Accursed by Amber Benson Read Free Book Online Page B

tangle that fell down around her shoulders all the way to her perfectly rounded breasts. Sigils of magic and warfare were painted on her naked form, and she clutched a spear that was taller than she was. The shadows seemed to cling to her, but rather than lend her a modesty she did not possess, they instead made the sight of her all the more sensual.
    Yet the sight of her was also a reminder of the pain she had endured while she lived. A fierce warrior—the queen of a savage tribe and a fearsome army—she had fought to drive the invading Roman soldiers away from the shores of Albion in a time so long ago that to most she was merely a legend. There had been sorcerers among the Roman forces, and they had allied themselves with demons. The queen’s two daughters had been raped and murdered by one such creature, a demon-beast called Oblis. She had turned to magic herself, to spellcraft that required those symbols to be painted on her flesh. They had been painted in blood.
    And while she was naked, in the midst of performing the ritual, the Romans had caught her off guard. She had died that way, unclothed, and so she remained in the afterlife, though by choice. Her nudity caused William to look away, but Tamara admired the ghost for her stubbornness. Queen Bodicea would never allow herself to appear vulnerable, whether covered in armor or bare to any blade that might cut her.
    Though none would do so, ever again.
    “Good evening, Tamara,” said the spectral queen.
    “And to you, Bodicea. He’s been awfully quiet, hasn’t he?”
    The ghost shimmered, there in the half-light of the corridor. The substance of her form glowed darkly within, as though some night-black flame burned inside her. And perhaps it did, a fire of hatred. Bodicea glanced over her shoulder at the door, and then focused once more on Tamara.
    “If he is quiet, it is only that he is thinking. He has interrupted his torment of the household to consider other ways in which he might cause anguish. The demon does not rest, Tamara. I know you realize that it is not your father inside this room, but it is difficult to see a human face and not ascribe to it at least some human qualities. Shed from your heart any tenderness you carry, for Oblis will recognize it, and exploit it.”
    Tamara nodded once. The demon had been trapped here long enough that she did not need Bodicea’s warning, but she knew the specter could not resist the urge to offer it. Just as William and Tamara were haunted every moment by their father’s fate, so was the ancient queen seared by the memory of the defilement and murder of her daughters. It was cruel irony that the two tragedies would be so entwined.
    There was always a guard for the room at the top of Ludlow House. Some of the other ghosts would go inside, to stand sentry over Tamara’s father, as would the Swifts’ friend Nigel Townsend, when he took his turn. But Bodicea never entered that room, and perhaps that was for the best.
    Otherwise Tamara might fear for her father’s life.
    The soup bowl felt suddenly heavy in her hands. She took a deep breath and met the ghost’s gaze straight on, unnerved as always by the translucence of Bodicea’s eyes. Tamara always felt that, if she could only catch a glimpse of those eyes without their transparency, their dark glow might provide a window onto eternal night, into the afterlife. Into eternity.
    Then she glanced away. If such a sight were possible, she was far from certain she would welcome it.
    “I’ll be wary,” she promised. “But if he is up to something, I want to know what it is.”
    The ethereal flesh of the ghost seemed to churn, and rather than stepping away from the door, she flowed.
    Tamara balanced the cold soup bowl in one hand and with the other reached for the doorknob. Bodicea whispered her name, and she glanced back at the specter.
    “You look lovely,” said the queen, her voice another sort of ghost, as if the observation pained her. Her faded eyes spoke of