Lucky Stars

Chapter Sixteen The Third Ghost

Belle

Belle drove her own car back to The Point, her mother beside her.

Mom had wanted to drive but Belle pitched a rude, un-Belle-like fit.

She hadn’t driven a car in weeks, hadn’t made but the meals she prepared for Jack, hadn’t done a load of laundry, hadn’t even made her own bed.

It was driving her up the wall.

She was pregnant, not invalid!

Therefore, she was going to drive herself and her mother home and no one was going to stop her.

Even though she was annoyed that everyone was treating her like she was a fragile piece of glass, it had been a good day.

The first really good day in a very long time.

She had woken in Jack’s arms. Then she took a shower in Jack’s bathroom (with Jack). She’d put on her makeup at his bathroom mirror while she listened to him talk on his phone in the bedroom. He’d even zipped the zipper at the side of her dress (which was, she saw, getting tight).

And they’d walked down to breakfast together holding hands.

Belle Abbot holding hands with James Bennett while they walked through his huge, imposing castle on their way to breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She thought she might have a major panic attack at the very thought of settling into life by Jack’s side. She thought she’d spend all her time questioning his attraction to her and also questioning her trust in him. She thought she would make excuses to run away, to protect herself, it was too soon, there were too many ifs, she wasn’t good enough for him, she couldn’t feel safe with him.

She thought her mind, as it always had done, would work against her.

But none of that happened.

It was, for some reason, easy.

It seemed to come naturally.

And this, Belle was certain, was all because of Jack.

He was good with her and her crazy behaviour. He was also good with her crazy mother and grandmother. Further, he was good with his own crazy mother. And lastly, he was good with the equally crazy Yasmin.

He’d been overrun by women, crazy women, and he didn’t seem to care.

Not even a little bit.

What he seemed, and what Belle was taking a risk to believe, was a man who had a lot of patience, a bizarre (to Belle’s way of thinking) but ever present sense of humour, more than a little bit of tenderness and what appeared to be a lot of love.

Belle was betting everything important in her life (her sanity, her faith in her fellow man, things like that) that she was right.

That morning after breakfast, Jack had driven her to work while Olive went straight to the airport where he was going to fly them both to London. The gods were definitely smiling on them because the day before, after Jack had publicly spent the night in Belle’s cottage, the media were in a frenzy.

That morning, however, something else must have been happening in the world. There were half as many photographers and they hung back, none of them shouting questions.

Apparently, Jack and Belle were still news, just old news.

There were, she guessed, only so many pictures worth taking of Jack walking Belle to her store.

And for that, as she had done a half a dozen times that morning, she thanked her lucky stars.

Jack had left her at the store. After, of course, on the stairs, he’d given her a long, sweet, thorough kiss and told her to have a good day.

Belle’s mother had come later in the morning to be Belle’s newest shop assistant. Dirk had taken Mom under his wing and, even though the media seemed to be losing interest, the customers definitely weren’t. It was high season in St. Ives and Belle’s store was a crush. This happened during high season but, because of her recent spate of popularity in the papers, it had shot straight to ridiculous.

Belle was happy to leave Dirk and Mom in the shop while she, Nola and Carol saw to their business upstairs with Nola or Carol wandering down when things got too mad which wasn’t often. Dirk was Super Shop Assistant. He was the only man Belle knew who could multitask and do it while charming every customer into buying that one, do-I-really-need-that? item which he did by giving them a blinding grin. That was it. He said nothing, just grinned at them.

It made for a brilliant day.

It also helped knowing she’d be going home to the criminally handsome Jack Bennett, the father of her child and, apparently, the real-life, walking, talking, breathing, kissing, making love, showering together and holding hands man of her dreams.

She only had two moments that caused blips in her day and they came back to back.

The first was when she was alone in the workroom, Nola off to get sandwiches, Carol downstairs to help with the crush.

Belle was drawing a pattern for a new blouse she was going to introduce when the vision of Davey and Penny, sightless and lifeless, their limbs floating eerily in the water, seared through her brain.

At the memory, she pulled in a deep, horrified breath at the same exact moment her mobile rang.

The display said, “Jack Calling”.

Belle stared at the phone, stunned for a second then picked it up and hit the green button on the screen answering it in a quiet voice by asking, “How did you know?”

There was silence then Jack queried, “Belle?”

She didn’t respond to his call, instead she repeated, “How did you know I needed you to call?”

Jack’s voice no longer sounded questioning. It sounded alert when he enquired, “What’s happened?”

