Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

L oretta adjusted the hem of her blue sweater vest cardigan and surveyed the living room with a critical eye. "Lorraine, dear, pull that shade a bit tighter. We don’t want any nosy neighbors peering in."

Lorraine pushed a plant against the shade to hold it against the window. The room dimmed, bathed in the soft amber glow of a single table lamp. "Done. Now, let’s get to work before she comes back, so we can hear his side of the story."

The house was cozy, with soft, lived-in furniture and the combined scent of lemons and tangerines in the air. Spreag and Alexandra had done well for themselves in the short year they'd had together. It truly was a pity their happy life was cut so short.

"Do you think he’s sulking?" Lorraine asked as she lit a small beeswax candle on the coffee table. "I mean, disappearing for days on end? Typical man, even in death."

Loretta hummed to warm up her voice. "Spreag Tulloch is no ordinary man, dear. The Seer of Huntly wouldn't do anything so drastic unless he knew what would come of it. I'm sure he's frightened her on purpose. He needs our help, and how else would he get in contact, but through her?”

Lorraine patted her nose. "That's it. I knew a kind man like that would need a good reason."

Loretta closed her eyes and inhaled deeply and started humming a little more of the summoning song. "Let’s find out what that cause is, shall we?"

In unison, they lifted their hands in the air. The candle flickered, its flame stretching tall and thin as if drawn by an unseen force.

"Ready?" Lorraine asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Ready." Loretta’s eyes fluttered open. She focused on the space just beyond the coffee table, where the air seemed to shimmer like heat rising off desert sand. "By the bonds of blood and spirit, we call upon Spreag Tulloch, Seer of Huntly and husband to Alexandra. Come forth, and you only. Let your spirit be seen, let your voice be heard. By the ties that bind you to this world and the love that anchors you still, we summon you, Spreag Tulloch. Come forth, and let us aid you."

The room grew colder, the kind of chill that seeped quickly into the skin and made the hairs on the back of one’s neck stand at attention. The candle flame sputtered, then steadied, casting long shadows on the walls. The air grew heavy, as if, in mere seconds, a storm had moved in.

Lorraine added her voice and, speaking in Gaelic, summoned their ancestors for protection.

The shimmering space beyond the coffee table thickened into a green mist that began swirling in a slow, deliberate spiral. In the center of the wide ribbon made of a hundred souls, the shadow of a man appeared and grew opaque by the second. The features of Spreag Tulloch solidified, and the sisters smiled.

Spreag seemed confused at first, but when he noticed Loretta and her sister, he took heart. His attention moved back and forth between them. "Sisters. Happy I am to see ye."

"Thank you for heeding our call, sir." Loretta gave him a pointed look. "Your wife is worried sick."

Spreag’s expression softened at the mention of Alexandra. He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the candle, the drawn shades, and the faint green glow that now surrounded him. "And yet she's not here."

"Don’t mind the theatrics," Lorraine said, waving a hand at the mist. "We thought it best to bring in a bit of backup."

"Backup?" Spreag’s brow furrowed.

Loretta gestured toward the swirling green mist, which began to take on faint, shifting shapes—faces, hands, the outlines of figures that seemed both ancient and ageless. The Muir ancestors had arrived, their presence a protective circle around the ghost.

"Just in case," Loretta said lightly, though her tone carried an undercurrent of seriousness. "You never know what sort of trouble a ghost might bring with him."

Spreag huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I’m no trouble, and ye ken it."

"Of course," Loretta said with a sly smile, "but it never hurts to be prepared, especially with a baby in the mix."

Lorraine waved away the nonsense. "We’ve sent your wife out for ice cream so you can speak freely, but we haven't got much time. We assume you're the one who needs help."

Spreag nodded. "I do."

Even the candle leaned in, as if straining to hear what would come next.

"Two things, really. I want my wife to marry Callum Fraser."

"And the second?"

He hesitated. "The second won't be so easy, and might cost a terrible price..."