by Cindy Miles
I land on the cushioned window seat with one knee, and press my hands against the glass as I stare out. Logan’s words register in my head and relief washes over me that my mom is safe.
But there’s something else now. As Logan moves next to me, I point to the courtyard below. The face now stares up at me from the body of a woman. Elizabeth.
“What is it?” Logan says.
“You don’t see her?” I gasp. “She’s down there, staring straight up here.”
“I dunna see her, Ivy. Who is it?” he asks.
“It’s Elizabeth,” I respond.
Logan moves closer, his gaze searching below. “I see nothing but an empty courtyard.”
“Why can’t you see her?” I demand fiercely, and tap the glass. “She’s right there!”
“I dunna know,” Logan responds. “Ivy, calm down. Are you sure you see —”
“Yes!” My eyes won’t leave the image of Elizabeth below. But now she looks … different. Black, gaping orbs that are her eyes and mouth stare up at me, and although she doesn’t speak and that strange mouth doesn’t move, she beckons me. Then she turns her ring on her finger and begins to walk away.
“She wants me to follow her,” I say, and just that fast I’m halfway to the door. “I’m going to get that ring.”
“Ivy, wait!” Logan yells. He’s on my heels and then beside me. He moves ahead of me, making me stop, and looms over me. “You dunna do anythin’ without me checkin’ it out first, aye?”
“Okay,” I answer, then take off again. I fly down the staircase as quietly as I can, taking two at a time, and all but skid across the great hall. Gently, I open the door and race out into a mist-shrouded night. Logan’s right by my side, though, and I feel safe.
I catch sight of the figure up ahead and come to a stop.
“You see her?” Logan asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “She’s standing right beside that old twisted tree.”
“Ivy,” he says slowly. “That’s the rowan.”
My heart leaps.
“Did you bring your yew sliver?” he asks.
Oh, shoot. “No.”
Logan mutters what must be a Gaelic curse word.
“She’s pointing at me, Logan,” I say. “And she’s pointing at the rowan tree.”
“Och,” Logan mutters, frustrated. “Why canna I see her?”
“She wants only me,” I answer, shivering. “And she doesn’t see you. She wants to show me something.”
The wind picks up, blowing thin wisps of mist. I move slowly toward Elizabeth. Logan stays by my side.
She seems surreal, almost blending in with the mist swirling around her bare feet. The wind blows fiercely now, yet the rhythmic flow of her nightgown reflects a different, gentler breeze. And still, those dark orbs stare blankly at me. Not at me, yet beckoning me. I should be frightened, but I’m not.
Hesitantly, I move closer. Closer, still, until I’m nearly at the tree.
“What is it you want?” I demand.
She’s pointing to a nondescript clump of ivy and moss at the base of the rowan tree. As I walk toward it, she disappears.
Dropping to my knees, I ignore the frigid wind biting through my sweater and pajama pants, and pull back the vines. I gasp.
“It’s a door,” Logan says.
“Did you know this was here?” I ask without looking at him. “It looks like it’s been here a long time.”
“I had no idea,” Logan admits.
With my palm, I graze the old door, then the rusty iron padlock hanging from it. “The wood’s all rotted,” I say, then without hesitation, I stand, share a look with Logan, and kick the door. The aged wood smashes like smoked kindling. “There’s something down there,” I say, peering into the shadowy hole.
“Ivy, be careful,” Logan warns. “Dunna get so close.”
I give Logan a long look. “I’m going to get that ring off of her if I have to hold her down and yank it off. It has to be behind all of this,” I plead. “And it might be behind what happened to you as well.”
It’s then that, all at once, I feel a pair of hands on my back. I’m shoved — hard — and before I even have a chance to scream, I’ve lost my balance. I’m falling straight into the gaping mouth of the hole.
I find my voice and yell as I tumble down, down, into the shadows.
I land hard on my back, and my head smacks against the rough surface. My body feels light, and everything around me begins to darken. Elizabeth leans over me, and frigid puffs of white escape her mouth and swirl over my face with each of her ragged breaths.
Logan’s frantic cries reach me, just before a heavy pitch blanket smothers me and pulls me into a shroud of darkness.
