Index
• • •
Something squealed.
Novi jolted in her pile of blankets, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Bizarre sounds filled the washroom—a storm of chittering and shrieks. She took a slow breath and turned her head.
The creature darted through the wall with a disgruntled whine, plunging the room into shadow. The washwoman stood ready, ferociously watching where it had disappeared, broom raised over her head. When it didn’t come back, she let her weapon fall with a dusty thump and dragged it back to its corner, mumbling all the way. She made a last inspection of the room, eyes lingering over Novi’s pallet, then drifted to the center of the chamber. Gradually, her glow began to flicker and her little frame sank almost into the floor, eyes fluttering with sleep.
The washing machine rumbled softly. Damp wind crept down the stairwell from the balcony, playing in the soft silhouettes of the clotheslines and lapping at the last stool of lit candles. Novi lay awake under her covers, staring blankly. How long had she been here?
Softly, she got to her knees and felt along the ground for her things. Her fingers crept over the stones until she found the sheath of her weapon and then the strap of her bag. Her old clothes hung on the clotheslines in limp, soaking wadds, but the space blanket lay folded close by. When she felt the hat she hesitated then took it too—something to show Comet when Novi found her. Silently, she slipped to the stairwell.
Rain misted the balcony and a fresh layer of clouds filled the sky. Blackened windows peered from down the castle walls. What little moonlight remained reflected off the wet stones in streaks of shimmering gray. On the far side, the balcony dropped away, edge protected by a low stone lip. Arms wrapped around herself for warmth, Novi trudged to the open edge. Below lay a slanted patch of roof. Holes punched through the tiles large enough to see the hallway underneath. Beyond that, the muddied yard extended to the forest edge, protected by a snaking line of spiked iron fence.
Inside the fence, stone walls sectioned off a large section of the grounds. Scraggly trees dotted this closed area, growing thicker as they stretched away until they all but mingled with the forest beyond. Peculiar statues and lines of little, regular stones nestled among them.
Directly below, tucked against the castle walls, lay a wild garden. Brow furrowed, Novi leaned further over the ledge, searching the walls to either side. Sure enough, below and to the left, she found the shattered kitchen door creaking in the wind. Novi stared, wind tugging at her night dress and the losing braids of her hair. After all this time, she hadn’t come far at all.
The urge to be down there washed over Novi—to be outside and away from the stifling halls. She could find Merzim and Sasura, tell them what had happened. But it only lasted a moment. She had no idea where the dragons had gone. She would wander alone in the shadow of the woods, lost, barefoot, and extremely vulnerable. She couldn’t get down there anyways. Not from here.
Novi backed away from the lip, crestfallen and exhausted. She hoped the dragons had found a way inside—got out of the rain. No ghost would dare mess with them.
Wind bit through her night dress, and Novi started to shiver. She looked around the courtyard for another way inside. A little green door hid under an alcove, but it was locked. She glanced through the window beside it to see a sparse dressing room with a few racks of clothing and a tipped dresser. A large green ghost hung in the corner, half visible and colors dull. She backed away quickly.
Another flicker caught her eye. Novi turned to see the washwoman hanging inside the cellar door.
“What are you doing out here? You’ll catch cold.”
Novi glanced at the overlook and the woman glanced too. Judging by her expression, she didn’t see anything interesting. “Come along, dear. Come back inside,” she said sleepily.
Novi edged away from the green door, and the washwoman met her half way. She slipped a tiny, cold hand into Novi’s and led her back to the washroom.
“Fresh, clean clothes and you wander right back into the rain,” the washwoman said as they descended the spiral stairs. “You mustn't wander like that. I told you, it’s dangerous.”
When they reached the bottom she broke away to re-light some of the candles. Novi sat on the bottom step, arms wrapped around herself. The washwoman’s brow furrowed.
“Don’t sit there, darling, you’re still in the draft. Why don’t you lie down again?”
“I can’t sleep,” said Novi softly.
“Posh,” said the washwoman. “You were sound asleep a moment ago.”
Novi didn’t respond, and the woman sighed.
“I know you want to leave, but you must stay put, at least until morning. It’s just not safe.”