She shook her head, realised he couldn’t see her and answered, “Nothing. I just, two seconds ago, remembered Davey and Penny. Then you called as if you knew I needed you to call. How did you know?”

“Poppet,” he replied, his voice soft and warm, “I wish I could tell you I knew you needed me but I didn’t. I was calling to tell you I wouldn’t be home for dinner.”

“Oh,” Belle murmured.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

More silence then, “Belle.”

“Really, Jack, I’m fine,” she assured him, though she wasn’t.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was uncanny, the minute her mind had filled with terrible, frightening images and, even though she didn’t consciously think it, unconsciously, she needed him and all of a sudden he called.

There was something weird about that.

Wonderful but weird.

“Poppet –” she heard him call softly in her ear.

“Jack, I’m fine,” she repeated, stronger this time.

There was silence a moment then he asked, “Will you walk the dogs?”

Belle didn’t like the sound of that and enquired, “How late are you going to be?”

“You’ll wake up next to me.”

Holy heck.

“That sounds like it means you’ll be really late,” she whispered tentatively.

“Yes, my love,” he replied cautiously.

“Does that mean you’ll be…” she paused, her heart clenching, she swallowed and then asked in a rush, “flying in the dark?”

He didn’t answer her question instead he declared, “I’ll be safe.”

“Will you be flying in the dark?” she asked again.

“Maybe,” he answered, his tone still cautious.

“Oh my goodness gracious,” she breathed.

“Poppet, I’ve flown in the dark before.”

“Okay,” she replied swiftly, thinking it best that she didn’t think at all about him flying in the dark. It was hard enough driving in the dark when you had headlights and even high beams.

But dark sky was just dark.

Did they have lights on planes?

And, if they didn’t (and even if they did!), how would he know his way? How would he see if something was flying at him, a bird, another plane?

Belle knew there were instruments and all that kind of stuff, still her heart skipped a beat.

“Lots of times, my love,” he continued to try and reassure her.

“Okay,” she lied.

“I’ll be fine.”

Belle could take no more and therefore, as ridiculous as it sounded and as crazy as she knew he’d think she was, to protect her fragile sanity she started chanting, “La la la, I’m not involved in this conversation, la la la.”

She heard him chuckle before he changed the subject and prompted, “Baron and Gretl?”

Happy to be on a much safer topic, she replied, “Of course I’ll walk them.”

“If it rains, ask Lila to do it,” he ordered.

Belle walked from her drafting board to the window and looked out, unseeing.

“Oh, so it’s okay if Gram slips on the wet, treacherous cliff path but not me?” Belle tried to tease, slightly embarrassed about her chanting and wondering vaguely how long it would take for him to grow tired of her neuroses. It took Calvin, if memory served (and it did), two weeks and three days after their honeymoon to grow tired of it.

“She’s lived a full life,” Jack teased back audaciously, pulling her from her thoughts and startling a giggle from Belle but she stopped laughing when she heard him murmur in his low and rumbly voice, “Jesus, I love that sound.”

“What sound?” Belle whispered, caught up in his voice.

“The sound of you,” he replied and finished, “happy.”

That trill went up her spine straight into her scalp and she felt her belly dip and he wasn’t even looking at her. He wasn’t even in the same town as her.

“Jack –” she replied softly, warmth in her voice.

He cut her off but there was warmth in his voice too, “Don’t wait up for me, love. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Good-bye, poppet.”

“’Bye, Jack.”

Then he rang off.

And she stared out the window, smiling to herself before her eyes caught on something and focussed.

It was that man she’d seen days earlier, the ruggedly handsome one with the dark brown hair. He was standing in the same spot as he was before, his head tipped back and he was looking at her through the window.

She took three hasty steps back and just stopped herself from falling into a crouch.

“Holy heck,” she breathed, thinking that was not a matter of coincidental eye contact. He was there for a reason and he was watching her.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute and she retreated three more steps and considered calling Jack back. Then she considered screaming for Dirk.

Then, with effort, she pulled herself together.

He was standing outside looking in her window. The first time she saw him, he was gazing at her, a kind and benign expression on his face. This time was just the same.

He wasn’t charging her store and kidnapping her.

He didn’t flash her or even look weird.

Belle took a shaky, calming breath.

She was pregnant. She was hormonal. She was living in a haunted house. She wasn’t making her own bed or her own food. She was falling in love with the criminally attractive James Bennett if she wasn’t already in love with him, head over heels in love which, she had to admit, she pretty much was (who was she kidding, she totally was).

And, if she wasn’t mistaken, he was falling in love with her too.