“Ivy! Answer me, please — Ivy!”
Logan’s words, although muffled and far away, reach my ears. Opening my eyes, I focus on the very first thing I see.
Logan’s handsome, fretful face. His brows are dark slashes above his silver eyes.
“Can you move at all?” he asks. He starts to touch me and draws back, clearly remembering he can’t, really. “Ivy, answer me, can you move your arms? Your legs? Och, gell, I’m sae bloody useless!” His voice is harsh, angry, worried.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I respond, and slowly push myself up onto my elbows. It’s cold. Moonlight streams in from high above, illuminating Logan’s strong features. When I sit all the way up, Logan’s eyes close briefly, and he mutters something I can’t hear.
“Can you stand?” he asks. His voice sounds pained.
“I’ll try,” I say, and with ease I push up to my feet and stand. Logan’s worried expression tears at me. “I’m fine, Logan,” I assure him gently. “Honest.” I move my arms and legs. “Nothing broken.”
Relief eases the lines of concern on his face. “Thank God,” he says, then runs his knuckles close to my jaw, his gaze softening. “You scared me terribly, lass.”
“It was Elizabeth,” I say, suddenly remembering the moments before the fall. “She pushed me, Logan.”
Logan’s brows furrow as he frowns. “Ivy,” he says with caution. “No one was there, save you and I.”
Confusion makes my head spin. “But I felt a pair of hands push against my back when I fell,” I say. “I saw her face, Logan. Saw it clear as day. She’s the one who shoved me into the freezer, too. I’m sure of it.” I shake my head. “It’s that ruby ring. It’s … possessed her. And she’s making bad things happen with it. Including making my mom sick.”
“ ’Twill be all right,” he reassures me. “But we have to find a way out of here first.”
He’s right. I search the small chamber I’d fallen into. Shadows reach from the walls as the moon passes in and out of the clouds. In the distance, the sea crashes against the rocky base of Glenmorrag. With the scant light of the moon, I notice dust-laden wooden shelves lining the walls, sagging with the weight of jars filled with … something. A thick blanket of cobwebs covers other items, and the webs and dust are so thick I can’t even tell what they are.
“This must’ve belonged to the old vicar,” Logan says. “ ’Tis a food cellar.”
“Then we’re below the rectory,” I say.
“Aye.”
My fingers brush the binding of a leather-bound book, completely cleaned and webless. I slowly retrieve it and hold it out for Logan to see. “Look.”
Walking toward the one shaft of moonlight in the dank chamber, I open the book and flip through the pages.
“It’s a … book of spells,” I say, and lean the leather-bound volume toward the small shaft of light illuminating the tomb. “There’re spells for all sorts of stuff in here.” I continue to read. “Commanding the dead.” I flip the page. “Choking with rowan,” I say, and shake my head. That must have been what was choking me that night.
“I remember,” Logan says suddenly. “The ring.”
I look up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“The ring commands the wearer,” Logan explains, hi
s eyes growing wide. “And the wearer uses the book of spells to command the spirits, make things happen.” For a moment, he closes his eyes, then again looks at me. “I remember it now. My uncle Patrick … the ruby ring was a Munro relic, handed down through generations. But it was rumored to be cursed. Patrick didn’t care. He was so proud to have found it, buried in the Munro keep. ’Twas there for centuries, hidden. I was right there when he placed it on his finger for the first time. Everything after that … changed.” Logan glances at the tome. “I remember that book. He kept it in his croft, beside his bed. Wouldna let anyone get near it.”
“But you got near it?”
Logan nods. “Aye.”
“And then he killed you?” I ask.
“I dunna remember that part,” he answers, and shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
I sigh. I’d give anything to comfort him more. “It’s okay.” I feel we’re getting close, though. Close to some answers. I look back down at the book, and flip to a new page. There’s a spell called Veil of the Living.
“I wish I could read these spells,” Logan says, sounding frustrated. “Maybe then I could piece everything together. Can you read one to me, Ivy?”
“‘Veil of the Living,’” I say, reading. “‘ ’Tis once you walk with a beating heart, now you’ll drift as mist, forevermore.’” This is followed by a long string of Gaelic words, which I try to pronounce best I can.
