by Cindy Miles
But it’s just a fantasy.
My own hand hovers completely over his. My breath comes a bit faster. Then ever so slightly I graze the line of his knuckles with my fingertips.
I gasp as a surge of energy makes my skin tingle, and in surprise, we both look at each other. The sheer wonderment in Logan’s silver eyes reflects the same in mine. Several words come to mind. Gratitude. Disbelief. Amazement.
If I’m anything at all, I’m determined to see Logan get another chance at life.
And that officially scares me. How can it not? Logan lived long ago, and his young life ended before it barely started. He’s dead. And yet he makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt.
“What are you thinking, Ivy?” Logan asks quietly. He shifts closer to me.
Drawing a deep breath, I meet his gaze full on.
“I’m thinking how unreal all of this is. I’m thinking that, at one time, you were as alive as me, walking around, living your life. And then someone … stole it from you. And now here we are, together.”
Logan lifts a hand, close to my jaw, his long fingers seemingly brushing a wisp of my hair aside. Of course, my hair doesn’t move, but the motion of it, the intimacy of it, makes my heart leap.
“I’m glad it’s you, Ivy. ’Twas meant for you to come here, to Glenmorrag.” His smile vanishes, and his purposeful stare returns. “To me.”
“I’m glad, too,” I answer, and the smile that pulls at my own mouth is unstoppable. “So,” I say, “where do we go from here?”
Logan doesn’t answer. There is no easy answer. So we sit side by side, our hands almost touching, while outside the storm rages on.
It’s Saturday morning. Amelia’s due to arrive home this afternoon, and I’ll hopefully get to see her tomorrow. Today, Emma and I are going into the village with Mom to stop by the library. Mom wants to check out a gazillion baby books, and Emma and I want to look up more about Glenmorrag’s history. It was Emma who had the idea — she thought I might have missed some important clue about Logan or the castle in my quick research last time, and I wonder if she’s right.
Logan stands with me outside the castle doors while I wait for Emma. Mom is getting ready inside.
“I’ll go out and have a chat with Ian while you’re gone,” Logan is saying. “I’ve been neglecting the old guy lately.” A slight grin curls up one corner of his mouth. “I canna fathom what’s drawn my attention away so.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I say, smiling and fighting down my blush. “You’d better say hi to Emma first, though.”
Logan grasps his heart. “Och. Two bonny lasses after me. Whatever tae do?”
“Your ego is getting out of control.”
Just then, Emma pulls up on her scooter and removes her helmet. Wild ginger curls spring every which way.
“I’ll bet that’s fun tae ride on,” Logan says, staring at the scooter. He smiles. “Mornin’, Emma.”
“Mornin’, Logan,” Emma says. She grins at me, proud of herself. “I think I’m getting used to seeing him.”
“Aye, well, you two lovely ladies enjoy the village,” Logan says. With a slight bow, he disappears.
“Okay,” Emma whispers. “I can’t get used to that.”
“Listen,” I tell her. “Amelia’s coming back today. I can’t wait to talk to her.”
“Aye.” Emma’s finished Enchanted Love as well, and we’ve compared our theories. Emma agrees that the story must match Amelia’s life, fantastical as it seems. “If that book she wrote has as much meanin’ as we think, she may have the answer to all of this.”
Gosh, I hope so.
“Oh, hi, Emma,” Mom says, coming out the door. She’s looking very pretty in her bright pink hat, matching scarf, and dark coat. “You girls ready?”
“Hi, Lady M.,” Emma says. “Love the hat.”
“Strap that seat belt on,” I warn Emma as we get into the car. “Seriously. Ride of your life.”
“That’s not nice, Ivy,” Mom says, laughing.
“But it’s the total truth,” I answer.
With Em’s eyes wide as saucers at Mom’s UK driving, we arrive at the village. It’s gray out, the persistent slip of mist settling over the water. We park by the seawall, and I open my door. Several fishing boats are anchored in the bay, bobbing within the white hazy vapor. In the distance, something bongs a buoy, and it echoes off the stone buildings.
