by Cindy Miles
However, at school, I can never get Emma alone. Our teachers watch us like hawks so there’s no time to whisper or pass notes in class, and during lunch, we’re joined by the twins. I decide I’ll just text my friend later, or wait to reveal everything when she comes to the castle over the weekend.
Mom is the one to pick me up from school, which is a nice surprise. She drives us to the village to pick up fish-and-chips for dinner. She’s still getting used to driving on the left side of the road, and the adventure of that finally takes my mind off of Logan for a few minutes. By the time we make it into the village of Glenmorrag, I’m a little dizzy.
“Now that was fun, huh?” Mom says, laughing and shaking her head. She glances out the windshield and gasps. “Wow, Ivy — would you look at this place!”
We both step out of the Rover, and I take in the sight.
The daylight is waning, and Glenmorrag Village looks like something out of a movie. It’s still a walled township like it was in medieval times, and we walk through a guard post in the old wall. I half expect to see a dirt-smudged thief with his head and arms poking out of the stocks, and people throwing rotted heads of cabbage at him. We walk along the cobbled streets, past a couple of touristy shops, and find the chip shop — a one-room establishment. There’re no seats inside, and the two grizzled old ladies behind the counter fry the fish and French fries (aka “the chips”). They squirt vinegar and some weird-looking brown sauce all over them, then wrap them up for us in thick white paper.
“Let’s eat ours here,” Mom suggests. “We’ll take Niall his.”
“Sure,” I agree, and we find a place to sit outside, on a concrete bench facing the sea. I stare down at my food, feeling slightly dubious.
“I promise, sweetheart. You’re going to love it,” Mom says. She breaks off a piece of fish and pops it into her mouth. I do the same. The crispy fried batter and vinegar, and even the unknown brown sauce, are totally delicious.
“You’re right,” I admit. “It’s great.”
Mom studies me for a moment. “I understand how this is all probably so overwhelming, Ivy,” she says seriously. “I love Niall, you know.” She brushes her hand over mine. “I never thought I’d find that after your dad. He loved me so … completely. Just like he loved you.” I nod, feeling choked up. Mom glances out over the sea for a moment, then turns her gaze to me. “I guess I’ve been ignoring you a little lately, and I don’t mean to. I haven’t been feeling totally well the past few days. I’m sorry, baby.”
I smile at my mom. Her acknowledgment really does make me feel better.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I assure her. “I want you to rest if you’re sick, and I’m glad you’re happy with Niall.”
Mom studies me. “Niall hasn’t exactly acquired the knack for communicating with a teenage girl yet, I’m afraid. But I know he wants to.” She smiles. “He tells me he feels like a fool for not knowing what to say to you.”
That, too, makes me feel better.
“Well, I don’t exactly know what to say to him, so maybe we can learn together,” I answer.
Mom’s face brightens. “That’d be wonderful, sweetheart.”
The drive back to the castle is just as terrifying as the drive to the village, with Mom gripping the Rover’s wheel so hard that her knuckles are white. Thankfully, we make it back in one piece.
As we get out of the car, a peacock’s scream rips through the air, startling me. I suck in a breath, shoving my hands deep into my coat pockets. Something makes me look up, toward the castle’s far end facing the sea. I find my room quickly, and freeze.
Someone stands at the window, looking down.
Directly at me.
I narrow my eyes, trying to make out who it is, but before I can, the figure moves aside. Who’s in my room? Was it a maid? Are they stripping the beds and washing linens today? I keep forgetting that I’m supposed to allow the elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Willets, and Trudy, the young maid who spoke to me on my first morning here, to take care of it. Habit, I suppose. I’ve never had a maid before, and to be honest, I don’t want one now. I’d rather have a room with total privacy than someone coming in and going through my stuff.
Maybe it was Elizabeth I saw in the window, though. Or was it Logan?
Who is — or was — he? Why does he want me to leave? Why would it not be safe here? I can’t stop the questions from racing through my mind.
Mom brings Niall his fish-and-chips — I suppose Elizabeth will be dining alone tonight, which is great news — and I head straight up to my room. While I’m not exactly scared, I am a little apprehensive. I draw a long, deep breath and open my door.
