Waking the Dead

by Jane Davitt

  “I don’t remember what half this stuff is.” Josh was looking at the pub menu with a confused expression.

  “I should have sent you a cheat sheet,” Nick said.

  John was supposed to be meeting them for lunch, but hadn’t arrived yet ‑‑ not that he could fairly be called late, since it had taken less time to walk down from the house than Nick had anticipated. He hadn’t realized how much quicker the walk would be with someone more than twenty years his junior at his side, for one, and with the warm summer breeze at their backs, they’d made good time.

  “Stilton mushrooms?” Josh said.

  Nick patted his hand reassuringly. “It’s a kind of cheese. You might not like it ‑‑ it’s sort of an acquired taste.”

  “Okay. What about Gammon steak?”

  “Ham,” Nick said, giving the slightest shake of his head to Geordie to let him know they’d need a few more minutes. “Well, it comes from some particular part of the pig, I think, but I’ve never really figured out where. It’s good. Salty.”

  “Yeah?”

  Josh sounded doubtful, and Nick couldn’t resist teasing him. “It comes with a pineapple ring.”

  “A what?” Josh shook his head. “Crazy. Like a Hawaiian pizza?”

  “Something like that,” Nick said. “I think I’ll stick with the steak and kidney pie and I’ll order John the same; they’ll keep it warm for him if he isn’t here by the time it arrives.”

  “Kidney?” Josh shuddered and rubbed his stomach dismally. “I’m going to starve.”

  “No, you’re not.” Nick tapped the back of the menu, a grin already spreading across his face. “They do a mean burger and fries on the kids’ menu.”

  Josh flicked a salted peanut at him. “Just for that, I’m having the most expensive thing on the menu. Let me see…”

  By the time they’d ordered, with Josh deciding to risk the gammon, the pub had filled up. “Is it always this busy?” Josh asked, sipping at his Coke. “I know it’s the tourist season, but…”

  “Not usually,” Nick said. The two tables beside them were crowded with people who were clearly part of a group, talking to each other with a slightly self-important air. The floor around them was covered with backpacks; the tables with maps and notebooks. He lowered his voice. “They could be hikers, maybe. From their accents, they’re English.”

  Josh’s expression became unfocused for a moment, and then he wrinkled his nose. “They’re part of some society,” he reported. “Here to reenact a solstice ceremony at the standing stones tomorrow on Midsummer’s Eve.” He looked thoughtful. “Are they allowed to do that? I know Stonehenge is more or less cordoned off these days.”

  “The circle here is mostly tumbled down rock,” Nick said dryly. “The sheep visit it more than any people do. Don’t go thinking it’s as impressive as the one at Callanish over on Lewis.”

  “Here comes John.” Josh said it a moment before the pub door opened. “But if it’s all falling down, why would they want to go there at all?”

  “You’d know better than me.” Smiling at John as he made his way toward them, Nick toed the chair to his left away from the table. “There are a lot of people on these islands who are stubborn about clinging to the old traditions. I think it makes them feel connected, maybe.”

  “To the past,” Josh said, like he understood. “Speaking of which…”

  “Don’t tell me,” John said, smiling warmly as he sat down. “Cait and the rest of them were filling your head with all sorts of stories last night.”

  “Well, a little,” Josh admitted, just as they were interrupted by the delivery of their meals.

  “Ah, isn’t this lovely?” John looked unusually pleased at the arrival of his steak and kidney pie, steaming and accompanied by a side of peas. “A man could get used to this sort of treatment.”

  Nick slid the extra pint over toward John. “I thought we were better off ordering before the place got too crowded.”

  “We’re well used to having to wait,” John agreed. “This is a nice change.”

  Once Geordie had gone, Josh frowned down at his plate. “I don’t know. I’m thinking pizza again.”

  “You’ll like it.” Nick tucked into his own meal, forgetting about the conversation they’d been in the middle of until he’d taken the first few bites. “So what were you saying?”

  Josh finished chewing and swallowed. “Oh, yeah. It was about the whole haunted cave thing.”