“Now that’s just creepy,” Mom says as we get out of the car, and I think, You don’t know creepy, Mom.
Once inside the library, Mom ensconces herself in the parenting section while Emma and I go straight to the local-history section.
“Here’s something,” Emma says, pulling a tome from the shelf. “Medieval Glenmorrag.” She flips the book open and scans the pages. “Aye, this one’s a keeper. Lots of stuff in here.”
We go through the short line of books on the village’s history, find a couple more to check out, then head to the computer room.
“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” I say, “but maybe there’s something on microfilm.”
“Like, something that happened in the village? Or something about strange events at the castle?” Emma asks.
“Exactly.”
Finally we get the microfilm and hook up everything on the machine. I scroll through the old pages of the Glenmorrag Gazette. It casts a white glow in the darkened room. Nothing too interesting or strange seems to jump out over the years. I go back five years, ten, twenty….
“Hey,” Emma says, reading over my shoulder, and I pause. “The Glenmorrag storm, 1983. I remember my mum talking about it. Huge storm o’ the elements, she said. Lightning. Thunder. Hail, even. And winds of hurricane proportion. Lightning struck my gran’s croft and burned it to the ground.”
“Wow,” I say as I read. “It all occurred in one day. November 20, 1983.” I’m not sure why this storm is important but somehow I can’t look away from the article.
“What are you reading, sweetie?”
Emma gasps. I jump in my seat and turn to face Mom.
“Mom! You scared us!” I take a calming breath.
Mom laughs. “Sorry guys. So what are you reading?”
“Nothing, just some old Glenmorrag history,” I say. I turn off the computer and glance at the stack of books tucked under her arm. “Ready?”
My mom beams. “Yes I am! It’s been a long time since you were a baby. I’ve lots to read up on.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I seriously doubt things have changed all that much, Mom.”
“Well, I did do okay with you, I suppose,” Mom says teasingly. “Raised a violin prodigy and all.”
I smile at Mom as Emma laughs. “Maybe you’ll have another one?” Emma suggests.
Mom winks at Emma and nudges me. “There can be only one Ivy. My first baby.” I feel a flush of joy at her words. “How are things going with practice for the Strings festival?” she asks me.
As we discuss my music, I realize how much I miss my mom. Again, part of me wants to tell her about everything weird I’ve experienced at Glenmorrag. The freezer, the raven, the hedge maze, the choking. Logan. Especially Logan.
But I barely believe that he’s real myself — no way would she. Or anyone else for that matter … except Ian, and Jonas, of course. And Emma. Serrus.
And Amelia, along with the entire Munro clan.
I guess I have a larger support group than I thought.
We check out all of Mom’s parenting books and the ones on Glenmorrag Emma and I found. Loaded with books, we leave.
Once we’re back at Glenmorrag, Mom brings the baby books to Niall in the sitting room. I open the hall closet for Emma and me to hang our coats. As I close the door, Elizabeth is standing there.
“What did you do to the window upstairs?” she asks me. With her lips tightly pulled, her brows furrowed, she awaits my answer.
I send Emma a hasty look. “I didn’t do anything to it,” I answer. “A raven flew into it and broke it.
”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrow.
Even though the MacAllister matriarch intimidates me, I don’t look away.
The old woman’s stare never leaves mine, even for a second. “Birds aren’t the only things that can go through windows,” she says.
A small gasp escapes Emma’s throat.
Elizabeth smiles, and with her forefinger and thumb, she twirls that gaudy ring she always wears.
“You’re right,” I say, and I continue to stare at her, unblinking.
Elizabeth’s eyes turn to pure ice. “Watch your tongue, girl,” she says. “Or you’ll be taught a lesson you’ll not forget.” Without another word, she turns on her little heels and struts across the hall and disappears into the shadows.
A breath escapes me.
“I fancy a girl with backbone. Truly.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to quiet my squawk of surprise seeing Logan appear out of nowhere.