She didn’t have a weird, kind-looking, handsome stalker.

He was probably a local she hadn’t yet seen. Someone new to town, waiting for his wife to finish in some shop. Maybe her shop.

Men stood outside waiting for their women all the time not wanting to be shopping at all but definitely not wanting to be drawn into a clothing shop where they would invariably be asked, “Does my butt look big in this?”

In fact, Belle had considered putting a bench outside for these gentleman so they could have a rest, it happened so often.

Cautiously, she approached the window and when she did, he was gone.

She took a huge breath and forced herself to relax.

So, she’d taken a big risk, jumped into shark-infested waters and found herself something so rich and rewarding it was impossible to believe her good fortune or the strength of the lucky stars that shown down on her, recently, both day and night.

She wouldn’t allow her mind, which consistently played nasty tricks on her, to create problems that weren’t even real.

So she set it aside and went back to work.

Now she was driving home with her mother and she knew her evening would be full.

Not with Jack, having dinner then walking the dogs then spending the evening with him in his study then going to bed together and making love.

No, with Cassandra McNabb, the clairvoyant, white witch with good references and The McPherson, an unknown entity, both who dispatched ghosts to hell.

“Are you sure about this Cassandra person and The McPherson?” Belle asked her mother as The Point came into view.

“I’ve got a feeling in my bones,” her mother replied calmly.

Belle nodded and smiled.

It might be crazy but that was good enough for her.

Yasmin’s sporty Audi was in the forecourt and Belle parked her not-so-sporty Peugeot next to it.

Rachel eyed the Audi and remarked, “I love Yasmin’s car. She let me drive it the other day.” Belle switched off the ignition and looked at her mother as she continued, “Maybe you should ask Jack to buy you one of those.”

Belle stared at Rachel in disgusted shock then she hissed, “Mom, I can’t believe you just said that.”

Her mother’s eyebrows went up. “What? He’s stinking rich. He lives in a castle, for goodness sakes and you’re carrying his child. The least he could do is buy you a cute car.”

“He’s already housing me, feeding me and you and Gram, by the way. Not to mention, he’s paying for Dirk,” Belle reminded her.

“So?” her Mom replied.

“So, I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

“No,” Rachel returned. “Like I said, he’s stinking rich and you’re carrying his child which, by the way,” she mimicked the same tone Belle had used on her, “he seems delighted about.” She turned to her door, muttering, “Tomorrow, I’ll have a word.”

Belle hastily exited her side and shouted after her mother, “Don’t you dare ask Jack to buy me a car!”

“Oh! Brilliant!” Yasmin called from the steps. “What kind of car are you going to get?”

Belle closed her eyes.

“One like yours,” Rachel called back.

Belle opened her eyes and glared at her mother.

“Brilliant!” Yasmin repeated, her happy gaze on Belle. “We can be car twins.” Belle was trying to wrap her mind around the concept of “car twins” while she walked forward and witnessed Yasmin’s face falling. “Though, Jack’s a Jag man. He’s always owned Jaguars.” Then her expression brightened. “If he gets you one of those, you should get green. I love green Jags. British racing green. Lush.”

Belle walked up the steps announcing, “Jack is not buying me a car. My car is perfectly fine.”

“No… it… is… not,” Yasmin decreed, sliding her arm through Belle’s elbow and walking her through the open door. “You’re a national treasure, a stylish national treasure. Your boyfriend is hot and he’s rich and he’s famous and you’re having his baby. This all means you need a great car.”

Yasmin, Belle decided instantly, not only liked to spend her trust fund money, she liked to spend any money, no matter whose it was.

“Can we stop talking about the car?” Belle asked when they hit the entry and Rachel, with effort, pushed the heavy door closed behind them.

“Oh yes!” Yasmin whispered with excitement. “Let’s talk about The McPherson.” Yasmin’s gaze moved to Rachel and it was dancing. “He’s here and he’s hilarious. I came out to tell you. Wait until you meet him.”

She linked her other arm through Rachel’s elbow and propelled them all to the library.

Belle liked the library almost as much as she liked the drawing room, the morning room and Jack’s study. It was also lined with books and somehow managed to be both austere and welcoming. It was austere because it too was huge with a massive fireplace. But the musty scent, the many books (which everyone knew equalled “relax and stay awhile”), the worn leather couches and comfortable armchairs with ottomans made it welcoming.

Yasmin let them go so they could walk into the library single file and Belle halted at what she saw.