A cold shiver races through my body.
Not only is my violin hovering in midair, the bow poised over the strings as though someone unseen is holding it, but my laptop and my iPod are also floating. My clothes are firing out of my drawers, one garment at a time; my schoolbooks on my desk are open, pages flipping back and forth. I stare in horror, gaping. This is not okay — I have to do something. I stride into my room and stand directly beneath my instrument. Just as I reach out to grasp the base, it drops, and I catch it with a gasp. My bow clamors to the floor.
I find myself angry. I grab my laptop and my iPod from the air and set them on the bed, and carefully load my violin back into its case.
“You know, this instrument is special to me,” I shout to my empty room, snapping the case shut. Anger and fear are making me shake inside. “How would you feel if I snapped your precious flute in two? You can at least have the courtesy of showing yourself if you’re going to toss my strings and belongings around.” I prop my case against the wall where I’d had it before. “Or how about you just don’t touch my stuff at all.”
Everything stops. Clothes drop, pages stop flipping. It is totally silent, and the longer I stand there, the madder I become.
“Logan,” I say out loud, furious. “I’m not leaving Glenmorrag. I don’t have anywhere else to go anyway. You can’t scare me off. So you might as well stop with all the tricks. Seriously. Not cool.”
Of course, there’s no response.
Frustrated, I sink down on the bed, my head in my hands. I almost want to cry. When I lift my head, Logan is there. My breath catches.
He’s standing propped against one of the columns of my bed. He looks exactly the same as before, and even though I’ve been expecting him, I’m still taken aback by his presence.
“What do you mean, you won’t leave?” he demands. “You’ve no choice. You’re no’ wanted here, gell.”
“By who?” I demand. I stare at him. He looks so … real. “You? Elizabeth? I’m only sixteen. I can’t just … leave. This is where I live now. Why do you want me to go so badly?”
He frowns. “Are you daft, gell? I’ve already told ya — this place isn’t safe.” He leans forward. “Go!”
I squeeze my eyes shut but then I open them. I frown back. “No.”
Logan mutters what must be a Gaelic swear under his breath and disappears.
Blinking, I scan the room. “Logan? Where’d you go?”
Silence.
“Ugh!” I grumble in frustration, and fling myself against my pillow.
I want to get up and text Emma. I have homework to do, too. But the events of the past few days, combined with the still-lingering jet lag, make me suddenly tired to my bones.
I’m just drifting off to sleep when I hear a strange noise. Footsteps. Fast, harsh little heel taps against the hardwood, rushing past my room. I’ll bet anything it’s Elizabeth, snooping around. But in the middle of the night?
I roll out of bed, cross to the door, and poke my head out. The corridor is empty. I shut my door, then throw the dead bolt.
I go back to sleep, and I dream of objects in my room — my hairbrush, my iPod, my All Stars — floating above me and of Logan watching me through the drapes around my bed. I dream of mist and wind and rain.
When a weak stream of light filters into my room the next morning,
I feel like I haven’t slept at all. I’m itching to compose — a new piece has burrowed into my brain in the night — but I have to get ready for school. I promise myself I’ll work on the new piece in the evening — provided Logan leaves me alone. Plus, tomorrow will be the after-school music program Headmistress Worley mentioned. And I haven’t forgotten about the Strings of the Highlands festival and contest.
The rest of the week passes in a blur — but without any sign of Logan or any objects in my room being disturbed. The after-school music program is fun — Cam is in it, since she plays the piano, and the school’s big music room is a good place to practice my strings. Still, I prefer to play at home. Every night after school, I play my new composition on my window seat. It’s coming together nicely — it’s spooky, sorrowful, with just a twinge of punk. I know I have this dimly lit, cold castle and my frustration with a ghost to thank for my inspiration.
Although I eat lunch with Emma and the twins every day, I don’t say anything at all about Logan, preferring to wait until I’m alone with Emma at the castle on Saturday afternoon. I feel some of my anxiety settle just knowing I’ll have decent company then.