  “Haunted cave?” It only sounded vaguely familiar to Nick, who’d be the first to admit that keeping track of the island’s history wasn’t one of his strong suits. Still, given the subject matter, he’d have thought he’d remember this bit, at least.

  “Oh, God, that one?” John gave a mock shiver and stabbed a piece of steak with his fork. “Michael and I nearly went the same way as the brothers trying to find the cave. There’re three down there; well, more than three, but most are so shallow you could spit the length of them. Three go pretty far back, though, and we were sure there’d be claw marks on the wall, so we got our torches ‑‑”

  “Flashlights,” Nick told Josh. “And don’t get any ideas.”

  “But their hands were tied,” Josh blurted out. “How could they claw at the walls?”

  John looked mildly exasperated. “Well, we were only nine; how the hell would we know? And do you want to hear about how we got trapped by the tide and I lost one of my boots swimming for my life, and my dad took the skin off my arse for it?”

  “I think we just did,” Nick said and gave John’s knee a consoling pat. “It sounds hair-raising.”

  “Aye, well.” John shrugged and ate some peas. “It wasn’t the closest we came to dying; we were an adventurous pair back then. Never did find out which cave it was, though.”

  “Nick would know.” Josh turned, his chair scraping across the floor with a loud screech of wood on wood. “He’d be able to sense the ghosts.”

  His voice had risen, and Nick flinched as heads turned at the neighboring table.

  “Sorry,” Josh said immediately, lowering his voice and looking upset. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Nick knew they’d be listening now, but told himself they were temporary ‑‑ they’d be gone from the island soon enough.

  “But you would, right?” Josh didn’t seem willing, or able, to let it go. Stubborn. “You’d be able to tell which cave it was.”

  He nodded. “I can’t imagine why not.”

  “Unless there’s some truth to the stories and a witch really did perform some kind of spell to trap them,” John pointed out.

  Nick wasn’t sure he wanted to think about that ‑‑ he remembered the legend now, and he hadn’t wanted to think about it when he’d first heard it, either. The ghosts of people murdered by their fellow villagers, whether rightly or wrongly, who’d been angry enough to haunt them for months, maybe years, before a witch had been brought to bind their spirits to the cave where they’d died. How angry would they be now, so many years later, having been imprisoned in a place that couldn’t have anything but powerfully terrifying memories? It made him shiver.

  He jumped when he felt John’s hand settle on his, jolting him out of his reverie.

  “You all right?” John asked, and Nick nodded.

  “Sometimes I think a little too much,” he said to Josh in explanation.

  “I know,” Josh said wryly. “Believe me, I know.”

  John snorted and then hid his smile in his pint of beer. “You two…” he muttered.

  Nick kicked his ankle under the table and was about to change the subject and move it far away from ancient horrors when two people, a man and a woman, got up from the table next to theirs and came over.

  “Excuse me,” the woman said smoothly. She was in her fifties, with steel gray hair in elegant waves close to her head, attractive in a polished way. She was dressed casually, but it was an expensive, well-thought-out outfit. Still, her hiking boots looked broken in, and if the pants she wore were designe
r ones, they were equipped with pockets and would keep her warm if the summer day turned to a rainy summer day. Her companion matched her in looking well off but lacked her confidence. He stood beside her, plucking nervously at his lip with his fingers, his gaze fixed on Nick.

  “Yes?” Nick asked, trying to keep the wariness from his voice.

  “We couldn’t help overhearing ‑‑ you are Nick Kelley, aren’t you?”

  Oh, great. “Yes, I am,” Nick said, hoping maybe they’d just ask for an autograph and then go away. Of course, chances were they’d want more ‑‑ it wasn’t uncommon for people who’d recognized him to request an audience with That Guy Who Talks to Ghosts. They were usually hoping he’d be able to talk to some long-dead relative and weren’t thrilled when he had to tell them it didn’t work that way. And then there’d been that time a young woman, obsessed with beginning a new life with Nick as her husband, had shown up. Yeah, that had been fun.

