Chapter Thirty-Three

thirty-three

"OH," SIMONE MOANED, LEANING FORWARD just the slightest bit before shutting her eyes and pressing back against the wall. " Mon Dieu. "

When she made a move to slip out the door, Jemma was on her feet in seconds, grabbing her aunt by the shoulders and shaking her. "Don't you dare do it. You look at them. You look down there." She faced the other family members. "All of you, do it. You too, Grandmère and Fosette." Turning back to Simone, she dropped her hands, leaving dirty prints all over the woman's pink sleeves. "If I have to face it, you have to face it, too."

A cold hand gripped Jemma. It was Jane's.

"Angry."

"I know. What can we do?"

"Rest. Want to rest."

And then she was gone.

"How many of them are down there?" Russell asked.

"Seven," Jemma answered, joining Magdalene, crouched at the edge of the hole in the dirt floor, before looking up at him. "We have to get them out of here and buried in a real grave."

"We?" he asked.

Jemma shot up, her fists hard rocks at the end of her arms. "Yes, we, as in all of us. Our ancestor is the reason these people were buried here. Our ancestor let them die and then rebuilt this room over their bodies. It's up to us to set them free. That's the only way to break the curse and save our lives."

Russell, Honorine, Simone and Fosette looked at one another, each with a different expression. Simone still looked terrified, her gaze darting to the grave and the ceiling with regularity. Russell was stony faced, but Jemma thought that he might be the first to bend. Honorine looked troubled and smaller, the imperiousness she wore like a dress nowhere to be seen. And Fosette wore the most curious expression of all—a mix between anger and defeat.

"So if we bury them, we'll be okay?" Russell asked.

Jemma exhaled, wanting nothing more than to clean herself up and climb into a soft bed. But she knew if she did that, she wouldn't wake for days.

"They want to rest. The decent thing to do is to give them a Christian burial."

"Father Louis won't come out here—" Honorine started.

"This has nothing to do with that man or anyone else from your church. This is between family only. We're all going to get our hands dirty and release these people from the hell they've been in for a hundred years. None of you are going to be free until you free the souls our ancestor trapped here. Why do you think you're half-mad and surrounded by rot? So go upstairs and get changed if you need to. Forget about putting on any of that fancy Paris shit you've been buying lately. And get back down here quick. I don't want to have to come looking for any of you."

Honorine opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Simone was the first to go, followed by her daughter, mother and brother.

"You think they're gonna come right back?" Magdalene asked.

"I do." Jemma didn't know where such certainty came from, but it was there.

Magdalene's hand hovered over one of the skeletons. "Down here all this time, under their feet. Good God. No wonder this place is so full of ghosts."

That reminded Jemma of Adam and all the rest. She stood up and dusted off her hands, Magdalene joining her. Looking at her friend, she reasoned that she must look the same, as if they'd been buried and had just climbed out of a grave themselves. A humorless laugh escaped Jemma, and Magdalene reached out to hold on to her arm.

"You all right?"

Jemma nodded, a thickness in her throat. She wasn't going to cry, not yet. Instead, she swallowed the lump and looked around the room.

"Adam? Are you here? Are any of you here? Please answer me if you are. Please. Help me."

She felt Magdalene step closer to her, but to her friend's credit, she didn't look scared. Jemma called out for them a few more times. None of them showed, but her family eventually trickled in, Simone last, dressed in a pair of Capri pants. Jemma shook her head. Honorine was dressed in what had to have been a pair of her late husband's slacks, and Fosette matched her mother in what appeared to be a brand-new pair of Capris. Of course they wouldn't have "work" clothes, she thought, glad that Russell at least owned a pair of jeans, which bunched around his hips. The family looked a sight. In any other circumstances, Jemma probably would have laughed.

Before she could say anything to them or direct them, the ghostly form of Adam suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, hovering over the grave, his face mournful as he looked down into it.

Fosette let out a long moan and grabbed her mother's arm, but neither of them attempted to run.

For the first time, all of the family members could see him.

When Jemma said, "Adam," he raised his head.

"We want to help you and Jane and all the others buried here."

"Free us."

"Yes. We're going to bury you in a real cemetery—"

He shook his head, startling her. Jemma's mouth hung open.

"Well, then how can we free you?" she asked. "What do you want?"

His gaze moved to her family members, huddled together. "Them."

Four pairs of light-colored eyes widened, their gazes skittering from Adam to Jemma as if pleading with her not to let that happen. It was clear they'd heard.

