex them one last time.” He smiled gently at Elijah. “It turned out to be a peaceful enough way to go—far more peaceful than the other opportunities I’ve had over the years.”
“What quarrel did you have with the Navarros?” Ysabelle asked curiously. Her original question had been answered, but Elijah welcomed the opportunity to speak with Hugo a bit longer. It was becoming clear that he hadn’t known his benefactor at all.
“For someone without supernatural power, I made them unusually angry,” the ghost said. “I was once privy to their secrets, and they liked my pipeline to gunpowder, crossbows—I was an arms smuggler. But my business needed to expand. And the convenient thing about a war, for those who deal in weapons, is that there are at least two sides.”
“Hugo Rey.” Ysabelle frowned. “That name sounds familiar now.”
“It should,” he confirmed, looking quite pleased that she had finally recognized him. “I set up a side business dealing with your lot—even importing wolfsbane thanks to the high demand. The Navarros were less than pleased when they found out.” He looked pensive for a moment, then shrugged. “I was their only reliable source for arms, so they had to let me live, but I knew too much—was living on the knife’s edge. And from the sound of it, peace has come to my fair city, and I realized my era was over. I wasn’t going to be safe for much longer.”
Hugo smiled at Elijah again, his blue eyes twinkling. “You’ll have to remind them of me when you can, my boy. I’m not sure just who you are, but I have no doubt that the Navarros do, and they won’t be happy to see you’re here to stay.”
“They’re not the only ones,” Ysabelle reminded them both rather tartly, but Elijah ignored the barb. There was nothing she could do about it now—he had kept his side of their bargain, and now she had to keep hers.
“Is that so?” Hugo asked. “Good thing the cellar is stocked. In times of trouble you’ll want to go looking there.” He winked at Elijah, who couldn’t stop himself from grinning back. Not even Ysabelle’s stormy glare could check his spirits.
Soon he’d be able to jam his siblings down behind the barrier and smash their stubborn heads together until they both fell back in line.
“I am satisfied, nonetheless,” Ysabelle admitted finally. “I am not entirely pleased with the direction this neighborhood has taken, but there’s no denying that the house is fairly Elijah’s. If there’s no more, we can let you return to your rest now.”