  “Oh, how lovely.” She offered her hand, and he stood up and shook it, not seeing any way out of the situation without being rude. “I’m Bonnie Wishart, and this is my friend Fred Reynell. We’re here with the Society for the Preservation of Ancient Henges and Circles. We’d love a chance to speak with you while we’re here on Traighshee, if you could make a bit of time for us.”

  Nick shook Fred’s hand while he was at it. “I’m sorry, I really can’t,” he said, indicating Josh. “My brother’s here visiting from the States, and it wouldn’t be fair ‑‑”

  “But surely he’d understand?” Bonnie smiled politely at Josh. “Even if you could spare an hour…”

  Josh looked as if he was about to be equally polite back at her and say that it was fine with him, but Nick projected a mental “No!” so strongly, while keeping his expression neutral, that he thought he saw John pick up on it, as well as Josh.

  “The man’s told you he’s busy,” John said without turning around, his knife and fork still active. It wasn’t like him to be that abrupt ‑‑ he usually found Nick’s fans, if that was the right word, more amusing than anything ‑‑ but Nick had the feeling that John, like himself, had taken a dislike to the arrogance behind Bonnie’s words. She didn’t seem like the sort of woman who was used to being denied.

  “Busy? Another book, perhaps?” She gave an indulgent chuckle. “It has been some time since the last one, hasn’t it?”

  John took a deep breath, but Nick forestalled him. “That’s right,” he said. “So if you’ll excuse me ‑‑”

  “What we’re here for would make an excellent chapter,” she told him. Nick half expected her to begin dictating to him on the spot. “We’re going to recreate a ceremony at the stone circle tomorrow at sunrise. We most certainly don’t want an audience of the ignorant or inquisitive, but someone like you would be very welcome as our guest.”

  “I really appreciate the offer, but I can’t.” He reminded himself not to offer any of the potentially arguable reasons why he couldn’t, because if he did she’d surely just come up with the arguments. “Thank you, though, for the interest. I hope you have a nice visit.”

  Keeping his eyes on the table, Nick sat down and concentrated on his food. He could feel their gazes on him, but a moment later, they wavered, and then the two of them went back to their own seats.

  “I don’t know why they’d want me there anyway,” he muttered, glancing at John and Josh. “It’s not like I’d have any clue what they were doing.”

  “Just as well.” John cleared his throat and spoke in a more normal voice. “They’re the worst kind of tourists, really.”

  “That sounds like an insult when you say it,” Josh said. He didn’t seem to think the label applied to him, which it didn’t, as far as Nick was concerned, even if, strictly speaking, Josh had no blood tie to the island; Josh and he only shared a father, and that father had never set foot in Scotland. It didn’t matter. He belonged here, thanks to his mother, and Josh was his half brother, and so…

  “It’s not,” John said, and drained the last of his pint. Nick, who could guess where John was going, groaned quietly and hoped John would at least keep his voice down. “You’re thinking of ‘English tourist.’” He set his empty glass down with a very final, emphatic clink and raised his eyebrows at Nick. “What?”

  “I think it’s time we went,” Nick said firmly.

  Outside, the sun was warm enough to make walking around the village seem like a good idea. A ferry was coming in, ponderous and serene, and the three of them walked down to the pier to watch it dock. A fresh breeze was scudding along the water, whipping up a frill of white foam on the top of each glassy curve of green wave.

  Josh made a contented sound and sniffed the air. “God, it smells so clean. I mean, yeah, I can smell that seaweed down there and the fumes from the ferry, but it’s still really, really clean. They should bottle it. It beats all those fancy air fresheners.”

  “It does, at that,” John agreed, anything else he had to say drowned out by the mournful blast of the ferry’s horn. When the echoes had died down, he glanced up at the sky. “We could go sea fishing. Not for long, but maybe a couple of hours?”

  “That translates as ‘back only when it gets too dark to see the water,’” Nick said helpfully.

  John clicked his tongue reprovingly. “It does not. I’ll have the lad back by four, I promise.”

