All the better, perhaps, that she did not.

“I am not a student of this school, Miss Armand,” I clarified. “My formal education, in fact, was acquired over a century ago.”

She took a sudden step back from me. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“I am,” I answered quickly, “the rightful heir and lord of the estate your father has just purchased.”

She squinted at me before again inspecting the hall that held none but the two of us.

“The truth is,” I admitted, “I have endeavored to garner your attention for some time. And now that I have it, it is imperative that you absorb every word of what I am about to tell—”

“This has to be a dream,” she mumbled suddenly, providing the answer to the riddle as it occurred to her. Her eyes returned to mine. “You can’t be real.”

“Though this may be a dream,” I hurried to say, “I’m afraid I cannot agree with your second assessment.”

Now that Stephanie had become cognizant in her dream, the likelihood of her waking and severing our connection increased. Contrary to my assertion, she still believed me to be a figment. If I said just the right things, though, I could now, perhaps, begin to change that.

“Every word your sister has uttered about the presence on the estate is true,” I said.

“Presence?” Stephanie took another retreating step. “What are you talking about?”

“There is an unfathomable darkness in this home,” I said, reclaiming the distance between us. “The product of a curse. An infection that extends through the manor’s walls as well as its grounds. As a result, you and your family are in grave danger. I do not wish for any of you to be hurt or worse. And that is why you must all leave. Immediately.”

“Leave,” she repeated in a deadpan tone that insinuated I had not heard the lunacy imbued in my own words.

“The monster your sister speaks of is real,” I told her. Which, just as everything else I’d relayed to her, was true enough.

Stephanie drew a breath. Then she started to say my name. “Zedo—?”

I raised a finger to stop her—boldly pressing it to her lips. Keeping my stare fixed on hers, I waited to be certain I had her silence. Only then did I withdraw my finger, which I pressed for one moment to my own lips.

Awed, and perhaps a bit shaken by my gall, she merely blinked.

When I spoke again, I chose my words with the utmost care. “Take caution with that name,” I said. “He will hear you whenever you or anyone dares speak it.”

“Riiight,” she said, unconvinced as ever. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“I am Erik,” I said, lying to her for the first time. And I did consider it a lie. For though I had once been Erik, I was no longer. And had not been for over a hundred years.