Forevermore (7 page)

I
can’t exactly tell Mom that I don’t want to watch a DVD with her and Niall after supper because I have a date with a dead guy. That she and Niall actually want me to hang out with them is a miracle — or, guilt. Plus, Elizabeth is going to bed early, so I’d like to enjoy some time without her around.

Settling on the floor of the sitting room, at my mom’s feet, I try not to act like I’m in a hurry to leave, but it’s hard. Finally, the movie ends, and I wish her and Niall good night.

The moment I’m out of their sight I’m texting Emma, getting her up to speed on what’s going on.

I want full details in the morn, luv, she texts back.

Absolutely.

As I hurry to the third floor, I’m suddenly unsure. Logan simply asked if he could see me later. Later could mean … much later. Couldn’t it? Maybe I misinterpreted his request? Later in ghost lingo could really mean weeks, or months.

Oh, boy.

Just thinking about his request, spoken in his intriguing accent, gives me butterflies in my stomach. Why am I having such a reaction to him?

I open the door to my bedroom and he’s there, leaning against my bedpost. It’s clear he’s been waiting. A slight grin lifts the corners of his mouth. My insides flutter. This is so much better than my clothes and violin floating through the air.

“So,” I whisper, closing my door, “why did you stop trying to scare me?”

In the next instant, he’s there beside me. Maybe two feet separate us. He looks so very real that it takes all of my strength not to try and touch him. Either the room is hot, or my body temperature is rising.

“Because I’m verra selfish,” he answers quietly. He searches my face, slowly and meticulously. I find myself holding my breath, afraid of what he might think once he inspects me thoroughly. I’ve never given too much
thought to my looks, but right now, I’m acutely aware of them.

His gaze returns to mine. “I suppose after all this time of watching you, I’ve grown to like you. No one’s ever offered to help me before.” He grins. “So I’ve appointed myself as your personal guardsman, since you willna leave, and since there’s something else about.” He pauses and looks at me expectantly. “If you’ll have me?”

Wow. My own personal guardsman. And a cute one at that.

Back in Charleston, I had some crushes and went on a couple of dates with a couple of boys. I even was kissed — once. It was nothing special. Never, in the whole of my life, has a boy ever made me feel the way Logan does. I’m pretty positive it has a lot to do with the fact that he is from another century. Modern-day guys seem to lack something, and I guess I never realized that until now.

Corny as it sounds, it’s chivalry.

“If you’ve given up trying to scare me into leaving Glenmorrag, then yes,” I say. “I accept your offer.” I sit on my window seat, pull my knees up, and lock them in place with my arms. “Can I ask you a question?”

His smile is mesmerizing. “Just one?”

A short laugh escapes my throat. “Not hardly. But I’ll start out easy. How old are you?”

“Eighteen years.”

My stare holds his. “So you were born in 1833, and you died —”

“One hundred and sixty-two years ago,” he finishes. “I remember little of my life before my death. It’s all very much a blur.” His gaze clouds over, and we’re quiet for a moment.

Boldly, I look right at him. “I … can’t believe you’re real.”

His expression softens, and he gazes back intently. It almost makes me breathless.

“I thought the same thing of you,” Logan says quietly, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

I know I blush clean to my roots. I shake my head, as if pretending what he said hasn’t affected me as much as it has. By his expression, I know I’ve failed miserably on both accounts. I clear my throat. “So you can’t remember anything at all? About the day you died? Is there anything … afterward, maybe?”

Logan studies the space of floor between his boots, deep in thought. “I have spots of memories, here and there,” he
says. He returns his gaze to mine. “I remember my mum. I remember hunting birds in the forests with my uncle. And I remember a powerful sense of danger. That might be my last real memory. And after you arrived here, that same sense of danger came rushing back to me. I immediately felt that something was amiss, and I feared for your safety.”

“Well, after the freezer incident, and then the hands that were choking me, I fear for my safety, too,” I say, hugging myself. “I thought it was you doing those things, but now I know it wasn’t.”