  “I, um, I’m meeting Caitrin back at the house at five,” Josh said. He wasn’t blushing but there was just enough self-consciousness to rouse Nick’s suspicions. “She’s going to show me ‑‑”

  “Spare my innocent ears,” John interrupted, which was Nick’s take on it, too. “Fine. I’ll have you back in time so you don’t keep her waiting. Now, let’s go over to the bait shop and pick up something to bribe the fish with.”

  “You go,” Nick said, glad of an excuse to avoid the far from fragrant air of that particular store. “I need to get a few groceries at Dunn’s. I’ll meet you back at the car. Where did you leave it?”

  “Behind the library,” John said. “We won’t be long.”

  “Right,” Nick said. “I’ve heard that before.”

  John laughed, gave him a parting pat on the shoulder, and led Josh away.

  Nick watched them go and then went in the opposite direction, already running through a grocery list in his head. He rounded a corner, trying to recall if it was black pepper or the white John preferred that they were low on, and found himself a few yards away from Bonnie and Fred.

  “We thought we’d try one more time to convince you,” Fred said quickly before Nick could avert his eyes and pretend he hadn’t seen them. “If you won’t attend our ceremony tomorrow, would you at least come down to the caves with us and see if there’s any truth to the legends?”

  They’d been aiming their questions at locals in the pub, no doubt, and heard the whole story. “Look,” Nick said, fidgeting and trying not to sound too irritated. “I’ve been all over this island for years. If there were any truth to it, I’d know, okay?”

  “But have you been down to the caves when you were truly open?” Bonnie looked so hopeful that it was hard not to feel guilty.

  “No, but…” Nick sighed. “Okay, fine. But I have things I have to do today, so it’s got to be quick. And when nothing happens, which I’m telling you is going to be the case, then that’s it.”

  Fred nodded. “We completely understand. It’s just that there are so few opportunities for us to observe someone as sensitive as yourself. This is the chance of a lifetime, really.”

  “We appreciate this so much,” Bonnie added.

  Nick contemplated telling them his usual rates, just to see the look on their faces, but decided against it. He had taken money for what he did in the past ‑‑ his former partner, Matthew, had insisted on it, and they’d had to live on something ‑‑ but since he was certain this was legend, not fact, it wouldn’t be fair.

  He pulled out his cell phone. “Just let me make a quick call.”

  * * * * *


  The caves were all caves should be; dark, dank. The rocks that made up the floor were slippery with seaweed draped over barnacles. Nick had already lost his footing once and gotten a scraped palm, the abraded skin stinging from the salt water he’d washed it in.

  This was the third and largest cave, and like the others it was empty in every way.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “That can’t be right,” Bonnie said, her face tight with disappointment. “This is the last cave; it has to be this one.”

  “I don’t understand how you can tell just like that,” Fred said, a slight edge to his voice. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, meditating first or something?”

  “I thought you’d read my books,” Nick said, shivering in the damp, cool air. “Tell me the page where I ever do anything like that and I’ll give you a signed copy. I don’t need to meditate; if there’s a spirit here, I’d know, the same way I’d know someone had been cooking if I walked into a house and smelled barbecue.”

  “But there has to be something.” Bonnie was frowning and rubbing her upper arms in a way Nick was pretty sure was unconscious.

  “Not really,” Nick said. “It could be that there’s no truth to the story at all. Or maybe it did happen, but on another island, or maybe there was another cave on a different part of Traighshee and it collapsed ages ago. Maybe the men that were killed never did haunt anyone, and it was just guilt that made the villagers think they were seeing things.”

  Fred looked around. “You’re sure? There’s nothing at all?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry.” Nick wasn’t, of course; he wasn’t a bit sorry.

  “Then let’s go,” Bonnie said abruptly. “I’m freezing.” She gave Nick a look that said she blamed him for that, and he met it with a bland smile.

  Chapter Seven

  “They’re mad,” John said with conviction after Nick finished telling him about the caves. “Why would you lie?”

  “I don’t know.” Nick was frowning, which wasn’t a look John liked seeing on him. “Maybe they think I want to keep any discovery to myself?”