“I know,” said Novi softly.
“And yet you continue to wander...”
“Have you seen anyone else in the castle tonight?” Asked Novi, looking up at her.
“...I- can’t say I have... why?”
“I’m looking for my sister.”
“Your sister?” She echoed.
“I can’t find her anywhere. We were separated in the halls.”
The woman stared at Novi wide-eyed.
“My goodness,” She squeaked. “Darling—why didn’t you say something sooner!”
Novi watched in silent surprise as she floated agitated circles around the room.
“It’s not safe, not safe at all,” She babbled, hands wringing in her apron. “My word, a child lost in this place.”
“Maybe you could help me look for her.”
“No no no, you can’t… and I can’t leave you alone. I- don’t know what to do— but...”
She slowed, turning an anxious expression to Novi. “Follow me, I know who can help. But you have to be careful, and very quiet.”
Novi gave a subtle nod, eyebrows furrowed. The washwoman made a dart for the wall, realized Novi couldn’t follow that way, and went for the door instead.
“Come along, quickly now.”
And Novi did.
Dead silence hung over the halls—a sharp contrast to the liveliness before. The sound of every footfall felt like a crime. Novi prefered the noise to this, and the washwoman seemed to agree. She bobbed a short distance ahead, peeking around corners. Gradually, the floor changed from wood planks to green carpet, and then back to the elegant, faded red with its painting, china vases, and carved trim.
Novi began to see ghosts again. Beady eyes peered from the darkness under end tables, and shadows streaked through the candlelight against the walls. None of them tried to follow, just watched in uneasy silence. They seemed different now—timid, skittish. Once, Novi could have sworn she heard the soft notes of a piano, and a little later, the distinct chitter of a boo.
“This way, dear,” Said the washwoman, stopping in front of a large, carved door. She looked both ways down the hall then plunged through. A moment later the lock clicked and the door swung open from the inside.
“Come in, hurry.”
Warm air wafted from within, laced with the smell of bee’s wax and something sweet. Novi stepped through the door into a wall of thick purple drapes. She parted them delicately to find an ornate, circular room. Carved pillars ringed the chamber, lit candles mounted on every side. Purple drapes obscured the walls and thick, gold-trimmed cushions lay in artful piles across the floor.
In the center of the room, the washwoman floated by a low, dark-wood table, speaking urgently. Another ghost sat behind it among a pile of cushions, face hidden by a beaded vale. A richly patterned headscarf billowed behind her in a wave of gold, purple, and red, shrouding her weightless white hair. She seemed old, even older than the washwoman, though it was hard to judge age between their obviously different species.
She stared at Novi with keen, yellow eyes.
“Well well,” she said in a rich, deep voice. “Don’t terry, come in. Shut the door.”
Novi stepped forward, feet sinking into an intricate rug. The new ghost watched her intently.
“Agitha, be a sweetie and tell the captain's lad to bring his little package to me,” She said without looking away. “Quickly, quickly!”
The washwoman hesitated, glancing between her and Novi. The new ghost turned her intense gaze on the washwoman, a displeased edge coming into her expression.
“Run along, honey. He was here only a moment ago. Hurry, or you’ll have to run to the other end of the castle.”
The washwoman shrank back.
“Be kind, she’s very small… And don’t worry, dear, Madame Clairvoya will look after you. I’ll be back soon.” With that, she darted through the wall, leaving Novi alone with this new spector.
The woman sighed softly, sinking deeper into her nest of pillows,eyes turning to Novi again.
“Don’t hang back, sweetie. Come here.”
Novi’s eyebrows dropped a fraction, but she listened, centering herself in front of the little table. The woman gave a raspy, broken laugh.
“Closer, closer, come sit.”
Hesitantly, Novi sat on the large cushion in front of the table. The woman hummed with satisfaction.
“There we are. Comfortable, aren’t we?” She said, tilting her chin up with a smile. “I am Madame Clairvoya, as I’m sure you heard. What is your name?”
“Novi.”
“Just Novi?”
No response.
“Hmh. Very well.”