He nods, looking worried. “Aye. I did play those harmless pranks with your clothes and your violin. I also tried to simply tell you to leave. I thought those would suffice — that you might think there was a banshee present and you’d beg your mum to go. But I would never hurt you, Ivy.”

“Thanks, Logan,” I say, my face heating. I think I’ll never tire of hearing him speak. His brogue fascinates me, and I hang on to every word. If he’d read a dictionary out loud, cover to cover, I’d be completely content. “So,” I say, trying to focus back on all of the recent mysterious incidents, “do you think there’s another spirit, then, out to get me?”

“It could very well be,” Logan replies soberly. “There
are many who believe these old castles are thick with dark spirits who set out to harm newcomers in their midst.”

“What about Elizabeth?” I ask, giving voice to my suspicions. “She really hates me. I don’t know how she’d be making herself invisible, but …”

Logan furrows his brow. “Why do you feel Lady Elizabeth dislikes you so?”

“I can’t decide if it’s my pink hair” — I lift the streak to show him — “or the holes in my jeans.”

“Have you no trousers to wear without holes?” he asks.

I laugh. “Of course. But it’s the style now.”

Logan grins. “Well, I fancy your hair. ’Tis unique.”

I nod happily. “Thank you,” I say, stifling a yawn.

“Och, you’ve school in the morn.” He gives a low bow. “I’ll be just outside your door, in my invisible state, of course, should you need anything.” He smiles, wide and bright. “Good eve to you, Ivy. ’Till the morn.”

“Good night,” I whisper, feeling myself smile just as wide.

Logan promptly disappears, the whites of his teeth the last to go.

That night, I fall into a sounder, more restful sleep than I’ve had since I first arrived in Scotland.

W
hen I wake up in the morning, I feel at ease knowing Logan’s outside my door. I have some time before school, and I realize I’d like to see him again. I sit up in bed, smoothing out my hair and straightening out the long-sleeved music-camp shirt I sleep in. Then I call out to him.

He instantly appears, leaning against the bedpost. My heart speeds up at the sight of him.

“So, Logan Munro,” I say, and settle back against my pillows, “when you’re not guarding my door, what do you do here?”

Logan shrugs one shoulder. “I play my flute. I walk the lands. I visit the village. I do enjoy havin’ a chat with
Ian, and Jonas. They both like to talk to me. Treat me as though I’m …” He sighs, then meets my gaze.

But I finish for him.

“Alive,” I say.

Logan remains silent, but continues to watch me closely.

I shift forward, meeting his gaze. “You seem as real as anyone I know,” I tell him.

Two short knocks against the door interrupt us, and then the door opens.

“Ivy?” my mother’s voice calls out, just before her head pokes through the crack. “Ready for school?”

My gaze darts to first my mom, then Logan. He grins and places a single finger over his lips. Mom plops down on the bed, right where Logan stands at the foot. His grin widens just before he completely disappears. I fight the urge to smile back at him.

“Did you sleep well?” Mom asks, tightening the belt of her robe.

“I finally did,” I say, slapping the fluffy mattress. “It’s nice, Mom. All of it. Marriage. Niall. Scotland. Baby.” I lean over and hug her. “And I’m glad you’re so happy.”

Mom’s embrace tightens around me. “Oh, baby, thank you!” she says against my hair. Pulling back, she looks at me, and the hazy light casts her face in speckled dots of shadow. “I want you to be happy, too. The music you’ve come up with lately is amazing.”

Pride squeezes my heart. It still feels good to get praise from my mom. “Thanks. I like it, too. I’m going to try out for the Strings of the Highlands concert coming up.”

Mom grabs my hands. “You should do it, Ivy! You’ll blow them away! Now come on, let’s go downstairs,” she says, standing up. “The staff is making a full Scottish breakfast and I’m dying for some spicy sausage.”

My stomach growls at the mention of food. “Me too. Oh, I almost forgot. Can I have some friends over for Halloween? Just a few. You know, creepy castle and all. They think it’d be cool to hang out here.”