Finally, it’s the weekend. As soon as Emma steps inside the foyer of the castle, I practically pounce on her and drag her into the library on the first floor. That’s where I’ve been hanging out since breakfast, practicing violin. Mom and Niall have gone into the village and Elizabeth, thankfully, is nowhere to be found.
“This place,” Emma says, grinning and looking around in wonder, “is positively wicked. I’ve seen it from far away, of course, but never inside.” She turns and looks at me. “What’s it like sleeping in a haunted castle? Pretty creepy, I bet.”
“Try waking up to your clothes flying all over the room,” I answer, shutting the library door. “Yeah, I’d say it has its quirks.”
Emma’s eyes widen with curiosity. “You didn’t tell me about that!” she gasps.
“Patience,” I tell her. We sit together on the sofa by the crackling fire, and in whispers, I fill her in on everything: my encounters with the handsome ghost, his paranormal tricks, what Ian said about him being murdered.
When I’m done, Emma shakes her head, those fiery-red spirals bouncing. “We’ve got to figure this ghostly lad out, Ivy. It’s true that it could be he was killed before his time, and that’s why he’s hanging about.”
I shrug. “I tried talking to him the other night, but he’s so stubborn.”
Emma frowns. “Och, girl. Be careful about confronting the ghost. He could be dangerous.”
“I’m not sure he is,” I admit, feeling confused. “Oh, and I keep calling him ‘the ghost,’ but he has a name. Logan Munro. According to Ian, he’s haunted this castle for a while —”
“His name is Munro?” Emma interrupts. “Remember Serrus, the prefect you met on your first morning? We should tell him about Logan. He might know something.”
I do remember the good-looking prefect but I’m puzzled. “Why would Serrus know something?”
Emma smiles. “Because, lass,” she says, “he’s a Munro.”
My heart quickens. “No way.” I hadn’t paid attention to his last name when we first met.
Emma smiles. “Way. And he has a bunch of cousins nearby, also with the last name Munro. Big lads.” She holds her hand way above her head. “We’ll find him on Monday.”
Could this Serrus guy be related to Logan? Might he know something about his death? Now that I think about it, Serrus did have a flash of silver in his eyes, somewhat similar to Logan’s. I’ll have to wait to find out.
Emma notices my violin and raises an eyebrow. “Would you mind playing for me?” she asks, sounding uncharacteristically shy.
“Of course!” I say, flattered that she asked. I pick up my violin and carefully play the melody I’ve been working on.
When I’m done, I set down my instrument, flushed and energized.
Emma applauds, her eyes shining. “Brilliant!” Her voice resonates through the library. “Your playing is absolute magic, Ivy Calhoun.”
I blush, ducking my head.
“Thanks,” I tell Emma as I set my strings on my lap. “My music is like one of my appendages. A part of me.”
Emma grins. “I can tell.”
Just then, Jonas appears at the doorway with a large tray of egg-salad sandwiches, two glasses with a few chunks of ice in each, and two cans of Coke. A pile of fresh shortbread, half-dipped in chocolate, rests on the side. He sets it down and says, “ ’Tis a rather interesting tune you play, young Ivy. Quite impressive.”
I blush again, thank him, and introduce Emma.
Jonas gives a short nod. “Young lady, welcome to the grim halls of Glenmorrag. I hope you enjoy your visit. Good day.”
“Cool guy,” Emma says after Jonas has left and we dig into our food. “So, you feel like having company here at the castle on Halloween? It falls on Wednesday this year, which sucks, but oh well. What do you say?” She grins mischievously. “I’ll bring Derek and Cam. They’re dying to see this place.”
I laugh. “Sure,” I say. “I’ll have to clear it with my mom and stepdad first. Since it’s a school night.” I hope Mom and Niall say yes. I like the idea of having more friends over. And I don’t really relish the idea of being alone here, with Logan roaming about, on Halloween.
After we finish eating, I give Emma the tour of the castle. I show her the suit of armor, the sitting room, the kitchen, and the gargoyles. All of it fascinates her. Finally, I bring her up to my room on the third floor.
Emma peeks inside. “You dunna get scared at night in here, all alone?”