A big man with lots of white, dishevelled hair and ruddy, pink cheeks was standing, arms crossed on his chest, legs planted wide, wearing full Scottish gear.

That was full Scottish gear – kilt, hose, sporran, garter flashes, knife in his sock, ghillie brogues, top-to-toe Scottish gear.

Belle had been to Scotland, she’d seen men casually wearing kilts but this was something else.

But it wasn’t just him.

The woman with him was gorgeous with a mess of rich, dark brown hair which Belle could see only because there was a lot of it. Mostly the crown of her head was covered as it was wrapped tightly in a big scarf that had moons and stars printed on it and long, ragged edges that tangled in her hair. She also had long, thin scarves, three of them that Belle could count, their ends dangling and tangled with a variety of long and short silver necklaces around her neck. She also had silver bangles on both wrists, silver earrings at her ears and silver rings on all her fingers. She was wearing a belt made out of big silver disks threaded through the belt loops of her jeans not to mention another scarf wrapped lower on her hips.

She wore so much silver, it made her mother’s copious silver, self-ornamentation seem tame.

Belle stared at them, stunned.

They looked exactly like two, crazy “Ghost Helpers” would look.

If Jack met these two, he’d have a fit.

Then he’d eject them.

Then he’d demand that Belle give up her quest to send Myrtle and Lewis to heaven.

“Holy heck,” she whispered.

“Aren’t they great?” Yasmin asked.

“Holy heck,” Belle repeated.

“I love your scarves!” Rachel shouted, moving forward and greeting them both.

Belle hung back.

Gram and Joy were also there and as Belle continued to stand frozen to the spot, her mind consumed with all the ways Jack would lose his mind when he met Cassandra McNabb and The McPherson, Gram spoke.

“My granddaughter is a little shy.”

The McPherson regarded Belle a moment, his eyes narrowed.

Then his face cleared and he grinned a crooked, mad grin.

“Get over here, lass!” he boomed. “Let The McPherson get a good look at you.”

“Um…” Belle muttered.

“Come on, come on…” he urged, moving toward her and Belle wanted to retreat, she really, really did but she thought it might appear rude.

The McPherson got close and put a big, gentle hand between her shoulder blades and propelled her forward all the while looking down at her.

“I’m Angus McPherson of The McPhersons, at your service,” he announced.

“I’m Belle Abbot,” she whispered timidly.

He stopped her close to the huddle of women that had formed in front of the fireplace.

When he spoke again, he was no longer booming. It was quiet and as gentle as the hand he’d put at her back.

“I know, lass. Know you, know what you did. Never met a hero. Been one, a number of times, never met one. Least, not a wee slip of girl like you.”

She’d tilted her head to watch him speak and as he did, she pulled in a breath.

“No, lass,” his voice was still quiet when he talked on, “we won’t talk about it. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

She didn’t know how he knew that unless Cassandra, the clairvoyant white witch soaked up her vibes somehow and told him but Belle didn’t say anything. She just nodded.

“Now!” Angus McPherson was back to booming. “Let’s get this ghost business sorted!”

“I’m Cassandra,” the witch came forward, a smile on her face, her hand extended.

“Belle,” Belle replied and took her hand.

When Belle’s fingers closed around Cassandra’s, through her hand she felt Cassandra’s body jerk. Then the woman went still, her smile died and her eyes grew hazy.

Belle grew concerned when she didn’t come out of her sudden, weird trance and Belle’s hand gripped Cassandra’s more firmly as she lost her shyness and moved closer.

“Are you all right?” Belle asked but Cassandra didn’t answer. She just kept staring at nothing, vacant, looking lost.

Angus got close and whispered, “Cass?”

“What’s happening?” Joy asked, her tone concerned.

“Cassandra,” Belle called when Cassandra still didn’t focus. She got closer, her hand squeezing and Cassandra’s hand squeezed back, so hard it caused pain. “Cassandra!” Belle called again, sharply. Now she was worried. “Are you okay?”

“Cass!” Angus bellowed, putting a meaty hand on Cassandra’s shoulder and shaking her.

All of a sudden Cassandra’s eyes widened and she yanked her hand from Belle’s like Belle’s hand burned.

Then she stared at Belle, her eyes full of something Belle couldn’t read but whatever it was, it made Belle’s worry intensify.

Significantly.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Cassandra whispered.

“What?” Belle asked in a breathy voice.

Cassandra opened her mouth, her eyes dropped to Belle’s stomach then she closed it. Her gaze swung to Angus and Belle could tell she was trying to communicate something but Belle didn’t know what.