Novi’s eyes drifted across the table. A cloudy sphere on an iron stand rested in the center of it. Two candles framed it on either side, their flames a peculiar blue. A sweet, lavender scent rose from them and their light caught in the sphere, reflecting back in a twist of color.
The woman hummed again.
“A lovely thing, isn’t it? See how it eases the mind?” She placed both her carefully manicured, ring filled hands on the orb’s surface. The murkiness inside swirled.
“Now, my dear friend brought you here for a reason. You weren’t alone when you came to this place, were you?”
“My sister is here, too,” said Novi softly.
“Ah, Your sister. Older by some years, I believe. Brash and easily provoked.”
“Have you seen her?”
Madame Clairvoya took a deep, slow breath and closed her eyes.
“So many doors and corridors. How easy it is to become lost in this place, especially tonight. But don’t fret, sweetie, your sister is quite well, for now.”
“But where is she?”
“As to that, only time will tell.”
Novi looked up at the woman, eyebrows bunched. Slowly the ghost opened her eyes again, and their corners wrinkled in a smile.
“Not the answer you were looking for? Perhaps more will come to me in time. But how did you come here? That seems the much more intriguing question.”
“...We were traveling and got caught in this storm.”
“What a boring answer. Surely there’s more to it than that,” she said, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. “You’ve come from far away, that’s clear to see, and are used to much finer things than this. What is your home like? Rich? Lovely? You must look into the crystal ball, sweetie. Not over it.”
The woman’s eyes lulled shut again, and she waited. Reluctantly, Novi glanced into the “crystal ball,” watching the twisting colors. She wished she was home.
Madame Clairvoya tilted her head back and took another slow breath.
“I see the seaside, and such a lovely white castle on the cliffs!”
Novi glanced up at the woman, gripping a handful of cushion.
“I sense a large family—a powerful family, but...distant. There is a shadow: a great tragedy. A sense of abandonment and responsibility…”
“Stop it,” said Novi, standing up.
Madame Clairvoya opened her eyes, smoothing back her headdress with one hand.
“I’m sorry, did I unsettle you?”
Novi backed away from the table, eyes firmly on the ghost. The mischievous wrinkles around Clarvoya’s eyes disappeared.
“Compose yourself, sweetie, we needn’t continue if you don’t like.”
Quiet claimed the room. Novi glanced discreetly at the curtains veiling the door. She could get back to the washroom if she tried, she was sure of it, but what good would that do? Madame Clairvoya averted her gaze, focusing instead on one of her many jeweled rings.
“What have you got in your bag? Something that isn’t yours, I’m sure.”
Novi’s brow wrinkled again. Slowly, she pulled out the hat for the woman to see, glad to direct attention away from herself.
“Oh my…” said the ghost. “May I see it?”
Novi hung back, hat held lightly in her hands. Finally she stepped forward, set the it on the edge of the table, and backed away again. The woman sighed and picked it up, turning it over in her hands and inspecting the embroidered M.
“Why would you have this, I wonder? It does make things more complicated. Be careful, sweetie, this could get you into something unpleasant.”
She didn’t return the hat, rather set it on the ground next to her table. Novi didn’t come to take it. She hung at the edge of the room, pacing softly.
Clairvoya sighed again.
“No point in standing around sweetie. Might as well make yourself comfortable until Agitha returns.” She waved at another pile of cushions in the far corner.
She didn’t look at Novi again, just resided over her table in serene silence. Novi returned the courtesy, lost in her own thoughts.
The ballroom was empty.
Luigi hung in the doorway, playing his flashlight beam around the chamber. Darkness clung to the abandoned alcoves and strange shadows leapt from the harp’s silhouette across the room.
He stepped into the ballroom, straining to catch the slightest flicker or sound. His black reflection followed him across the wall-mounted mirrors, drawing his eyes again and again with its movement.
No ghosts appeared in the back room, either. The passage to the secret chamber leered at him, a black hole below E. Gadd’s poster. Luigi took a deep breath, crumpling the code sheet tighter against the poltergust nozzle. Teeth grit, he squeezed through the passage.