“It’s unnerving,” I answer. “But now that I’ve seen Logan face-to-face, it’s not as creepy as before. Now at least I know who’s been messing with me.” I glance at her over my shoulder. “Wanna see the rectory?”
I’ve been itching to try out my violin in there, and I’d prefer to have someone with me in case the ivy vines decide to attack again.
“That’d be sweet,” she answers.
We head downstairs, where we retrieve our raincoats from the foyer closet. Just as I’m zipping mine up and pulling on the hood, I feel a presence.
A human presence.
“Where are you going?”
I spin around, and stare into the piercing eyes of Elizabeth MacAllister. Her mouth is pulled so tight that her lips are nothing more than a thin red line.
I nod to the front door. “Outside,” I say. “With my friend Emma. Emma, this is Lady MacAllister.”
Elizabeth slowly turns her frosty gaze on Emma. She says nothing, and I notice her grasping the giant ruby ring she wears and twisting it around her bony little finger. Its size is really almost gaudy.
“Pleasure,” Emma says, and I already know I’ll get an earful once we’re outside.
Elizabeth studies me hard for several seconds, noting my violin case strapped over my shoulder. “I see you’ll be playing that instrument.” Her gaze lifts. “Do make sure you keep that noise away from the main hall. Or I’ll have to take it away from you.”
And with that, she walks away. Fast little heels clicking, back ramrod straight.
“Noise? Is she blooming daft?” Emma spits.
I watch Elizabeth until she disappears, a frown pulling at my mouth. “I’d like to see her take it away. I have half a mind to play as screeching and horribly as I can right next to her until her hair pops out of that tight bun,” I mutter.
Emma laughs. “I’ll give you ten pounds if you do it.”
That makes me laugh, too. At that moment, Mom and Niall walk in the door, shaking the rain off the big black umbrella they were sharing.
“Ivy, introduce us!” Mom calls out. She’s looking really pale, and I wonder if she heard what Elizabeth said to me.
“Mom, are you feeling okay?” I ask. She waves me off. “Sorry,” I say. “Emma, this is my mom, Julia, and my, um, stepfather … Niall, Laird MacAllister,” I say, stumbling over the words.
; Niall extends his hand and shakes Emma’s. “Nice of you to visit, Emma.”
“Oh, yes! Ivy was so pleased to make a lovely friend like you,” Mom says.
“Aye,” Emma responds. “We sort of just clicked after she nearly clobbered me with her backpack.”
Mom and Niall chuckle, and Mom announces that she’s starving, so they’re going to ask Jonas for lunch. Emma and I wave to them and head outside.
It’s only slightly drizzly now as we walk briskly toward the rectory. I’ve learned that drizzle can turn into downpour in the blink of an eye, but I really want to try out the rectory’s acoustics.
“Nice folks,” Emma says. “Your grandmother is a complete loon, though.”
I groan. “Tell me about it. And she’s definitely not my grandmother,” I clarify. “I can’t figure out why she hates me so much.”
“I think she already hates me as well,” Emma adds as we make our way to the path leading to the sea. “Maybe she just hates young people.”
Could be.
As we near the rectory, I turn to my friend. “Emma? Why do you believe in ghosts?”
She gives me a half smile. “My da was in the Royal Highland Fusiliers,” she begins. “Like the army,” she explains. “He commanded an infantry platoon and charged an enemy ambush three times to rescue a fellow injured soldier.” She looks at me. “His fellow made it. But my da didn’t. I was only nine at the time. I talk to him, especially when I’m really missing him.” She looks wistful. “He doesna talk back, and he doesna appear to me, but I feel him there, listening.”
“Wow,” I say, holding her gaze. “No wonder we clicked so fast. My dad died, too. I was thirteen. He had cancer.” I swallow hard.
“Sisters at heart, then,” Emma says. She links her arm through mine. “We’ll figure this out, Ivy. I promise.”
We’re at the rectory, and I lead Emma inside. The airy chamber is cavernous, shadowy, and smells of clover and wet, freshly cut grass and damp earth. Thankfully, the ivy vines are still and peaceful. For now.
“Wow,” Emma says, looking around. “You play in here, do ya?”
“Well, I’d like to,” I answer. “The acoustics are sick.”