"What do you mean?" Jemma asked, but she already knew.

What the ghost wanted was revenge.

"Adam, you don't want them. That's not the way to be free. Trust me. Is there another way?"

His eyes moved back to Jemma. She found their translucence arresting, although just beneath it she could see the opaqueness.

"Free."

"What about peace?" she asked.

His eyes seemed to lose a bit of their fire. He cocked his head as if waiting for her to continue.

"You don't want to be moved, right?" Jemma asked. "I understand. You've been here for a hundred years. This is your final resting place. You died bad, so you haven't been able to leave, to move on. I'll set you free. All of us will, but it can't be with more death." When he didn't contradict her, she hurried on. "You and Jane and the others will rest here, but we'll do it right. We'll give you the peace you need to move on."

She looked at her family. They shared blood but little else.

The secret is in the blood, one of the spirits had said at the séance.

"Is it us, the family? Do we have to do something for you to give you peace?"

"Freedom. In forgiveness."

She looked at each living person gathered around her before putting her hands out.

"Join hands," Jemma commanded.

Just like they had at the séance, the family members joined in a circle, without anyone raising a question or complaint.

"Each of us has to ask for forgiveness from them," Jemma said. "For what Corentin Duchon did. He's dead, so obviously can't ask for forgiveness himself, but we can do it in his name, we who share his blood. There's freedom in forgiveness. There's peace there, for all of us—not just them, who deserve it way more than we do."

After taking several deep breaths, she continued. "I'll start. Forgive me for what my ancestor Corentin Duchon did to you, not only for taking your life but also for not valuing you as a person."

As soon as she finished speaking, Jane's ghostly form rose from the grave and hovered next to Adam's.

Jemma looked to her right, where Simone gripped her hand. "Go on."

Simone stammered for a few seconds, looking at Jemma with uncertainty, but she eventually began to speak, her husky voice filling the room. "Forgive me…for what our ancestor Corentin Duchon did to you. For not trying to save you. For building this room on top of your bodies. I'm so sorry."

This time it was Marie who appeared.

Fosette spoke next, her voice as high as it had ever been, but even. "Forgive me for what Corentin did to you, for his blood flowing in all of us, for the sins we committed from that madness. Oh God, forgive us. We free you. We free you."

Tomas rose next.

Russell added to the pleas for forgiveness, "I'm so sorry for what I did to Inès."

And then there was Ruth.

Honorine, staring at the ghosts facing the family members, straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Jemma eyed her warily, hoping that her grandmother wouldn't choose this moment—a moment when Jemma felt how close they all were to being free of everything this house had done to them—to reassert herself. But she watched her grandmother's shoulders fall, her chest sink a little, as she exhaled heavily.

"Forgive Corentin Duchon for his greed and selfishness, for his inhumanity. His sins invited your wrath on our heads. Forgive us all."

Thérèse rose from the grave to join the five other spirits. But there was one more name, and no more family members were left to speak. As Jemma tried to think of what they could do to raise the last ghost, Magdalene squeezed her hand and cleared her throat, looking around at the Duchons.

"If Inès were here, she couldn't ask for forgiveness the way all of you did. But if she had her voice, she would've been the first to say she was sorry for what happened here." Magdalene fixed her gaze on the spirits. "She tried to help you the best she could. She's not here to speak, but let me speak on her behalf. She was my friend, and I think I speak for her when I ask you to forgive her for not being stronger. Forgive her for being scared and for turning away from you. I wish you all peace and the freedom to leave this place, to move on to a better place, where you're not tied down and suffering. It's time. It's time to move on and be free."

After a moment, Suzette, the last spirit, rose from the grave. To Jemma's eyes, the ghosts looked a little more translucent, although she couldn't be sure if it was because her eyes, and her hopes, were playing tricks on her.

"You're not forgotten," Jemma said. "Adam and Jane. Marie and Tomas. Suzette, Ruth and Thérèse. Say their names."

At her prompting, the rest of the Duchons, and Magdalene, too, spoke each of the spirits' names aloud.

"Again."

They all repeated the names in unison, as the forms grew fainter.

As the sound of the names rose into the air for a third time, the spirits shimmered for just a moment and then all were gone.

And for the first time since she'd arrived months ago, Jemma didn't smell or taste smoke in the air.

Instead, there was the faint scent of gardenias.

It smelled like heaven.