Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

who seemed to be able to transport to various places and thus followed Seraphina for a tour to the Capital, was inspecting a particularly expensive bottle.

”Excellent vintage. I believe I shall—”

WHOOSH!

He disappeared through the wall.

”MY DIGNITY!”

”Great heavens!” Bartholomew yelped, trying to grab onto a wine rack to anchor his ectoplasm.

His grip phased right through the wood. ”Not again! I am losing my structural dignity!”

He was dragged through three floors of solid stone, tumbling head-over-heels through the walls.

Inside the master bedroom, Seraphina kept her eyes closed, maintaining the gravitational pull.

POP. SQUELCH. WHOOSH!

Ghosts from every corner of the estate were dragged toward Seraphina’s bedroom.

They passed through floors.

Walls.

Ceilings.

One ghost accidentally traveled through three floors, a chimney, and a portrait.

Another emerged from a bathtub.

Within ten seconds, the massive, opulent bedroom was uncomfortably packed with over forty translucent, glowing, completely bewildered spirits.

They were piled on top of each other in a chaotic tangle of ethereal limbs, powdered wigs, ruffled aprons, and antique armor.

Nobody understood why.

Finally—

POP!

Ghosts began materializing inside Seraphina’s room.

One.

Five.

Ten.

Twenty.

Forty.

.

.

.

There were maids.

Butlers.

Knights.

Cooks.

Stablehands.

An elderly ghost who appeared to have brought a broom with him.

And one extremely confused ghost dog.

They were piled together in an enormous translucent heap.

Seraphina slowly opened her eyes. She released the magnetic pull.

The glowing violet light in her dark irises slowly faded back to a normal, innocent brown. She looked at the sprawling pile of confused phantoms.

Bartholomew slowly floated upward.

His spectral tailcoat was crooked.

His dignity was dead.

”My Lady.”

”Yes, Butt-tolomeow?”

”You just dragged me through a chimney.”

”I’m sorry.”

”You are not.”

”No.”

Bartholomew sighed.

Seraphina stood.

”Welcome,” Seraphina announced, her clear, childish voice carrying a terrifyingly adult, commanding edge. ”Thank you all for accepting my humble invitation. I appreciate your promptness.”

Bartholomew managed to untangle himself from the headless knight’s armpit. The butler floated upright, aggressively smoothing down his rumpled, spectral tailcoat, his pale blue face twitching with exasperation.

”Humble invitation?!” Bartholomew sputtered, pointing an accusatory, trembling finger at her.

”My Lady! You utilized a Class-A gravitational magic to drag us through the plumbing! I was halfway through a wall! I almost swallowed a brick! This is an incredibly undignified way to summon your staff!”

”My apologies, Butt-tolomeow,” Seraphina replied dryly, entirely unapologetic. ”But we are on a tight schedule, and I couldn’t exactly send out formal RSVP cards. The element of surprise is tactically essential.”

”Thank you all for coming.”

Sir Reginald raised his hand.

”Did we have a choice?”

”No.”

”...Excellent.”

Agatha, the elderly ghost maid, floated forward, clutching her feather duster, her translucent face etched with deep, grandmotherly concern. ”Oh, you poor, powerful little dear! You shouldn’t be awake at this hour! And utilizing such heavy dark magic! You’ll stunt your growth! Do you need a spectral lozenge?”

”I am fine, Agatha,” Seraphina raised a hand, cutting off the fussing.

She stood up from the rug. But she didn’t climb onto the bed.

She walked over to the massive, roaring fireplace and stood in front of it, using the dying embers to cast a long, dramatic shadow across the floor.

She clasped her hands behind her back.

Her cloud-patterned nightgown was slightly too large.

Her hair was messy.

She was barefoot.

Pacing slowly, projecting the aura of a military general addressing a battalion of raw recruits.

And somehow she looked like a six-year-old warlord preparing to invade a kingdom.

The chaotic chatter of the ghosts instantly died down. Despite her tiny stature and her cloud-patterned nightgown, the undeniable authority radiating from her core demanded absolute silence.

They felt the weight of her soul. She was the apex predator of their realm.

”Listen to me very carefully,” Seraphina began, her voice echoing softly in the insulated room. ”The Archduke is currently trapped in the Imperial Palace.”

The ghosts became quiet.

”The enemies of this household are already moving.”

She turned.

”They believe our servants are blind.”

”They believe our walls are secure only because of physical guards.”

”They believe a child cannot understand politics.”

Seraphina smiled.

”They are incorrect.”

The ghosts exchanged glances.

She stopped pacing, leveling a fierce, penetrating glare at the assembled spirits.

”I am establishing a counter-intelligence network.”

Sir Reginald’s headless armor straightened.

”Counter-intelligence?”

”Yes.”

”I am going to build a counter-intelligence network so flawless, pervasive, and utterly untraceable that the Empress herself will forget her own secrets. And you... all of you... are going to be my operatives.”

Bartholomew’s eyes brightened.

The ghosts exchanged bewildered, excited, slightly terrified glances.

”Operatives?” Sir Reginald, the headless knight, managed to convey through the stump of his neck. ”You mean... like a spectral Vanguard?”

”You intend to use us?”

”Exactly.”

Seraphina pointed toward the ceiling.

”Humans cannot pass through walls.”

The ghosts nodded.

”They cannot enter locked rooms.”

More nods.

”They cannot observe someone without being noticed.”

Nods.

”They cannot spy from inside a sealed vault.”

The ghosts became increasingly excited.

Seraphina smiled.

”But you can.”

The room went silent.

Then Agatha raised her hand.

”What about carrying things?”

Bartholomew floated closer, his aristocratic demeanor fully engaged, intrigued by the sheer audacity of her plan. ”My Lady, while your assessment of our ethereal capabilities is accurate, we suffer from a fatal flaw. We cannot interact with physical objects reliably, cannot steal letters or carry messages. Our poltergeist abilities are limited to rattling teacups and creating cold drafts.”

”That’s the problem.”

”I am aware,” Seraphina smiled, a wicked, brilliant smirk. ”Which is why I have spent the last three days creating your physical interfaces.”

Seraphina walked to her wardrobe.

She opened the bottom drawer.

Then pulled out a massive wicker basket.

She dragged it across the carpet.

THUMP.

She dumped the contents onto the floor.

Hundreds of paper ducks spilled everywhere.

They were meticulously folded, incredibly complex, and entirely uniform. But these were not made from discarded tax ledgers or diplomatic missives.