Mom nods. “I think that’d be too fun. I’ll get Niall to pick up some pumpkins to carve.”

I laugh. “Great, Mom. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Mom waves as she slips out the door. For a few seconds, I stand and wait, fully expecting Logan to reappear. Instead, I only hear his voice.

“Your mum is wonderful,” he says. “She has a lot of energy.” He chuckles. “So, friends over for All Hallows’ Eve, aye? Take care, Miss Calhoun. I shall see you later.”

“See ya,” I say back, and then I can sense that he’s gone. It’s strange but I sort of miss him already.

Breakfast is great — Elizabeth isn’t present. After I eat, I hurry back upstairs to get my book bag.

On the second-floor landing, the air around me chills. I’m moving faster now, climbing the steps two at a time. The chill — it’s weird. It’s almost … chasing me. Nips at my calves, my elbows, and propels me forward until by the time I reach the third-floor landing, I’m at a dead run. Finally, I skid to a halt at my door, throw it open, leap inside, and slam the door shut behind me.

The dread clawing at me grabs my throat and squeezes. The chill seeps into the room and surrounds me, like icy fingers dragging across my skin. My breath puffs out in white drifts before me, fast, hard, and I watch it slip away to collect and hover in midair. It begins to form into a solid mass. The word
Die.

I choke on my gasp. All at once the drawers on the armoire begin rattling. Soon, the rattle changes to slamming open and shut. The noise is deafening, and the armoire begins to rock back and forth. I cover my ears to drown out the noise.

“Logan,” I say, almost in a whisper, my voice trembling, low. “Logan!”

He appears from thin air just as the armoire rocks one final time and slams toward me. I dive out of the way as it crashes to the floor.

“Cease!” Logan hollers.

At once, the room grows silent. The chill disperses, the horrible word in mist dissipates.

Logan’s hands are balled into fists and his silver eyes are bright with anger.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. When I shake my head, he continues, his brows drawn in anger. “There is a malevolent presence here. I canna see it, but ’tis here all the same. This is no simple haunting. This is dark. I dunna want it coming anywhere close to you, Ivy.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here,” I say, feeling on the verge of tears. I look at him. “Thanks,” I simply say, and it’s not enough. I’m totally
shaken up. How can I go to school after my life has been threatened like this?

All at once, my gaze lands on my bedside table.

No.

The photograph of my dad is gone. I drop to my knees to look beneath the table. I lift the bed skirt and peer into the shadows. Then I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s there, facedown, in the center of the floor. I have to lie on my stomach and scoot partially underneath the bed to reach it. And that’s not all I find.

Rising up, I lean back on my heels and glance up at Logan.

“How did this get under there?” I hold the other thing up. “What is this?”

Logan peers at the bundle of sticks in my hand. “Drop it, Ivy. Now!”

I let it go and it falls to the floor.

Logan sighs. “It’s rowan. I’m willin’ to bet it’s cursed.” He glances around the room and walks over to my poker. “Pick it up with your iron and throw it out the window.” With a flick of his wrist, the window flies open.

Grabbing the fire poker, I lift the bundle of sticks, hurry over, and toss it out. I have no clue how the object
got into my room, and it makes me shudder to think about someone sneaking in.

Then I turn to Logan, amazed.

“How is it you can open a window, or make my violin and clothes float in the air, but you can’t make a poker hover?”

Logan shrugs. “Mostly, I can manipulate things that are light and porous. Those wooden frames in the window are of old wood. Your garments are light, too.” He nods to the poker in my hand. “Solid iron? Nay.” He nods again to the armoire. “And although that’s wooden, it has iron pieces within. ’Tis too heavy.”

I nod. “I didn’t think about that.”

“I’ll let Jonas know about this” — Logan nods to the armoire again — “and we’ll get it aright. I’ll also search your room over for any more rowan.” He looks at me. “Now, you go to school, and I’ll be waiting for you when you get home. We’ll figure out what to do next.”