Lulu stood outside the towering wrought-iron gate of Dante Moretti's mansion, nestled in the quiet hills just outside the city. The estate looked more like an art museum than a home—gothic spires, marble statues, and the overwhelming sense that it was far too quiet for comfort.
"This guy really lives like a Bond villain," Lulu muttered under her breath.
Behind her, Marco Bellini—ghost, acclaimed painter, and recently wronged client—hovered anxiously. "Just… be dramatic. He likes that."
Lulu shot him a look. "Dramatic?"
Marco just nodded at her confusion, "Yes. Like a stereotypical medium. The more dramatic you are, the more he will believe."
She rang the bell.
A moment passed. Then another. Just as she was debating whether to bolt, the grand front door creaked open.
Dante Moretti stood framed in the doorway. Mid-fifties, immaculately dressed in a silk vest, with graying black curls, deep-set eyes, and an air of theatrical exhaustion. He studied Lulu like she was a strange sculpture.
"Yes…I was told by security that you were sent by a 'friend.' I let you in due to curiosity but I don't know what game you're playing little girl—I have no friends! So explain why you are here!" He declared with his chin raised.
'I have never seen anyone so proudly proclaim that they had 'no friends' before in my life'
Lulu blinked,"…I was sent by the ghost of renowned painter Marco Bellini."
Silence.
'There's no way this is going to work…Marco is crazy to think that this will work—'
Dante inhaled sharply and backed away with an almost fanatical and reverent expression, gesturing her inside with a trembling hand. "Come in. Come in quickly, before he changes his mind."
Lulu exchanged a quick glance with Marco, who just shrugged. Upon seeing Dante's crazed eyes, she mouthed, "Is he safe?"
Marco made a so-so hand motion and said, "He's never hurt anyone…As far as I know."
'Great.'
Inside, the mansion was every bit as dramatic as expected—vaulted ceilings, velvet curtains, golden chandeliers. Framed portraits of Marco's works lined the hallways, and Lulu noticed Dante stealing glances at them as though expecting them to speak.
"This is where it all happened," Dante said, leading her into a vast sitting room filled with antique furniture and the scent of pipe smoke. "He painted here. He drank here. He yelled at me here. I can still hear it sometimes…"
For a solid 5 minutes he went on and on about the memories he shared with Marco in this house before leading her to a sitting room.
"Wait…How do I know that you're the real deal" He sat down on an antique velvet armchair, while Lulu sat across from him on a matching (uncomfortable) couch. "Prove it," he said suddenly. "Prove that my Marco is with you."
Lulu's brain blanked for a half-second, but she snapped back into action, letting her posture shift. She widened her eyes slightly, lowered her voice, and allowed just a hint of an otherworldly lilt to creep into her tone.
"There was a silver watch," she said. "You used to move it from hand to hand when you were nervous. Marco hated that."
Dante froze.
"And…I see…a grape-coloured suit," Lulu continued, pressing two fingers to her temple as though straining to communicate with the beyond. "The one you wore to the gala at the Astoria. Marco said it made you look like an overripe plum."
Dante gasped. "Marco?!" he shouted, whirling around in his chair and pointing to the empty seat beside him. "Is it really you?!"
"No," Lulu said flatly. "He's behind you."
Dante spun again dramatically.
Marco, standing next to Lulu the whole time, crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. Lulu barely held back a snort.
"Right," Lulu said. "He's… shifting around. The spirit world is… unstable. I need quiet." She closed her eyes, raising her hands in the air, hoping the added theatrics would help sell the act. And to her relief, when she peeked one eye open, Dante was sitting bolt upright with reverent attention.
"Marco cannot rest," she intoned, "because his final wish was ignored."
Dante blanched. "No. No, I kept the paintings safe. I didn't sell them!"
Lulu opened her eyes and leaned forward. "But you didn't share them. You didn't do what he asked. He wanted his work donated to the world. To art schools. To galleries. You hoarded it, Dante. He says you're just another dragon sitting on a pile of gold."
Dante clutched at his chest. "He said that?"
Marco tilted his head back and forth, unsure about the phrasing, but Lulu translated: "Yes. Verbatim."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Dante stood and walked to the nearest painting. He touched the edge of the frame like it might burn him if he touched it for too long.
"I thought they were too precious," he whispered. "Too important. What if no one appreciated them?"
Marco stepped forward. "That was never your call."
"He says that was never your call," Lulu repeated.
Dante shut his eyes and exhaled. "Alright," he said. "Tell him I'll do it. I'll contact the museums. The universities. I'll make it right."
"He heard you," Lulu said gently.
Dante sat down again, wiping a tear from his eye. "Then I hope… I hope he can forgive me."
There was a long silence.
Then Marco smiled. "Tell him... I already did."
Lulu gave a soft nod. "He already did."
Dante finally looked at peace, giving a long emotion-filled gaze with deep longing and affection at…the air. But he believed Marco to be there and that was all that mattered.
"Ahem…Now that I have fulfilled my task, about my fee…"