Chapter 3

"Bonjour, Viscount," a deep voice in the darkness drawled.

Emile knew he was asleep, there was no other reason that he would be seated in a pool of light, surrounded by pitch black.

"I am not the Viscount," Emile said. A whoosh of air blew past him as the voice spoke again.

"It's been a long time since we last saw each other, hasn't it?" If he hadn't known any better, it sounded almost exactly like the whisper in the air right before he was choked.

"I apologize, Monsieur, but I do not know who you are." It unnerved Emile when he heard a quiet chuckle that seemed to come from all around him.

"Of course you wouldn't, you silly fop. Even after all this time, you are still afraid of me," The voice had become menacing, leaving Emile feeling vulnerable inside his little bit of light. The voice came from everywhere.

"I am not the Viscount," Emile tried again, "My father is. I'm not even set to inherit the title."

There was a pause before the voice continued.

"Then explain how I was able to touch you."

"Pardon?" Emile asked.

"I have been dead for thirty years. I have been an actual ghost for thirty years. But for the past thirty years, I haven't been able to touch anyone. Explain how I was able to almost kill you?"

"Monsieur, I don't know. I don't know you," Emile called into the darkness, hoping he would wake up.

"You are his son, which means you must also be hers." The voice seemed to be thinking out loud. "I am unable to pass over; your family must be the reason why..."

"Pardon me, but what are you talking about?" Emile interrupted. He knew it was a dream, there was no other explanation, but that didn't mean he didn't want to know what was going on.

"It seems that you are the person I have chosen to assist with my departure from this world."

"Excuse me?"

"I am your ghost now."

888

Although it seemed like he had only been asleep for a few minutes, sunlight was peaking through Emile's curtains when he was jolted awake. It took him a moment to blink sleep away and he wondered if his dream would go away with it. Often, as with most people, Emile would forget his dreams the more he woke up no matter how hard he tried to hold on to it. This time, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the dream did not go away. What he found strange was that he could remember everything about it. That wasn't normal.

Trying to push thoughts of his dream away, he pushed back the covers got prepared for the day. Lord in heaven only knew how his mother would be today but, oddly enough, he didn't particularly care. As hard as he tried, he couldn't push all thoughts of his dream conversation away.

"I am your ghost now."

What could that have meant? From the tête-à-tête, Emile could easily see that the other was dead. It was also obvious that this person was a ghost. But why had he said that he was Emile's ghost now? Because he was able to touch him? That was just plain ridiculous.

As ridiculous as that was, Emile realized it was even more ridiculous to sit in his room and contemplate a dream that probably meant nothing.

888

Despite thinking that he woke just as the sun rose, it turned out that he had missed breakfast. Oy vey, Emile thought, mother must really be mad. Normally someone would wake him in time for breakfast.

Quietly tiptoeing down the main staircase, hoping that he would avoid any parental contact, he didn't make sure to look out for brothers. Philippe had just walked out of the drawing room just as Emile was only half way down. He knew he shouldn't have even tried to turn and run back up the stairs, he also knew he shouldn't have turned so quickly when Philippe said his name. But he did.

His mother may have once been a chorus girl, very graceful on her feet, but her son certainly didn't inherit that. Emile tripped, splaying his hands in front of him to catch himself. Philippe started to rush up the stairs in hopes of being able to help.

Emile didn't make it to the floor. He felt something wrap around his waist and hold him, preventing him to fall face-first down the stairs. Suspended in air, Emile didn't quite know what to do. Philippe had reached his side and helped Emile up all the way. On his feet again, Emile felt whatever was holding him release.

"Philippe," Emile said, addressing his brother, "you saw that, didn't you?"

"Yes," Philippe said, confusion as obvious in his voice as it was in Emile's.

"What just happened?" Although he knew Philippe was just as clueless as he was, Emile felt the need to ask.

"I have no idea."

Shaken, Emile looked to his brother, hoping that either one of them would come up with an explanation for what had just happened. After staring at each other for a few minutes, they just couldn't come up with anything. Emile thought that maybe he knew what had just happened, but his rational mind wouldn't allow him to voice it aloud. Ghost stories are fun to listen to, but ghost themselves just can't exist.

"Emile, maybe we should just ignore what happened," Philippe suggested. Emile looked into his brother's eyes, wishing that the other had come up with a reasonable explanation for him not falling. He knew that there was nothing short of magic that could have held him, but he would have been willing to believe anything.

"Yes, frère, maybe that is best."

Both men didn't notice their other brother appear on the landing above them.

"May I know what you are talking about?" Henry asked, leaning on the rail. Emile and Philippe knew that he didn't particularly care about what they were doing standing on one step, just staring at each other, but it was odd to see two full grown men doing so and probably wanted to know why.

"Emile almost fell," Philippe explained quickly. "Good thing I was right beside him or else he might have hurt his pretty little face."

Emile was nodding vigorously throughout the explanation, not even realizing when Philippe had said the last part.

Henry smirked, nodding slightly, thinking he had caught his brothers in some sort of devious act and walked away. Emile would have sighed with relief, but he realized that there was nothing to be relieved about. They had been doing nothing wrong. Maybe, he began to think, I am just relieved that no one else saw the oddity that had happened. It was even worse than being strangled yesterday, there was not even a bug to blame this one on.

"Could it have been a witch," Philippe said jokingly, starting to walk up the stairs, "casting a spell on the entire family, but it only affects the youngest son. Oh, just think of it, it would make a wonderful book."

"You know, you may be handsome on the outside, but on the inside you are nothing but air. There is no such thing as witches. You just want to write a book about them. Do it and quit spouting nonsense, please," Emile had this theory that Philippe just wanted to write, he was always coming up with the bare bones of a plot that was never elaborated on. Perhaps duties of their status had kept Philippe from doing so, but it upset Emile still. Then he realized it was silly to be upset about something he had no proof about.

But as soon as Philippe had reached the top of the stairs, it clicked in Emile's head. Maybe the dream wasn't exactly a dream. Maybe when he went back to sleep, he would be able to talk to 'his ghost' about it and get some answers. But he had just woken up, it would be impossible to go back to bed now, not to mention unacceptable.

Deciding to wait until after lunch to take a nap, he made his way to the kitchen to calm his stomach, which had just seem to come alive.

888

The time until lunch went by slowly, much too slow for his liking. He had run out of things to do, other than actively avoiding his mother who had seemed to be doing the same. There was still at least an hour left when he found himself in the library, staring at a shelf of novels that he had read already. He didn't dare look at the shelf of classic first editions that were so fragile, he was sure that they would crumble if he tried. Then a tiny book on the very end caught his attention. At first, he had just thought it was Dr. Faustus, it was small enough, but when he pulled it out, he hitched his breath.

Modern and Theoretical Studies of the Paranormal

It was just too convenient. He had been reading books from this library for years and had never seen this book. But so many unexplainable things had been happening to him in the past few days that he was willing to just let the book go under that category.

Emile had barely cracked open the cover when he was called for lunch. Setting the book down on a side table in a huff, he cursed the maid in his head. The door was just closing when a single gust of air blew the soft cover and several pages back, leaving it open at a particular page.