Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

W ithout consulting the weatherman, there was no way of predicting what would happen in the skies over Inverness that morning. But despite little patches of blue and a tease of sunshine, Alexandra felt only foreboding.

She sat on the comfy, plaid-covered cushion in the window seat in Bronagh’s kitchen, nursing her cup of hot coffee and watching Shug pull in and park in the side drive. Wren was with him again, and she wondered what they’d done with the children. Apparently, Alexandra’s predicament warranted a babysitter.

After a mostly sleepless night on the guest room sofa, even the rich aroma of coffee in the air and in her veins couldn't fully wake her.

"Spreag?" she whispered.

"Aye, love. I’m here." His voice came softly from a few feet in front of her, but he hid from view. Maybe he thought she had a hangover and couldn’t handle much. Maybe he was right.

She'd felt his presence all night, though he'd remained invisible. She’d filled him in on Duncan’s concerns. And she had a feeling it had unsettled him.

Bronagh refused all help in the kitchen and now she glided smoothly from station to station, burning nothing. Alex wasn’t sure if the smells were making her hungry or nauseating her, but she’d soon find out.

Wren came through the doorway and Alex warned her. “Don’t bother offering the help. She has a system.”

Wren smiled and shrugged, not insulted in the least. “It will probably taste better that way.” She hung her coat on a peg and tucked her gloves into her hat before taking a seat at the far end of the table. She looked a little hung over herself.

The low murmur of men's voices floated in from the living room. Duncan had called Wickham's sisters the night before and invited them up from Edinburgh for breakfast, hoping their magical insight might help unravel the mystery of Spreag's unusual manifestation.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me why you're nervous about the sisters?" she asked Spreag under her breath.

"What makes ye think I'm nervous?"

"You've been pretty quiet since I told you they were coming."

"Have I?" His voice held a forced lightness that confirmed her suspicions.

Footsteps approached and Bronagh refreshed Alexandra's coffee. "Talking to our invisible friend?"

"He's being cagey about something."

"Wyndham’s like that too this mornin’.” Bronagh winked. "The sisters should be here soon. They didn't even seem surprised when we called."

"Of course not," Wren laughed. "They probably knew we'd call before we did."

A knock at the door brought an abrupt end to the men’s conversation. A moment later, cheerful greetings and a gust of cool air preceded the sisters down the hallway. They burst into the kitchen in their usual matching outfits with blue-sleeved arms flung wide to embrace each of them. When their gazes rested on Alex, their knowing smiles made her skin prickle.

She sensed Spreag escape.

“Coward,” she whispered.

He wasn’t there to answer back.

Less than an hour later, they were all seated around the long mahogany table in the dining room passing platters counter-clockwise. Background music was provided by rain peppering tall windows with the green and blue tartan drapes pulled back to let in short glimpses of sunlight and compensate for the weaker light from the French chandelier.

Old paintings and antique weapons lined the burnt umber walls, and a long, frumpy couch of green velvet sat against one wall in case someone overate and needed a nap so badly they couldn’t make it out the doors. Above it hung a painting of someone’s portly ancestor who might have spent a lot of time doing just that.

Spreag had returned and had that couch all to himself while the rest of them sat elbow to elbow. Alex watched him from the far side of the table.

Bronagh passed a dish of black pudding to Duncan, who enthusiastically added some to his plate alongside tattie scones and eggs. Meg opted for porridge with whisky and cream while Wren constructed what looked like a full English breakfast complete with beans. The sight of greasy sausage made Alexandra's stomach turn, so she stuck to rashers, scrambled eggs and scones.

Wyndham sat at the head of the table feeding his face and watching up and down the rows of guests, making sure everyone was happy.

Alexandra forced a smile, trying not to think about how much she wished she were back at the hotel, alone with Spreag where she could talk to him without someone listening closely. She shouldn't have told anyone, shouldn’t have come to dinner. The thought had been nagging at her since dawn.

Yes, they were friends who'd experienced their own supernatural relationships, but this link with Spreag was different, precious. What if their well-meaning intervention somehow ruined it? What if they found a way to force him to move on, thinking it was for the best? What if the witches destroyed everything completely.