“Is something wrong?” Lila was now close and watching Cassandra.

“Nothing, just that, I think there’s a complication,” Cassandra answered, backing up and away from Belle.

Angus, however, stayed close.

“What complication?” Yasmin asked. She, as well as Belle’s Mom and Joy had also closed ranks.

“I can’t say for certain, right now. I need to…” she stopped abruptly, her head jerked then her face went pale.

Belle felt the blood run from her own face and she glanced at her Mom when Rachel snapped, “What is it now?”

Cassandra came back into the room swiftly and announced, “I need to stay here. In the castle. So does Angus.”

Belle felt Angus grow still beside her but it was Joy who spoke. “Why? Is something –?”

Cassandra cut her off, “I need to do some readings.”

“What kind of readings?” Joy asked hesitantly.

Cassandra started moving toward the door. “I’ll explain later. I need to get set up now.” She stopped at the door, turned and asked suddenly and bizarrely, “Do you have a cat?”

Joy shook her head but said, “We have dogs. German Shepherds, two of them.”

Cassandra wrinkled her nose in disgust and dropped her eyes to the floor mumbling, “Dogs. Bloody useless.” Her gaze went to The McPherson and she declared, “Angus, we need to chat.”

Angus ambled to the door saying, “You got it, lass.”

Lila followed them determinedly insisting, “Wait just one damned minute.”

Both Cassandra and Angus halted their exit and looked at Belle’s grandmother.

“What, exactly, is going on?” Lila demanded to know.

As Belle, with her mother on one side, Jack’s mother on her other side and Yasmin close, stared at the three at the door, Cassandra’s gaze levelled on Gram.

“I can’t be certain and I don’t want to alarm you but I think there aren’t two ghosts in this house.”

“There are,” Joy blurted. “I’ve been seeing them for forty years!”

“I saw them too!” Rachel added. “And so did Belle.”

Cassandra shook her head but stated, “There aren’t two ghosts.” Her gaze took in everyone in the room. “I think there might be three.”

Joy gasped.

Lila’s head whipped around to look at Belle.

“Bloody hell,” Yasmin whispered.

“Oh lordy,” Rachel breathed.

Belle talked around her heart which was lodged squarely in her throat.

“Three?” she asked.

Cassandra’s eyes settled on Belle. “I don’t know, mate. I’m sensing something.” She turned her gaze to Lila. “Let me do some readings. I’ll let you know the minute I know.”

“How long will that take?” Lila enquired.

“I don’t know. It could take an hour. It could take five days. He might not want to be sensed, might go into hiding,” Cassandra answered.

“He?” Joy asked.

“He,” Cassandra replied and then took in a breath. On her exhale, she tried to calm them all. “There’s nothing to panic about, not yet anyway. Just let me get to work.”

“Go! Work!” Rachel demanded sharply.

Cassandra gave Angus a look, Angus nodded and they both left the room.

Everyone in the room was silent.

Then Joy’s body jerked and she rushed forward, muttering, “I need to get some rooms ready.” Then she left the room.

At her words, Belle’s terror intensified and she looked at her mother.

“Mom –”

Rachel took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Nothing to worry about, honeypot. We’ve got the Ghost Helpers on the case. Everything will be fine.”

Belle turned to her mother. “That’s what I’m worried about. They’re going to be staying here.”

“I think that’s good,” Yasmin put in. “A timesaver. They don’t have to drive to work. They can just get up, have breakfast and then,” she clapped her hands, “get right to it.”

Belle looked at Yasmin and asked, “Did you see them?”

“Sure,” Yasmin replied casually.

“Did you get a good look at them?” Belle went on.

“Sure,” Yasmin repeated. “Seriously, Belle, they’re cool. Before you got home, we told them the whole Myrtle and Lewis story and they sounded like they knew exactly –”

“Yasmin,” Belle interrupted her, being uncharacteristically rude but she thought the situation warranted it, “you’ve known Jack longer than all of us. What do you think he’ll do when he sees those two and finds out they’re staying under his roof doing readings and going into weird trances and, I don’t know,” she paused as her hysteria escalated and finished with, “being outrageously Scottish!”

Light dawned and Yasmin whispered, “I see what you mean.”

“I think –” Belle started but her grandmother interrupted her.

“I think that we should let the witch do her work. I think, if Belle has a word, Jack will come around. And I think we all need to be vigilant. Whatever that was wasn’t good and the best thing we can do is let the experts go about their business.”

“Gram –” Belle began but was interrupted again.

“You’ll have a word,” Gram demanded.

