The Girl in the Steel Corset - By Kady Cross Page 0,94
know we can’t, son. There are rules about spirits interfering in the world of the living.”
“In this case I’d break them,” his mother surprised him by saying. “But even so, we could only show you where Leonardo lived during our life, not now. Even the dead have their limitations. For us to locate him he would have to reach out…” She stopped, frowning.
“What is it?” Griffin demanded. A strange sensation assaulted him—like a finger of ice sliding down his back.
His parents shared a glance. “Do you feel that?” his mother asked.
Edward King nodded. “A summons.”
“What sort of summons?” Griffin’s gaze ricocheted between the two of them. “Why does it feel as though we are being watched?”
Ghostly eyes turned toward him, so real and yet so intangible. “Because we are. We are being summoned, as though to a séance. Whoever it is, they have something that was personal to each of us, and they’re focusing on it to call us to them.”
His mother’s gaze was worried. “But not away from you. Griffin, you must go. You cannot be with us when—” But it was too late. The environment around Griffin changed, swirling mist replaced his study and he felt dizzy. There was nothing to hold on to as he felt himself torn away from the safety and grounding of his own home. It was all he could do to remain standing as his head swam and the mists finally began to clear, revealing a small, dark parlor.
A man sat in a wingback chair, one leg slung casually over the other. In his hand, he held an earring. Griffin recognized it instantly as belonging to his mother. She had been wearing the pair when they died. He knew this because when he saw their bodies she wore only one, the mate believed to be lost in the crash. The only way this man could have it was if he had been there. The realization that this was Leonardo Garibaldi—his parents’ murderer—should have filled him with rage, but all he felt was cold inside. Dead.
Garibaldi leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes closed in meditation. He wore some kind of strange contraption on his head—a ring of metal with prongs that seemed to dig into his skull. Small gears clicked and whirred, causing the ring to slowly undulate, pressing into different areas of the man’s scalp in a careful, measured pattern. It was very similar to those used in Aether dens to summon spirits. Garibaldi had summoned his mother. Griffin and his father were there only because they had been with her at the time.
He watched as a shadow rose over Garibaldi’s body—a ghost. It was the man’s Aetheric self. It was a strong projection—indicating that Aether travel was not new to the villain. Unease settled in Griffin’s stomach, though he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Garibaldi knew all about him, and all about his friends. He would be prepared for whatever assault any of them had to offer.
His only pleasure was seeing the surprise on Garibaldi’s spectral face. He hadn’t expected to get the whole family.
“Would you look at this,” he commented in accented English, swarthy face breaking into a smile. “The King clan. My dear boy, you’ve grown since I last saw you.”
Griffin’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, but before he could open his mouth, his mother spoke. “What do you want, Leonardo?”
The Italian’s expression changed as he turned to look at Griffin’s mother—it softened. “I wanted to see you, Helena. I hoped we could talk.”
Her face was hard. “Whatever could you and I have to discuss? You killed me. You killed my husband and now you endanger my son. I want nothing to do with you.”
A pale hand reached out and touched her cheek. She flinched and Garibaldi recoiled as though struck. “You were not supposed to die, Helena. Never you. You always supported me and my research. I had hoped to help you recover from the loss of your husband, and perhaps take his place.”
Helena paled, the translucent flesh of her cheeks going noticeably white. “I never would have married you.” As if to further prove her point, she took a step back toward her husband. Garibaldi reached out and grabbed her by the arm. His ghostly fingers held fast as she tried to pull away.
Griffin’s father moved forward. “Unhand her, you scoundrel.”
Garibaldi held up his hand—it was metal and glowed with runes etched into its surface. There was a flash of light from