Hogwarts: Legacy of the Necromancer

Chapter 215: Chapter 215: The Killer Can Only Be Lucille



As her husband stared blankly at the bathtub, Edith Cushing gave him a shove."Thomas! What are you looking at?"

An elderly woman's ghost appeared—her head split open. The water in the tub was blood red.

The ghost slowly rose from the bathtub, her body marked by several large, gaping wounds.

But Edith Cushing couldn't see any of it. Just like the other ghosts only she could see, this one was invisible to the Sharpe siblings. Now that Thomas Sharpe could see this ghost, Edith couldn't.

"Thomas, I'm talking to you!"

She shook her husband vigorously, only to realize that his face had gone pale.

When she looked at the bathtub, Edith seemed to understand. After all, she often imagined ghost stories herself.

She wasn't unfamiliar with situations where one person could see a ghost, while another couldn't.

The old woman in the tub began to step out. Her body resembled a skeletal frame, and with those deep wounds, it seemed she might fall apart at any moment.

"Thomas! Thomas! My son!"

The ghostly figure cried out, her voice pleading as she stepped closer to Thomas Sharpe.

"Thomas! What's wrong with you?"

Edith looked at him in confusion, her gaze shifting between the bathtub and her husband.

"Edith, let me take you back to the room. You're not feeling well—you need rest."

Grabbing her shoulders protectively, Thomas Sharpe guided her out of the bathroom in a brisk, firm manner that allowed no refusal. Behind them, the ghost of the old woman weakly waved her arms, as if making one final, desperate attempt to reach him.

Thomas Sharpe looked as though he was protecting his wife, but deep down, he knew the one who truly needed protection was himself.

He had only been ten years old then. He and his sister had long suffered abuse from their mother, ever since their father, old Mr. Sharpe, died in a travel accident. The deranged woman had taken her rage out on her own children.

At times, she would care for their basic needs—but when her condition worsened, she would beat them within an inch of their lives. That terrifying feeling of being close to death was something they experienced often.

Until one day, the old woman was hacked to death in the bathroom—right there in that same tub, her body torn apart in a mess of blood and flesh.

Ten-year-old Thomas Sharpe no longer remembered the full details. All he could recall was that crimson hue.

Human blood, it turned out, wasn't much different from the red soil of the estate. Once it mixed with the earth, you couldn't tell them apart.

"Thomas! Are you okay? What did you see just now?"

Edith Cushing strongly suspected that her husband had just seen a ghost—and that it had frightened him terribly.

"I'm fine, dear. Really. I just got distracted, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

While comforting his wife, Thomas instinctively reached for the refreshments beside the bed, intending to pour himself a cup of tea.

Edith Cushing, of course, knew the tea was poisoned. Each time she brought it, she would secretly pour some out to make it look like she had drunk it.

Seeing Thomas about to drink it, she was thrilled—but she knew she had to stop him.

"Don't drink that! Thomas, this tea is—" Edith nearly blurted out that it was poisoned.

Thomas froze, staring blankly at the teacup in his hand.

"I mean, the tea's gone cold. If you want tea, let's go to the kitchen and brew a fresh pot."

Thinking her husband was upset, Edith quickly explained her reason. The weather was too cold, and hot tea would cool quickly. In winter, it was always better to drink something warm.

"Then don't move. Just lie down and rest. I'll go to the kitchen and make some. I'll bring it to you."

Finally snapping out of his daze, Thomas Sharpe looked at the teacup in his hand and gave a faint, apologetic smile.

"Does Thomas know the tea is poisoned?"

Milla Jovovich glanced at the cup in her hand. Luckily, she didn't drink tea—only pure water.

Watching Thomas about to drink it, he truly seemed unaware of the poison.

But after being stopped and freezing up with the cup in hand, it looked like he did know… perhaps he just didn't realize it at first.

Still, Edith Cushing clearly wasn't thinking that way. Even though she suspected her husband might have killed his four previous wives, the moment Thomas Sharpe poured her a cup of tea, all her suspicions seemed to vanish.

Then, the murderer could only be one person—Lucille Sharpe.

Clang! The tray of tea utensils was slammed heavily onto the kitchen table, causing the tea inside to spill out.

"Lucille! Stop it! We can't go on like this!"

Thomas Sharpe stared at the overturned teapot and cups on the tray. The flowing tea looked just like flowing blood.

"Stop? Thomas, have you forgotten who's always protected you? Who loves you? It's me!"

Lucille Sharpe sprang up like a cat with its tail stepped on, jabbing her finger hard into her brother's chest.

"Many things were already set in motion long ago. Ever since you were ten, there's been no turning back for us."

Lucille began tidying up the tea set, placing each item into the sink and washing them.

"I saw Mother. She was in the bathroom. She walked toward me, calling my name, pleading for help."

Once again, Thomas Sharpe fell into a daze. The ghostly apparition of their mother clearly had a profound impact on him.

"That's perfectly normal, Thomas. Anyone buried in the crimson soil of this mountain is bound to return as a wandering spirit."

Lucille Sharpe carefully arranged the clean tea set and began adding tea leaves into the teapot.

"The reason the Sharpe family used to be so wealthy was because we discovered this phenomenon—and the wealth that came with it. If it weren't for that damned Jewel Association, we could have lived the life of true aristocrats."

Lucille placed a kettle of water on the stove and then selected a red jar from a row of containers.

Inside the jar was nothing more than ordinary red soil, but judging from her actions, she intended to add it to the teapot.

"I'm going to have tea with Edith later."

Thomas Sharpe spoke suddenly as he watched his sister's movements.

That single sentence made Lucille's hand tremble. She then slammed the jar of red soil down with force.

"Must you go against me? If you had handled those greedy pigs at the Jewel Association back then, none of this would've happened!"

Despite her anger, Lucille still put the jar back in its place. She didn't want to hurt her brother.

"You're my sister. I won't sacrifice you in exchange for wealth."

Thomas Sharpe stepped in front of her, took her hand, and gazed at her with tenderness. Back then, those greedy pigs had the audacity to propose that the Sharpe family deepen ties with them—preferably by introducing his sister into high society.

What they really wanted was to turn Lucille Sharpe into a socialite for their benefit, and that was something Thomas Sharpe could never tolerate.

Had they not made such an outrageous demand, perhaps the Sharpe siblings might have gradually integrated into the aristocratic circle—perhaps even become corrupted later on, who knows?

But their rude and insolent proposal revealed their repulsive nature. It also extinguished any desire the siblings had to join the nobility, along with cutting off all avenues to sell their crimson rubies.

For over a century, the Sharpe family had been selling crimson ruby jewelry, passing it off as regular rubies.

Who would have thought the Jewel Association would demand that they classify crimson rubies as a separate kind of gemstone and market them as such?

At first, it seemed like a good thing—just like the distinction between champagne and sparkling wine.

But the Association quickly ruled that crimson rubies didn't qualify as gemstone-grade crystals, effectively cutting off the Sharpe family's financial lifeline.

It was nothing more than bullying—a small, powerless family with no influence. And they clearly wanted to seize the source of the crimson rubies for themselves.

"I know you invented the excavator for the Sharpe family. But you must also understand—without money, nothing can be done. Haven't things gone smoothly the past few times? Just keep going like this, and you'll successfully finish the excavator."

The water boiled. Lucille Sharpe brewed the tea and handed the cup to her brother.

"The trunk we lost earlier—Edith found it. It's in her room. She's even entered the secret chamber and taken the documents. So, don't have tea with her again. This will be the last time."

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