Inside, the trap door remained closed on the floor, its light still pulsing red. Luigi edged around it, eyes locked on the grate. It remained closed, and this time the gameboy stayed silent. Finally, he gathered enough courage to look away and pressed the gameboy into the wall-slot. It chirped in recognition, and green flashed across its screen as it booted. Then it died in a fit of gray static.
Luigi’s heart lurched, and he snatched the gameboy from the socket. Its display jumped back to life, showing the homescreen, but when he plugged it in again it died just as fast. Agitation mounting, Luigi punched E. Gadd’s code into the dark screen, but neither the gameboy nor the trap door responded.
The hope he had bolstered himself with began to crumble. What now? Forcing the trap door wouldn’t work, not without heavy tools… but maybe he could short out the lock.
He hooked the gameboy back into the poltergust and knelt by the metal cap. The vacuum rested heavy on his shoulders. He should take it off for this. The thought of removing it here, even for a moment, sent his mind shrieking with panic. But if it got fried, he could lose it for good…
Luigi stripped the pack off and set both it and the flashlight behind him, refusing to think about it any more. Hands shaking ever so slightly, he placed them over the trap door’s lock. A white buzz arced up his spine and the air around him turned metallic. The smell of charred metal and plastic rose from the lock. It blared a squealing alarm then choked as the red light exploded.
Luigi yelped and fell back, hands flying to his face. Eyes closed tight, he fumbled with one hand until he felt the flashlight handle. shakily, he checked his gloves for blood in wake of the tiny glass shards. Nothing.
Acrid smoke rose from the trap door beside him. The bright silver of the cap had changed to an oxidised black. Luigi heaved at the still-warm hatch, but it refused to budge. He had sealed the electronic lock for good.
Luigi punched the floor in despair, but he didn’t have time to wallow in his mistake. A quavering red light snapped him back to the present. He started up to see two shyguy ghosts peeking at him through the secret passage. Both parties flailed in panic, and the shyguys disappeared into the air. Luigi scrabbled back, snatching the poltergust off the floor and pressing against the wall, waiting for the ghosts to leap out of the darkness. But they didn’t appear again.
Cautiously, he crept forward, poking his nose back through the passage into the store room. It was empty as ever, but a soft glow leaked in from the half-open door to the ballroom. Flashlight and the poltergust nozzle gripped together in both hands, he glanced through the crack into the next room.
A small troop of shyguys occupied the dancefloor, most of them watching the door. An uneasy shudder swept over them as Luigi appeared, and they scuttled to a corner en masse as he entered the room. That odd surge of guilt swept through Luigi again. He edged along the wall towards the hall door, cripplingly aware of the many watching eyes.
A larger light flashed ahead of him and Luigi shied away with a yelp. The dancing couple shied away too at the movement. The woman pressed behind her partner, eyes wide. The man made an effort to appear less shaken, though he undeniably watched the poltergust. Luigi’s gut twisted. Ever so slightly, he lowered the nozzle.
They didn’t attack, and they didn’t leave. The three of them hung there in awkward silence, Luigi glancing at the door beyond them. He didn’t dare slip past, and somehow he didn’t have the heart to use the poltergust.
The man edged forward, raising a hand, and Luigi flinched hard. The ghost froze, then said something in a language Luigi didn’t understand. It didn’t sound threatening. He began to extend his hand again, holding something out to Luigi. Luigi hesitated, then reached his own hand out to receive it. A little silver key dropped into his palm. He looked up at the man, unsure of what to think. The ghost nodded, took his sweetheart by the arm and vanished into nothing. Luigi stood in shock, until he realised the shyguys were still watching. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and bolted into the hall.
Heart thudding, Luigi slumped against the ballroom door, the new key still clutched in his hand. He couldn’t make head or tail of what had happened. shakily, he tried the key in the gameboy slot. T\he device highlighted a door not far away.
Luigi hesitated. Was the key a bribe: a way to make him leave them alone? But why would they bother if staying invisible had the same effect. This could very well be another trap. He panned across the map, looking for any other doors he could unlock. Few options presented themselves, none of them close. Luigi took a long, shaky breath; He would check the room out, at least. And if the boo radar went off, he wouldn’t even open the door.