When I look up at Logan, something is very wrong.
“You’re fading, Logan,” I say, growing panicked.
Logan glances down at himself, then back to me. He says nothing.
“Oh, you’re almost see-through!” I cry, wanting to touch him, to grab on to him. “What’s going on?”
“Ivy,” he says calmly, but I’m still jumping around, trying to make the fading stop. “Ivy, shhh,” he whispers. “It willna help.”
“What won’t help?” I say, bewildered. “Why not?”
“Because you just read the incantation that takes me out of this limbo,” he answers, looking around, then at me. “I … canna stop it, Ivy.”
Pain and terror grip my throat and squeeze. “No, Logan!” I say vehemently. “No!” I start flipping through the book like crazy. “Maybe there’s a spell in here to reverse things.” My eyes scan the pages. “There’s got to be something!”
“Ivy, please, lass.”
I look up and move closer to Logan and clench my fists. “You … can’t go!” Tears sting my eyes.
Logan glances down at his vanishing form again. He’s now nearly transparent. “Ivy, listen to me,” he says frantically, his voice fading. “I feel myself slipping, and I’m sorry, lass. I didna expect this,” he says, searching my eyes now. “I didna expect you.”
“I want to go with you,” I say quietly.
Mere inches separate us, and Logan’s head is bent toward mine. “You listen to me, Ivy Calhoun. You canna remain here in this damp, moldy old tomb. You have to escape and tell the truth of that bloody ring, and get it away from Elizabeth. You have to destroy it. And the book of spells wi’ it. As fast as you can.”
My mind, my body is frozen. I can’t believe what’s happening. I can do little more than stare at Logan.
“Ivy! Hear me, gell! You have to do this, do you understand me? Look at me!”
Slowly, my eyes focus on Logan’s fading, somber silver gaze. I nod.
“Promise me, Ivy, that you will do everything you can to escape this place. Promise me!”
“I promise,” I say quietly, tears falling. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” he says, just as quiet.
“Feumaidh mi do leigeil as,” he whispers against me. “I have tae let you go.”
A cry rips at my throat.
“Fuirichidh mi riut,” he says, his voice breaking. “I will wait for you.”
Tears roll down my cheeks, unchecked. I’m losing Logan now, and sadness overwhelms me. I start to shake as I cry.
Logan’s lips graze ever so close to mine, causing a tingle much softer than before, yet the sensation sinks straight to my soul. He’s fading fast, I can feel it. I open my eyes and look at him. “Logan?”
“Mairidh mo ghaol gu siorraidh, Ivy Calhoun,” he says, and I already know that means I’ll love you forever.
“Forevermore,” I say in return, and graze his cheek with my fingertip. “I’ll love you always, Logan Munro.”
A sad, somber smile touches his lips. Before he fades fully he says one last thing. “Bi mi còmhla riut gu brath.” His eyes remain on mine. “I will always be with you.”
Then he vanishes completely.
“No!” I yell, tears streaming down my face. “Come back!” The cold air freezes the tears against my skin, and I scan the small room. “Logan, come back.” I wait a few moments, my heart beating out of control. “Logan?” I say, hoping a part of him still remains. My ears strain for even the slightest of sounds. A feeling. A sensation.
Nothing. Everything is completely still, inaudibly silent.
Inside, I’m dying. Tears scald the back of my eyelids and spill out. How did I grow to love someone — a ghost — in such a short time? I’ve had crushes before, back in Charleston. Nothing of substance.
This, with Logan? It’s real. And it hurts.
I stand there, in the shadows of a long-forgotten vicar’s pantry, wrap my arms around myself, and sob. Heart-wrenching cries feel as though they’re being ripped from my chest. Time passes in such a way that I don’t even know how long I stand there. It’s not until the damp chill from being underground begins to seep through my sweater that I stop. Drying my eyes with my sleeves, I take a deep breath in and let it out slowly.
Logan’s gone. I don’t feel him anymore. Somehow, by reading aloud that ancient spell, I freed his spirit.
He’s finally with his mother, as it should be.