A shadow fell across the table as clouds swallowed the sun again and her eyes cut to her husband. Finally, she was awake enough to understand just why he’d been nervous. He gave her a little nod.

“It’ll be fine, love,” he said just above the din at the table. “If we must, we shall go, aye?”

She looked at her plate and gave a little nod just for him.

As if trying to prod the conversation, the rain intensified briefly, drumming against the windows, then softened to a gentle hiss. Another shaft of sunlight broke through, catching the rising steam from various cups along the tabletop.

"Pass the toast, would you, Lorraine?" Duncan asked, then added with forced cheer, "And perhaps a slice of yer witchly wisdom?"

Meg elbowed him. "Let them eat first."

"Oh, we don't mind," Lorraine said, stirring her tea. "Though I suspect some of you won't like our answers."

Spreag disappeared from the couch and reappeared at her right shoulder. Unconsciously, she reached up and laid her left hand where he would have been resting his. She resisted the temptation to look up.

"Well, here’s the crux, then. " Wyndham set down his coffee. "How is it possible that Spreag can be both audible and visible to Alexandra? When we were ghosts, it took immense energy just to appear briefly."

"And not all of us could at that.” Duncan grimaced. “Though I do remember Simon kissing Soni at the bonfire.”

The sisters exchanged a look, though neither of them seemed concerned. It was almost a relief.

Almost.

With Alex’s permission, Duncan told the sisters what had happened at the restaurant.

"Interesting that you could hear this woman speaking to your husband.” She looked at her sister. “Overhearing a conversation between ghosts?" She looked pensive and glanced at her sister. “Not the purview of a Seer.” To Alexandra, “Have you encountered any other unusual magic since arriving in Scotland?"

Alex laughed. "Other than what? Witches, resurrected ghosts, a regular ghost, monsters, Seers—oh, and that big blond fairy? No. Nothing at all.”

Lorraine waved away her sarcasm. "No talismans?" Lorraine asked. "No gifts from strangers?"

"Or from friends?" Loretta added pointedly.

"Nothing from Wickham?"

Alexandra spread her hands. "No magic wands or anything like that.”

Both sisters shrugged. “Must be a miracle.” Lorraine looked at her sister. “Don’t you think?”

Loretta bobbed her eyebrows and looked slyly around the table until her gaze stopped at Alexandra. "Ah, but is it Spreag's miracle? Or yours?"

Alex blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, consider the facts. Spreag is a ghost, just as these men were. He turned from the light, as they did. Other than his precognition, his abilities should be exactly the same."

"Which means…" Lorraine nodded. “The difference must lie with Alexandra."

"But how?" Bronagh asked. "What's changed?"

The way the sisters grinned made Alexandra's stomach flip—or maybe it was the lingering smell of sausage.

"Something has leant you the power to see Spreag,” Lorraine said gently. "Something decidedly magical."

"Or some one .” Loretta actually giggled.

Shug shifted in his seat. "What are ye suggestin’--"

"A seer's gift can only be passed on through blood." Lorraine held her hands wide as if she’d just pulled off a clever magic trick. Ta da!

The room went silent. Alexandra's mind raced, counting days, remembering symptoms she'd dismissed as grief. The morning nausea. Her sudden aversion to foods she normally loved. The bone-deep exhaustion she'd blamed on depression.

She turned her shoulders and looked up at Spreag still visible beside her. He looked uncomfortable but not surprised. "You knew?"

He sighed. "Aye, love. Since the restaurant."

"The ghost," she whispered. "When I could hear her...that's when you realized?"

He nodded.

"So I’m pregnant. And not just pregnant.” Her hands were drawn like magnets to her abdomen. “Our baby will be…”

“A Seer. Seems like it, my love.”

"The Sight runs strong in Spreag's line," Loretta said. "And now it's giving you a connection to the spirit world. Temporarily, of course."

Alexandra barely heard her. She was lost in Spreag's eyes, seeing all the love and worry there. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I feared..." He swallowed hard. "I feared you might send me away. That you wouldn't want our child to bear my curse."