“You’ve got to start giving me a warning before you just pop up,” I say. “Seriously. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
“Och,” Logan says, “strong lass like yourself can withstand a little surprise here and again, aye?” He glances in the direction Elizabeth disappeared. “The old girl truly doesna fancy you. She threatened you, Ivy. Right in front of Emma here.”
“Me thinks the old bird wants tae shove Ivy out the window,” Emma says angrily. “The look in her eyes?” She shudders. “Possessed.”
I sigh. “No kidding. Anyway, let’s go find Ian.”
“Why?” Logan and Emma both say at once.
“I’d like to ask him if he remembers anything about that storm,” I answer, looking at Emma. To Logan, I add, “A big multielemental storm happened here, about thirty years ago. Ian’s been here for forty. Surely he’ll remember.”
“Ian’s out in the maze,” Logan says. He thinks for a minute. “I dunna recall such a storm. I must’ve been wanderin’ elsewhere at the time.”
Emma’s phone rings. Pulling it from her pocket, she says, “It’s me mum. I’ll be just outside.” She heads for the door, letting it close behind her.
I pull my hat snug over my ears, and reach for the door handle myself. But Logan swears under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
Logan lowers his head close to mine. “Just know this, Ivy Calhoun,” he begins. “If I werena a ghost I would open all doors for you, properly.” He frowns. “As it is, you must open them for yourself.”
A smile spreads across my face. “It’s okay, Logan. Really.”
“ ’Twill have to be, aye?” he answers. “I’m stuck in this lifeless body.”
Somberness grips me, and I think it grips Logan as well. For a moment, we’re silent. In the great hall, sunk in the recessed shadows, we stand face-to-face.
“Being a ghost hasna bothered me so much,” he whispers. “Until now.” He leans into me, our mouths close. “Until you.”
I literally feel tingles on my lips. My heart skips a beat.
I want him to kiss me. More than anything. But he can’t. I can’t.
A small smile tips up the corner of Logan’s mouth. “We’d best get to that maze,” he says softly. The look on my face must reveal puzzlement, because he chuckles. “Ian? Questions? Storm?”
“Right!” I say, and struggle not to slap myself. Has a ghost really made me so loopy? I slide past Logan and open the front door. The blast of cold air hits me in the face and I breathe it in, welcome it.
“What’s wrong wi’ you, Ivy?” Emma says, standing on the last step. “You’re as pale as a sheet.”
Behind me, Logan laughs softly, and I feel my cheeks turn crimson.
“If you were alive, I’d elbow you in the gut,” I say to Logan, heading down the graveled path.
“I know you would,” Logan answers, walking beside me.
“What’d I miss?” Emma asks, looking between me and Logan. “Somethin’ good, wasna it?”
Logan just chuckles, and we all continue on toward the maze.
Waves crash against the rock Glenmorrag is built upon, the sound rumbling through me as we make our way across the bailey. Within a few moments, we arrive at the maze and find Ian, trimming a section of the hedge. He glances up at our arrival.
“Och, look at ya,” he says, pushing the old soft hat perched on his head back a ways. “ ’Tis an odd thing indeed, seein’ you, boy, with another living soul besides myself, or Jonas,” Ian says. “Much less two lasses.” He laughs. “What can I do you for this fine Highland afternoon?”
“Do you remember a big storm that happened here?” I ask.
“The one in ’83,” Emma offers.
Ian nods. “Aye. ’Twas a wild storm, that day. Crumbled a goodly amount of the rectory.” He scratches his head. “I even remember that poor Lady Elizabeth, she was caught in the storm. Had to be carried in by the servants.” He takes a couple of clips at the hedge, then meets my gaze in particular. “ ’Twas odd, too, how the next day, she was changed. Up till that day, she’d been a fine, chipper lady. But after that storm, an icy glaze covered her eyes and she’s been cold ever since.”
A chill goes through me. Elizabeth? She’d been nice before the storm? Why? How?
Before I can ask more, my cell phone rings. Amelia Munro’s name lights up the screen, and I look at Logan and Emma. “It’s Amelia! Sorry, Ian, I have to take this call!”