“But –” Belle tried yet again but was interrupted yet again.

“Bellerina, have a word.”

Belle sighed then whispered, “I think you might be overestimating my influence over Jack.”

At that, Lila laughed.

As did Yasmin and Rachel.

And they all laughed like what Belle said was hysterically funny.

Which it was not.

“I’m not being funny!” she snapped.

Gram came forward and pulled Belle loosely into her arms.

Putting her cheek against her granddaughter’s, she said softly in Belle’s ear, “I think you’re underestimating your influence over Jack.” She pulled away and looked in Belle’s eyes and when Belle opened her mouth to speak, hurried on, “We’ll see who’s right, hmm, my sweet?” Belle closed her mouth and stared stubbornly at her grandmother when Lila repeated firmly, “Have a word.”

Belle stepped out of Lila’s arms and crossed her own over her baby bump.

Then on a sigh, she gave in, “All right, I’ll have a word.”

“Just,” Rachel added, getting close and putting her hand on Belle’s upper arm, “give me a chance to ask about the car first.”

“Mom!” Belle cried.

“No. Seriously. I don’t want him in a foul mood when I ask him. He might say no,” Rachel said.

Belle decided to let it go.

She was, as she reminded herself hourly, pregnant, hormonal, living in a haunted castle (now with three ghosts) and falling in love with Jack Bennett.

She had to pick her battles and while doing so guard her reserves.

And she needed her reserves in order to have her “word” with Jack.

“I’m going to take a nap before dinner,” she announced, deciding that would do wonders for her reserves.

“Good idea, honeypot. I’ll wake you in an hour, okay?”

Belle nodded.

Then she left.

And she only felt better when she found the dogs, guided them to her and Jack’s room and lay down on their bed.

And she only felt better because Baron and Gretl were with her and she was in a room that was now her and Jack’s and lying on a bed that could be described using the word “their”.

But she couldn’t help but wonder about the possible third ghost, who “he” might be and what Jack was going to think when she had her “word”.

Belle woke before Rachel came to her room.

She lay in the bed still a bit sleepy but feeling rested.

Her hand went to her belly and she felt the hardness there.

“Well, sweets,” she whispered to her belly, “I promised life would eventually go back to normal and boring but your Daddy knew better, didn’t he?”

She splayed her fingers wider on her belly and smiled at the thought of Jack as “Daddy”.

Her mobile, sitting on the nightstand, sounded.

She picked it up and it said, “Jack Calling”.

There it was again.

He was on her mind and then he called.

She couldn’t shake how weird that was.

Or how wonderful.

She slid her finger across the screen and put the phone to her ear.

“Hi,” she said softly.

She could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, “Belle.”

“You okay?” she asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

She heard dog tags jangling as both Baron and Gretl moved forward for pets.

Belle didn’t disappoint, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she pet them both at the same time which was how they preferred it.

“Yes, poppet. I called to let you know I’m taking off in fifteen minutes. I finished earlier than I thought.”

Belle felt a rush of happiness.

Which was quickly followed by a rush of anxiety.

“Um…” she paused before saying weakly, “Jack.”

He was silent then his tone was cautious when he asked, “What is it?”

“Well…” she began, not knowing how to have her “word” but kind of happy that she was having it on the phone where she didn’t have to watch him blow his stack in person (and before her mother could ask about the car).

“Belle.” His voice was no longer cautious, it held a warning.

“We met Cassandra and Angus today.”

There was more silence, a sigh then, “Angus?”

“The McPherson.”

Jack’s tone was now filled with humour when he asked, “His name is Angus McPherson?”

Belle again thought Jack found the weirdest things funny.

“Yes. Why?”

Jack replied through chuckling, “That’s very Scottish.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Belle muttered.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” Belle said quickly, “Um… I have to tell you something.”

Again with the silence then he said softly, “Anything, my love.”

She felt her belly melt, her heart melt and her mind registered that head over heels love business when she heard his tone and his words.

Both of which made her anxiety fade clean away.

Therefore she told him, “Angus and Cassandra are staying at the castle.”

“That’s fine,” he replied immediately.

Belle blinked before she parroted, “That’s fine?”

“Yes, Belle. We’ve plenty of room. Not to mention if they stay, it’ll save on their expenses.”

Belle was surprised at how easy that was.

She, however, thought it best to forewarn him, “They’re a little bit strange.”

His voice was back to sounding amused. “She’s a clairvoyant witch and he’s a Scottish ghost hunter. I figured they’d be strange, poppet.”