Luigi watched the candlelight on the way to the next chamber, scanning wide-eyed for the shadows of ghosts. Occasionally, he heard them through the walls. They sounded... different, more agitated, but none appeared.
At least at first.
As he got further away from the ballroom, a much larger shadow appeared behind him, slithering through the shadows like an eel. Luigi swallowed hard and gripped the flashlight-poltergust combo tighter. He went from a brisk walk to a trot, and then a full sprint down the hall, the shadow never far behind.
He rounded another corner and dove into a little alcove off the main hall, gasping and shaking. A long, crooked nose poked around the corner after him. Cold sweat beading on his forehead, he pressed against the wall. The rest of a ghostly face loomed into view, looking directly at him. This was another humanoid ghost, tall and spindly. It leered from the shadows with an acidic expression, eyeing first Luigi then the poltergust warily. When Luigi didn’t move, it mumbled in a rasping voice and faded from sight.
Luigi’s skin crawled. He flashed his light all over the hall, looking for the telltale shadow. Nothing. Cold dread crawled through him. He turned and bolted down the last stretch, slammed into the door, and jammed the key into the lock. It turned with a small click and he jacked on the handle, but it didn’t budge. His mind went to static. Why?
Numbly, Luigi realised he had locked it himself. He twisted the key again and burst inside, pulling the door shut behind him, then flailed as something soft and heavy enveloped him from behind. He tripped backwards through the purple drapes and landed hard on a thick carpet. Gasping, he struggled to his feet, looking widely around the new chamber.
It was surprisingly well lit. A myriad of candles decorated the room, mounted on wooden columns. Warm, sweet air embraced him, not stifling like the study, but sleepy—a welcome change from the chill of the other rooms. A low table rested in the center of the chamber, the only actual piece of furniture. Everything else was soft: draping purple curtains, tapestries, and mounds of gold-trimmed satin pillows, all of it unfaded and pristine.
The notion that the spindly shadow followed him in hit Luigi like a punch to the gut. He glanced around at the walls, but the candlelight wavered serinly, undisturbed. His knees turned to jelly as his panic faded, and he sank to the floor, trembling. Wryly, he registered that he had barged into the room without watching for a trap at all. At least the gameboy wasn’t beeping.
Something shifted in the corner and Luigi yelped, swinging his flashlight toward it. A little figure knelt in a pile of cushions, one hand over its face.
Whatever it was, it had no glow. It looked… human, and as real as the cushions around it. Slowly, Luigi lowered his light, and she—it was obviously a she—lowered her arm, watching him with wary surprise. A gray nightgown folded around her, embroidered with soft-colored flowers. White hair framed her face, and her skin seemed almost gray, giving her a ghostly air all her own. She looked so young.
Dread filled Luigi again. Slowly, she stood and he took an unconscious step back. Her pencil-line eyebrows shifted a fraction, intensifying her serious expression.
An uncomfortably long moment passed.
“Are you...solid?” She asked softly.
Luigi stood there sheepishly, shifting under her gaze as she waited for a response. When none came, she stepped gently forward and offered him a delicate little hand. Luigi hesitated then took it, feeling awkward and clumsy. The hand was warm, and indeed solid.
After the feathery handshake, she stepped back, leaving him a good deal of personal space. Luigi almost sighed in relief.
“Who are you?” he asked, in a voice he wished was more steady.
“My name is Novi.”
“I’m- Luigi.”
Silence fell again. The girl’s eyes lingering over his hat and then the poltergust nozzle in his hand.
“How long have you been here?” She asked.
Again, Luigi choked on his answer, and he felt like a fool. How long had it been? A few hours, but that answer felt so wrong. He tried to respond, then froze up again, the vivid image of being trapped here forever with no sense of time welling up in his mind. How long had she been here?
The girl’s eyes softened with concern, sending him deeper into his spiral of panic.
A deep, raspy laugh filled the room. Luigi whipped toward it, then scrabbled away from the little table, or more accurately, the ghost that now sat behind it, not six feet away.
“My, the mansion is quite crowded tonight.”
Luigi raised the poltergust nozzle, trembling again. The ghost didn’t even flinch.
