Clara’s fingertips skittered over the cloth of her skirt, the wall behind, her sleeves. This was a side of her I hadn’t seen—or expected. She forced the normal cheery smile onto her pale face, but it wore like an ill-fitting mask. “She always did like me best, because I believed her. I believed what she said about why she was here, and that she wasn’t mad. I knew how easy it was for a perfectly sane person to be trapped here.”

Goose bumps rose on my flesh, a deepening awareness of what I’d begun to sense about this place.

“I couldn’t save her, but perhaps she believes you can avenge her. Set things to rights.”

I tipped my head with a frown, watching her expression. “You make it sound as though this person is a specter.”

Her lips clamped into a tight line. “What else would she be?” Her voice was a hiss now.

It took monumental effort not to roll my eyes. “Truly, a specter—?”

“She is, I tell you, whether or not you believe it.” Her dancing fingertips sped up, her face pinched. “She used to walk about, but she hardly spoke, not to anyone. She’s been gone an awfully long time, but then last night . . .”

I eyed her. “Sounds like the stuff of legends.” Yet the echo of that ghostly song from my own dreams pierced my doubt just a little.

“One you won’t tell anyone. Not anyone. Please, you must keep quiet about it. Only . . . ask her to leave me alone.” Clara’s soft voice became a strained whisper.

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen any specters.”

She looked at me with wary eyes that seemed to promise, Oh, but you will.

Movement down the dim hall caught my attention. Heat slammed my chest. I blinked, adjusting my vision—it was only an aid, tall and willowy with a gray gown and somber face, gliding across the adjoining corridor.

This was silly. Ghosts, of all things. I forced out a breath, trying to clear away the silken cobwebs of fear.

“No one speaks of her anymore, and it’s as if she vanished. Not even a mention.” Her voice grew agitated. Desperate. She looked up at me as if pleading with me to believe her. “I remember her, though. Her name was just as lovely as she—a perfect name for a specter—Rose.”

I froze. It was close. Too close. “I thought you couldn’t remember her name.”

“It escaped my memory, but now it’s come back. It has all come back. It’s forbidden to speak of her, and now most everyone’s forgotten.”

“Why forbidden?”

Clara fidgeted with her sleeve. “Don’t make me say. It’ll have you in trouble, too, knowing that part of Hurstwell’s secrets. Please don’t make me say it.”