“No, I mean,” Belle took in a breath and said, “they’re really strange.”

“She’s a clairvoyant witch and he’s a very Scottish ghost hunter,” Jack repeated. “I figured they’d be really strange.”

Belle couldn’t help it, she giggled.

Then she gave him the full story. “Cassandra’s doing readings. She thinks there’s a third ghost.”

There was more silence, this longer and far, far heavier.

Finally, he said, “A third ghost.”

“She isn’t sure. She’s doing readings.”

“Readings,” Jack replied.

“I don’t know what that means,” Belle told him. “I’ve been napping but I do know she seemed very keen. Cassandra, I mean. She started straight away.”

Belle decided not to tell Jack that Cassandra was keen in a weird, scary way that made Belle’s heart lodge in her throat. Jack, she figured, probably wouldn’t like that.

“Readings,” Jack muttered again, sounding at a loss.

“Jack?”

She heard him sigh another sigh and then he assured her, “It’s fine, Belle.”

“Yasmin thinks they know what their doing.”

“It’s fine.”

“Yasmin seems pretty certain.”

“Poppet, I said, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“I’ll be home soon.”

“Um…” she muttered again and Jack was silent so Belle forged on, “Angus wears a kilt.” This was met with more silence so she continued, “And hose, ghillie brogues, a sporran, the whole lot.”

She heard him burst into laughter.

It was, she thought, very funny. So, softly, she laughed with him.

“I’ll be home soon,” he repeated when she’d stopped laughing.

“Okay, see you.”

“Good-bye, poppet.”

“’Bye, Jack.”

He disconnected, Belle took the phone from her ear and put it on the nightstand.

She stared at the phone realising she forgot to tell him about Cassandra and her scarves.

She licked her lips and took in a breath through her nose.

Oh well, he didn’t seem overly upset about the rest so Cassandra and her abundant use of accessories probably wouldn’t faze him.

She leaned forward and gave each dog a thorough head rub, saying, “I’m hungry. Let’s see about dinner.”

Baron woofed and Gretl got to her feet and did an excited circle.

Belle got up and walked from the room.

The dogs were at her heels as she made her way down the hall, her mind on her now grumbling belly and wondering how long it would take Jack to fly home.

Therefore, as she reached the top of the stairs, it took her by surprise when both Baron and Gretl closed in and started growling.

She stopped and looked at one dog then the other.

Both were pressing close to her legs, both looking back down their bodies, both had teeth bared.

“What on –” Belle started to say but stopped when movement caught her eye and she looked down the steps.

A young, black-headed boy was racing up them.

Not racing, as in treading, but drifting, swiftly, like a shot.

He was see-through.

Belle’s mouth dropped open.

The boy’s pale, ghostly face suddenly filled with terror and he halted.

“Belle! Watch out!” She heard his eerie, disembodied shout right before the dogs started barking and snapping and she felt what seemed like a hand at her back, shoving.

She lost balance, automatically reaching into the air but there was nothing to grab onto.

Therefore she tumbled down the stairs.

She tried to stop her fall but her head cracked against the fifth step with such force she was unconscious by the time her body rolled to a rest at the foot of the stairs.

Lewis and Myrtle

Myrtle zoomed directly to Belle but Lewis floated in suspended animation in the middle of the stairs and, head tipped back, he stared in horror.

The bad man stood at the top of the steps, grinning.

He could see him, see him for the first time ever.

See him shimmering through.

“You,” Lewis whispered, shocked, scared and angry.

The bad man lifted his ghostly hand and touched his index finger to his forehead in a mocking salute before he glittered and disappeared.

“Help! Help! Help!” Myrtle shouted, her unearthly voice echoing through the stone hall, mingled with Jack’s dogs’ frantic barking.

Lewis heard footsteps as he floated down.

Myrtle was drifting in a crouch over Belle’s motionless body as the dogs circled, sniffed and kept howling.

“Oh my God.” They heard breathed and they looked at who they knew was Yasmin, a family friend both of them liked a lot, mostly because she was funny.

She was staring at them in dazed disbelief.

“Go! Get help!” Lewis shouted, his strange, ghostly voice now echoing with the dogs’ frenzied woofs.

Yasmin ran forward toward Belle and Myrtle drifted away.

She dropped to her knees beside Belle then her head snapped up and she looked at Lewis, demanding, “What happened?”

“Get help!” Lewis replied.

More steps, more people and Yasmin’s head jerked around to look over her shoulder.

“Call 999!” she cried.

“She fell down the stairs,” Myrtle informed the pretty witch who was dialling on her phone.