“I’m back now, and you must come over together,” Amelia says. “We’ve a lot to talk about. And Ethan wants to meet Logan.”
“He’s anxious to meet you all, too,” I say. “But there’s a problem.”
“What’s that?”
I sigh. “Logan tried to hitch a ride in my stepdad’s car and he sort of, I don’t know, his body couldn’t keep up. He just popped out of it.”
“Hmm,” Amelia says. “Let me talk to Ethan. I’ll text you later, okay?”
“Sounds good to me,” I answer. “Thanks, Amelia.”
“You bet, kiddo.”
Just then, Serrus’s motorcycle pulls up the gravel drive. Pulling off his helmet, he sets it on the handlebar and comes toward me. At this point, Logan and Emma are walking away from the maze to join us.
“Hey, guys,” Serrus says, then turns to Logan. “Cousin.”
“Cousin, yourself,” Logan responds with a grin. “How is it to ride that big metal beast?” Logan inclines his head toward the motorcycle.
Serrus smiles. “From what I hear, if ’tis left up to Ivy here, you’ll one day be able to know that for yourself.” He grins at me. “You’re all the talk up at the Munro tower.”
“Oh, boy,” I say, and Serrus laughs.
“All good talk, I promise,” Serrus assures. “So what are you all up to?”
Quickly, we fill him in on our findings at the library, the storm, and what Ian says about Elizabeth. Serrus whistles low.
“Aye, the Munros talk about that storm every so often,” Serrus says. “Ethan swears it had roots in the dark arts.”
I feel my ears prick up. “What do you mean?”
“ ’Twas black magic that caused such a change in the elements,” he says.
“Well, I’m going over to talk to Amelia as soon as possible,” I say, and look at both Serrus and Emma. “You guys want to come?”
“Aye,” they say in unison.
“Ethan’s trying to figure out a way for Logan to get there,” I explain, glancing at Logan. “Last time, it didn’t work out.”
“He will,” Serrus says. “When Ethan Munro decides something, he doesna turn loose until he’s seen it happen.”
That comforts me. I want Logan to go. He has to.
Sure enough, later that evening, after Emma and Serrus have gone home and I’m getting ready for bed with Logan outside my door, I get a text from Amelia.
Ethan has drawn a walking map for Logan, and I’ve e-mailed it to you. It’s not on the modern roads, but a path Logan would have walked during the time he was alive. Ethan says he s
hould leave at daybreak. Once he’s here, I’ll come and get you.
I hurriedly open my door and hustle Logan inside, explaining Amelia’s text.
“Aye, ’tis worth a try, indeed,” Logan agrees.
I check my e-mail and print out Ethan’s map. Logan and I go over it together. Logan knows exactly where the tower is and what path to take. He’ll depart before daybreak so he’ll have enough time to get there.
Before Logan leaves my room for the night, he gives me a long look. “Thank you.”
I cock my head. “For what?”
His eyes soften, like liquid mercury in an old thermometer. “For what you’re doin’ for me.”
Without breaking our gaze, I smile. “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.”
He smiles back. “Good night, Ivy Calhoun. ’Til the morn.”
I remember how much I wanted him to kiss me earlier in the day, and that same ache returns. I look down, reminding myself that it can’t be. At least, not now.
“Good night,” I say softly.
It’s late — nearly midnight — and I’m lying in my bed, covers pulled up to my chin, reading The Ghost of Dibble Hollow. I jump at the sound of something falling onto my floor, and I peer into the shadows beyond my lamplight. I see nothing. That is, until my eyes light on an object just in front of my dresser. Setting my book aside, I crawl from the bed, ease over to the thing, and crouch down. I pick it up. I blink.
It’s the rowan bark. From the raven’s beak. How the heck did it get back in here?
Lightning flashes, illuminating my room in an eerie milky glow.
And far away, as if on the opposite side of the castle, I hear a soft cry.
My skin tingles, and I strain to listen.
Again I hear it. A woman crying out. It’s not the peacocks. It almost sounds like — Mom?