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He squinted and lifted the page closer. “Is this a drawing of a dead frog?”

“It is, and I don’t appreciate the judgment in your tone.”

“You’re suggesting a dead frog can help us stop a haunting.”

“I’m suggesting—” she yanked the book out of his hands, “—that you listen with an open mind. The frog is only relevant because of what my grandfather wrote here.”

“Love will set him free. The frog?”

“Not the frog, your wife!” She pressed her eyes closed and inhaled sharply to regain her patience. Tossing him out the turret window wouldn’t help, though it would be satisfying. “I have notes on the ritual my grandfather performed, and we can replicate it. But I need you.”

“Why me?”

“Because you love her.”

Something crossed his features, like a tremor deep beneath the surface, and his jaw ticked. “Right.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “And this frog ritual⁠—”

“I said there was no frog involved.”

“—is the only way to get out of here?”

“It won’t fix the bridge, but at least we won’t have an angry spirit on our hands.”

She shouldn’t have said that. Tempting fate, and all that nonsense, but what other options did she have? After all, between the bridge being washed out, a meddling ghost, and the lingering tension from their encounter in the cellar…

Their circumstances couldn’t get much worse.

CHAPTER 16

“That’s the last of them.” Valebrook shook the match to extinguish it and turned to face her, his expectant expression unmistakable in the glow of at least three dozen candles forming a wide circle in the center of the room. “What next?”

Bridget wished she knew. She’d ordered the earl about, lighting candles and collecting the various items listed in her grandfather’s notes. After explaining the ritual several times, he agreed to play his part with a minimum of complaining and dramatic eye rolls.

This might work.

The ritual appeared simple in practice. She’d memorized the lines and rearranged every component precisely according to her grandfather’s notes. But the simplicity itself frightened her, almost as much as the prospect of failure. Without the complexity she expected of a grand ritual, she’d have to depend on her own ability, something that had proven more than lacking.

But what if tonight was different?

She sat cross-legged on the carpet, a length of black velvet spread before her, with a crystal ball at its center.

Age had softened the orb’s polish, and decades of handling left the lower curve clouded and milky from the oil of palms working into the microscopic fissures in the polished quartz. Three clawlike brass feet held the crystal in place, delicately balancing the orb as though afraid to grasp it too tightly. A single fissure sliced through its heart like a frozen thread of smoke; her grandfather had always claimed the imperfection made it more powerful, evidence that life flowed through it, even if it was trapped.

In the dancing candlelight, the crystal didn’t simply reflect the flame, but it seemed to capture it, stealing the fire away into its depths no matter which way the ball was turned.

As a girl, she’d climbed onto a stepstool and wished to see something within, something that gave her an inkling of what her future held. But she only saw her own warped, watery reflection staring back.

Tonight, for the first time, she might see more.

“That’s everything.” She wiped her sweaty palms down her thighs and motioned towards the open space across from her. “Do you have the locket?”

Valebrook nodded and withdrew the silver necklace from his pocket. He sat, crossing his long legs beneath him, and met her gaze. The candles cast his sharp features in stark relief, harsh and beautiful like the cliffs below.

She hated how his presence heated her as much as it terrified her. She wanted him gone, as far from Ashveil as he could get, but she wanted to grab hold of his hands for strength as she navigated whatever she’d unleashed within the ancient stone walls.

“To calm Christina’s spirit—” she glanced at the open page of her journal, “—she needs to know you’re safe here.”

“Me?” His thick lashes swept and threw long shadows over his cheekbones. “Why wouldn’t I be safe?”