The Scottish man crouched beside Belle, ignoring Myrtle and Lewis, intent on his effort of feeling for a pulse.

“Belle!” They heard shouted as Rachel arrived, her face white. “Oh Belle! Oh my God! What happened?”

Rachel was shoving in as Lila and Joy made it to the scene.

“Yes, there’s been an accident. Chy An Als Point. Belle Abbot has fallen down the stairs,” the witch said. “She’s unconscious.”

“Belle, honeypot. Belle?” Rachel’s hands were on her and Lewis went to Myrtle, pulling her back.

“She’s got a pulse. It’s strong,” the Scotsman told the witch then he moved to pull Rachel away as he soothed. “Don’t move her. We need to let her lay, lass, wait for the paramedics.”

“I can’t let her lay!” Rachel shouted, her eyes wide, tearful and full of fear as she began to struggle against the Scot.

“Her pulse is strong,” the witch said into the phone.

“Keep holding her hand, Yasmin,” Lila said softly, getting close and dropping down, she gently pulled Belle’s hair away from her neck. After she did this, she continued to stroke her granddaughter’s hair even after she sucked in breath when she saw the blood at Belle’s temple.

“She’s bleeding!” Rachel wailed, her struggles turning frantic.

“It’s a head wound, love. We’ve got to let her lay or we might do her more harm,” the Scotsman tried to calm Rachel while gently pushing her back.

“She’s bleeding,” Joy whispered in a voice so horrible, everyone knew she was referring to something else. They stilled and looked down at Belle, even Myrtle and Lewis.

There was, they saw, blood pooling between her legs.

“She’s pregnant,” the witch said urgently into the phone. “And she’s bleeding between her legs.”

Lewis turned and pushed his sister through the wall.

“Lewis!” Myrtle shouted, fighting his push but he was determined and he kept hold of her, darting through the ceiling to their turret.

He still held her when they arrived at their window.

“Lewis! I want to be sure Belle is all right!”

“Myrtle, we can’t be there,” Lewis said softly.

“But –!”

“We’re ghosts Myrtle. Don’t you think they have enough to worry about without two ghosts hanging around?”

She snapped her mouth shut.

Then she burst into tears.

Lewis pulled her deeper into his arms.

“I want her to be all right, Lewis! She has to be all right! She’s sweet! She’s Belle!” Myrtle cried into his boyish chest.

He stroked her hair.

“She’ll be all right,” he lied.

It was a lie because he feared she wouldn’t.

The bad man was there.

How he was there, Lewis didn’t know.

He hadn’t been there for over two hundred years.

Or, at least, Lewis had never seen him, never sensed him.

But he’d pushed Belle down the stairs. Lewis saw him do it.

Myrtle’s head tilted back, non-existent tears the colour of pearls still sliding down her cheeks.

Her voice was quivering when she asked, “You promise she’ll be all right?”

He nodded solemnly and, even though it was against the rules, Lewis lied yet again, “I promise, Myrtie Mine.”

Myrtle pressed her cheek against her brother’s chest.

And Lewis closed his eyes tight, trying to shut out his fear for Belle and his terror of the bad man so he could think about what he needed to do to keep himself, his sister, and Belle (if she was all right) safe.

He held Myrtle a long time.

But he didn’t come up with any answers.

Belle

Belle opened her eyes and she knew immediately she was in a hospital room.

She didn’t hurt.

She didn’t feel anything.

But groggy.

Her eyes focussed and she saw Jack sitting by her hospital bed illuminated by the soft glow from the lamp on the nightstand.

His mouth was tight, his face was hard but his eyes were gentle.

She remembered what happened and whispered, “The baby?”

He leaned forward instantly and in that instant, his expression changed and she saw the pain slash through his features.

And she knew.

She closed her eyes.

“Poppet,” he called and she felt him take her hand.

She turned her head and pulled her hand away.

“Belle, love.”

“Go away,” she whispered, still groggy but now feeling something.

And that something Belle felt was empty.

His hand came to her jaw but he didn’t force her to look at him.

She felt his thumb drift over her cheekbone, slowly, softly.

Then his hand disappeared and, from behind her closed eyelids, she saw the light go out.

She thought he’d leave.

She wanted him to leave.

But instead, she felt her hand taken in his again and his grip went firm when she tried to pull away.

She didn’t have the energy to fight it.

So she kept her face averted and her eyes closed as he held her hand.

Later, she felt his forehead come to rest on their joined hands.

That was when the tears seeped out from between her closed eyes.