“Please, sweetie, that tool will have no effect on me.”
To Luigi’s relief, she didn’t approach, just rested behind her table, yellow eyes glittering with amusement.
“You come seeking a sibling as well, I presume?” She chuckled again as Luigi flinched.
“...How do you know that?”
“I am a seer. It is my business to know such things, though your brother’s presence here is no great secret.”
Luigi’s trembling increased until his teeth almost chattered. He glanced at the girl. She seemed undisturbed by the ghost’s presence, though she didn’t exactly look happy, either. This was a trap. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. But what if this ghost did know something?
“...Is he okay?” He finally asked.
The woman hummed.
“He is alive, though to say he is “okay” would stretch the truth. He has lived up to his reputation since his arrival here, though it wasn’t quite enough to save him.” She lifted something from behind the desk as she spoke, dangling it from one finger. Luigi’s heart jumped into his mouth. Mario’s hat.
“Where did you get that?” He all but shouted.
“Uh uh, volume,”said the ghost, holding a finger to her lips. “We wouldn’t want to alert the others to your presence, would we?”
“I found that,” said the girl. Luigi’s eyes snapped to her. “It was in the laundry room mixed with other clothes. The washwoman found it in the halls before that.”
Dead silence. Luigi glanced between the girl and the ghost. The ghost looked on, expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. He pulled the gameboy from its slot and powered on the screen.
“Where?” He rasped, holding the map toward the girl.
She gave both him and the ghost a wary glance before looking down at the screen.
“I don’t know exactly where the washwoman found it, and I don’t think she does either.”
“Where’s the laundry room?”
“It’s not on screen—to the left, this way.” She said, taking one of the device’s corners to steady it. Luigi scrolled until she pointed out one of the locked chambers. “This says it’s locked, but it’s not; I just came from there... I didn’t see anything else like the hat.”
Luigi glanced back at the hat, face twisting in distress. The ghost extended her arm, offering it. He let go of the gameboy and took it gently, at a loss.
“I think I have something more...” said the girl. Luigi looked down to see her exploring the map. “When we first came here, just after sundown, we heard somebody yell. We were somewhere in these rooms.” She pointed to a double strip of identical chambers. “I don’t know where the yell came from, but it wasn’t far away.”
She offered the gameboy back and he took it, starting at the rooms she pointed out.
“...Will you help me find the place?” He said earnestly. “Please?”
The girl looked up at him for a long moment, expresion shifting with thought. Slowly, she nodded.
“...Madame Clairvoya, please tell Agitha when she gets back.”
The ghost’s eyes wrinkled in a slightly less enthusiastic smile.
“Of course, sweetie.” She changed her attention to Luigi. “And if you find something more of his, do bring it back here. I may be able to tell you something more.”
It seemed best to respond, so Luigi nodded. He looked back at the curtains obscuring the door.
“And be sure to keep her in one peice,” Added the ghost. “Or you may have an… unfortunate encounter.”
The girl’s eyebrows dropped at the comment. Luigi shuddered. Quickly, he made for the door, the girl stepping softly at his heels.
Notes:
Looks like the characters are meeting up! Finally.
Madame Clairvoya is so fun to write for! I didn’t know how to portray her at first, but once the dialogue started, her character just blasted off, carrying every scene she showed up in.
Crafting Clairvoya’s past was also fantastic.
Generally, I whip up history for most characters, even minor ones. Even if it never gets written, that background bleeds through, bringing a lot of depth to the story. Madame Clarvoya’s past exploded everywhere, filling in all sorts of holes in my general Super Mario lore. I am like, 99.9% sure she’s the same type of creature as Antasma and Nastasia, and by extension, can turn into a bat. But I’m getting off track.
On top of how much fun it was to write, I think this chapter has some of the best dialogue I’ve ever written. Character interaction has always been a challenge for me. To look at this chapter and see the improvement is very, very encouraging.
Don’t forget to tell me what you think! I’ll take it all, good and bad. And if you want to know more about any of the characters or the world in general, just ask! I’m swimming in lore at this point. I’m seriously considering making character cards or something to get it written down.
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