Genre: YA historical mystery
Word Count: 73,000
Lucy's such an incompetent ghost that nobody notices she's haunting the Victorian estate of Springett Hall, but she's certain she died trying to fix some terrible mistake—one she must remember and set right before oblivion reclaims her forever.
Ghosts terrorize the household as Lucy tries to piece together the mystery surrounding her death, and shadows close around her each night, forcing her back into the darkness. The servants whisper about black magic and cursed souls. She suspects her forgotten task is the key to stopping the supernatural attacks as well as saving herself.
When someone finally sees her, she grasps the connection to the world of the living, even if it's only Philip, the assistant gamekeeper. His memories are as fragmented as hers, though, and as they delve into the secrets of Springett Hall, Lucy worries that her only friend, for whom she's developing an impossible attraction, may have been her mortal enemy.
With ghosts tormenting the living, a beast stalking the halls by moonlight, and cords of black magic tightening around Lucy and Philip, they have to face their past and unravel its secrets to save everyone at Springett Hall from a curse that reaches beyond death.
Light drew me back from oblivion's abyss. The sun’s rays pooled around me through a crack in red velvet curtains and spilled across the floor. I blinked at them, my mind as still and dark as a well. Shimmering flecks of dust hovered in the air. I waved to stir them, and they floated through my palm.
I gasped and jerked my hand back, staring at it. Through it, really. Even when I covered my eyes, I could see the furniture on the other side of the room: a grandfather clock with its hands stopped, a mahogany side table and sofa, and a portrait draped in black.
Someone had died.
I turned my translucent hand back and forth. Yes. Someone had.
My eyes tingled, but no tears came. I raced to the curtains to fling them open. My fingers passed through their thick folds. Trembling, I wrapped my arms around myself and paced. It was a nightmare. I would wake up. Everything looked solid and real, though. Everything except me.
I fled the room. My skirts swayed but didn't rustle. Nor did the crinolette weigh on my hips, or my corset squeeze my ribs. The memory of them clung to me, but I'd moved beyond their pressures.
A housemaid dressed in black strolled down the hallway, dusting delicate side tables. She didn't glance in my direction, even when I scooted closer.
“Hello?” My voice rasped out in a whisper.
The girl shook her dust rag and walked through me.