Like my mother needs me.
I need to get out of here.
Pushing aside my grief, I search the darkened chamber for a way to escape. There, hidden in the recesses of shadow, I find a small door. There is no bolt or lock, so with the palm of my hand, I push against the aged wood. Slowly, it creaks open, and a cold, shadowy tunnel stretches before me. Stale, cold air wafts toward me on an icy draft. Knocking cobwebs from above, I follow the path to a narrow flight of uneven stone steps. I glance behind me, for what reason I don’t know, and then with caution, I begin to climb. Thirteen steps in all. At the top, another door, smaller, sturdier, and more modern than the ones below. The lock on it is shiny silver. The wood is far from rotten. I bang my fist on it.
“Hey!” I holler. “Can anyone hear me?” I bang some more. “Hello! Is anyone there?”
I wait, listen. A draft of air seeps from around the door and brushes my cheek. But I hear no sounds at all from behind the door. I can only assume it’s somewhere inside the castle, judging from the length of the tunnel. But I have no idea where.
I pound on the door, shouting and calling out for at least an hour. My throat starts to burn and my voice grows hoarse. It’s no use. No one can hear me. No one’s coming.
I have to find another way out.
Moving back down the stone steps, I follow the damp, chilly tunnel back to the food cellar. Standing beneath the hole I fell through, I stare up into the moonlight. Then I run my hands over the walls. I try to find footing with the toe of my shoe, but it keeps slipping. The more I try, the more frustrated I become. It’s impossible! The walls are way too smooth. “Hey!” I yell, hoping someone will hear me. “Hello?”
My voice becomes crackly and ineffective, and I’m exhausted. I’m reminded of being trapped in the freezer. I sit, right below the hole above me, and simply … breathe. Weariness overcomes me, and I rest my forehead against my knees. My mind wanders.
Maybe this is my destiny? Am I supposed to die here?
I shiver. What if I’m never found? If I die right here, in the food cellar, will I then be with Logan? I don’t know if I want that, though. I still want to liv
e. Logan would want that for me, too. I know he would.
If only he were here with me now….
Ivy!
My body bolts up, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“Logan?” I whisper.
I glance around, rub my eyes, stretch my stiff back and legs. I must have dozed off a little, sitting there in a daze.
And it suddenly all comes rushing back, flooding my memory like torrential rain.
Logan. The ring. Elizabeth. The book of spells.
Faint, hazy early-dawn light seeps down from the hole above. I clear my dry throat and holler. “Hey! Is anybody out there? Hello?”
Footsteps crunch against gravel, grow closer. “Hello!” I yell. “I’m down here!”
I pray it’s not Elizabeth.
“Ivy? What on earth are you down there for?” Niall’s face stares down at me from above. “Are you hurt?”
“Niall! I can’t get out.”
He peers down and glances about. “What’s down there?”
“I think it’s the vicar’s old food cellar,” I answer. “Can you help me? Please?”
“Of course I can,” he answers. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and disappears from the hole.
Suddenly, I’m anxious — dying to get out of the dark, dingy cellar. I clutch the book of spells to my chest and wait.
I’ve got work to do.
Luckily, I don’t have to wait long. The sound of a tractor’s engine grows close, then idles.
“Step aside, lass,” Niall says, emerging over the hole again. “I’m goin’ tae drop this rope down.” He does, and the heavy rope hits the cellar floor with a thud. “There’s a loop at the end, see?” he says.
“Yes, I see,” I answer.
“Good. Wind your leg ’round the rope, then stick your foot in the loop. And then hold on.”
“Okay,” I respond, tucking the book into the waist of my pajama pants. Then I do as Niall asks. “I’m ready,” I yell up.
“Hold on, gell,” Niall hollers down. “I’m goin’ tae let the tractor pull you most of the way up, then I’ll help you.” He moves away from the hole once more, and I hear as he shifts the tractor into first gear.
With a jerk, I start to rise from the cellar. As I grow close to the hole, I wonder if Niall’s going to stop. Then he does, and his head appears once more. “Okay, lass, I’ll pull you the rest of the way. When you clear the top, grab on to the ledge, all right?”