“When did this note first arrive?” Ben asked. He’d just returned from a trip into town, and as much as she wanted to ask him about it, she couldn’t get him to change subjects.

“The first one? Edgar’s wake,” she admitted.

They had remained in the parlor, though Remi would have preferred to sit in any other room. It was the last place she had seen Edgar. With moths crawling out of his mouth. A trick of her imagination, but terrifying nonetheless.

“And the locket, with the handkerchief, arrived today?” Ben glanced at Sylvie, who shied away at his attention. “Who delivered it, Sylvie?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered.

“Was it left with you?”

Sylvie shook her head. “No.”

Ben let out a sound of frustration, causing both women to flinch. He mumbled an apology and took a deep breath, finally kneeling beside the arm of Remi’s chair. Taking her hand, he gave it a squeeze to coax her to look at him.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“That these notes are disconcerting,” Ben said, frowning. “And that the person who wrote them is deranged. You’re sure you have no idea who the author might be?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea who might be sending them,” Remi said, her stomach turning again at the mild scent of chamomile.

Ben noticed. “No tea, then?”

Remi nodded, her hand on her stomach.

Sylvie took the tray and left without another word, leaving Ben and Remi to their privacy.

“You should rest,” he said, his tone soothing.

“I don’t think that I could right now.” Remi bit back a sob. The safety of her room was violated. Every inch of it felt unfamiliar now, tainted by her unseen admirer. Returning to her room to sleep in her bed would be difficult.

Even the house, once quiet, had come to life in the last few days. Its spirit—or spirits—suddenly restless. Everything wanted her attention, and she felt like her mind was unraveling from the visions and notes.

“You might sleep with me,” Ben suggested.

Remi’s eyes widened.

Ben, flustered, hurried to correct himself. “I meant you could sleep in my room. I’m happy to sacrifice my bed if it means that you are able to sleep soundly.”

“There are other rooms,” Remi said.

“There are,” he agreed.

“And it would be inappropriate.” A blush spread across her cheeks, and she caught him staring.

“You make an excellent point.” Ben chuckled with a slight shake of his head, loosing a strand of his black hair from behind his ear.

Remi, without thinking, reached for it and gently tucked it back into place. The tips of her fingers lingered on the soft curve of his ear. Touching him was like sitting under the sun on a summer day after a brisk spring. For too long, she’d felt colorless, another dull penny among the people on their Isle. But not with Ben—not as a child, and certainly not now. The first time she laid eyes on him, she could feel the sunshine rolling off of him.

He was a sunspot in the gloom again.

Remi’s fingers brushed along his cheekbone, stirring him. He closed his eyes and turned his lips to her palm. She felt his breath against her skin and shuddered. The notes, the locket—all were momentarily forgotten when his eyes fluttered open again. She found a strangeness to them, an unfamiliar darkness that had swallowed his eyes whole. Remi felt herself lean in closer, smelling wool and salty sea air. She wondered if his lips would also taste like the brackish morning air.

“Did you go into town this morning?” she asked, trying to refocus.

“I did.” The curled smile he’d been wearing faded quickly into a frown. “I met briefly with Lamotte.”

“How was he?”

“Drunk,” Ben stated, suddenly pulling back from Remi. Every inch he put between them felt like a chasm. “I sought him out, but it was a fruitless endeavor.”

“I’m afraid Lamotte has never been quite helpful, especially when the mood doesn’t suit him.” Remi sighed as she leaned against the stiff back of the chair. “I’ve no idea how he managed anything. It’s beyond me.”

Ben was silent for a moment as he contemplated. She hoped it was her imagination, but he appeared to grow more distant with the subject.

“Is something the matter?” she finally asked.

Ben crossed and uncrossed his arms, sighing in frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth to speak, but Remi’s name echoed throughout the manor. They stared at each other, confused. Footsteps sounded shortly after, pounding hard against the wood floor outside the parlor. The doors opened as the intruder called Remi’s name again.

“Elise?”

A bedraggled brunette in a rumpled gown burst in, breathing heavily as tears rolled down her reddened face.

Remi jumped up from the chair and ran to her cousin, forgetting in the moment what had happened. “Are you unwell? What happened?” Remi took Elise’s hand to lead her to the chair she’d been sitting in, but Elise brushed her away.

“Leith,” she sobbed. “He’s dead!”

All sound left the room, drowned out by a horrid ringing in Remi’s ears.

Elise glanced back at Ben, whose face was white; Remi’s sunspot suddenly gone. She flicked her eyes to him and saw the conflict still lingering—guilt was written in his expression.

Did he already know?Was that what was bothering him?

“Elise? Did you find her?” Hugo barreled into the room a tick later.

“I don’t feel well,” Remi mumbled. The floor seemed to spiral underfoot.

Before Ben could move, Hugo had Remi’s arm looped around his, and both he and Elise supported her.

“He’s dead?” She could hardly believe it. She’d just seen Leith the other day. How could he be gone? The memory of his sweet smile and silly laughter came to her on a wave of sadness. She felt stranded, and though Elise and Hugo held her, she was numb to them.

Ben’s eyes...his face...how close he’d been before…

“Shall I escort them upstairs, Monsieur? Madame Leone looks faint.” Jacques knocked as he entered the parlor.

“Take her to my room,” he said.

“I should think not! She has her own room,” Hugo snapped, to Remi’s surprise.