Spellbinding Spirit (Greenview Manor Tales #5)

5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Catherine

S ebastian’s flat hasn’t changed much since the last time I stayed here. Still the same comfy, slightly mismatched furniture and stacks of books scattered around like they’re growing out of the floor. It’s warm and welcoming the kind of place that feels lived in. It’s very him .

“Home sweet home,” Sebastian says, tossing his keys onto the counter. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. “Wine?”

“You know me,” I say, smiling as I drop my bag near the sofa and kick off my boots. The rain outside is still tapping against the windows but the flat feels miles away from the chill of the manor’s attic. “I’m not about to say no.”

Sebastian grabs a bottle from the fridge and holds it up for my approval. It’s a Sauvignon Blanc, the kind we always end up drinking when we’re together. He pours us each a glass and we settle into the sofa, the cushions soft and inviting after a long day.

“So,” he says, stretching his legs out and balancing his glass on the armrest, “what’s the verdict? Spooky Sally or just another creaky old attic?”

I take a sip of wine, letting it linger before answering. “Honestly? I’m not sure. There was something about that sigh... it didn’t feel like the wind.”

“Of course it didn’t,” he says. “You wouldn’t be you if it did.”

I swat at his arm but I’m smiling. “I take this seriously.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice softening. “And I admire that about you. Even if I think ghosts are probably just overactive imaginations.”

“You can think what you like,” I reply, settling back against the cushions. “You’ll be the one eating your words when Sally decides to introduce herself tomorrow.”

He laughs, and it’s such a familiar sound that I feel the day’s tension ease a little. This is what I’ve missed, these moments where everything feels easy. Natural. We talk for a while about the equipment, the manor, the other stories about Sally, but as the wine dwindles the conversation drifts, taking on a more personal edge.

“I still can’t believe you talked me into this,” Sebastian says, breaking a comfortable silence. “I mean, I could never say no to you but after the last ghost hunt where I ended up with nothing but the mother of all colds, I swore never again.”

“Oh, come on,” I tease. “You’re enjoying yourself, admit it.”

“Sure. I love hauling boxes around a haunted attic,” he says. “It’s exactly how I pictured my life at forty-five.”

“Could be worse,” I counter. “At least you’re not spending your nights dealing with snobbish guests that demand you change the weather because they’re unhappy about the rain.”

“That’s true,” he says, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “And honestly? I don’t mind tagging along, I’m just teasing. You make it... interesting.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Interesting? Is that a compliment?”

“Always.” He winks, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eye, something warmer and more complicated.

I glance away, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. “We’ve certainly had some interesting moments over the years.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges me with a playful glint in his eye. “Like what?”

I hesitate, then decide to lean into the humour. “Like that night. You know the one.”

It takes him a second, but when it clicks his expression shifts—surprise, amusement, and something else I can’t quite name. “That night?” he echoes, his voice low and teasing. “You mean the one where we were minding our own business watching TV, and suddenly...”

“Suddenly you decided to kiss me,” I interrupt, pointing at him in mock accusation.

“I don’t remember it that way,” he protests, laughing. “If anything I remember you kissing me .”

I roll my eyes but my face feels hot. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He leans forward, his smile turning mischievous. “Because I seem to recall someone begging to be kissed.”

I gasp, trying to cover the sudden flutter in my chest. “I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make me glance at him. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment the humour fades, leaving something else in its place—something warm and unspoken.

I clear my throat, breaking the spell. “That was ten years ago. Ancient history.”

“Right,” he says, sitting back again but still watching me. “Ancient history.”

The air between us feels charged, like we’ve stepped too close to a line neither of us wants to cross. Not again.

“Well,” I say, standing and picking up the empty glasses, “we’ve got a big day tomorrow. You’ll need your rest if you’re going to keep up with me.”

“Of course,” he says and follows me to the kitchen. “Wouldn’t want to slow down the ghost-hunting machine.”

I rinse the glasses pretending my hands aren’t shaking slightly. Sebastian leans against the counter, his presence comforting, but I can feel his eyes on me. When I turn to say goodnight he looks at me with intense eyes. It’s a look he gives me every so often that makes my chest ache just a little.

“Goodnight, Cat,” he says, his voice deep but steady.

“Goodnight, Sebastian,” I reply, retreating to the spare room before I can let myself dwell on the moment.

The rain continues to fall outside in a soft rhythm that usually lulls me to sleep. But tonight my mind won’t settle. I think about Sally, about the sigh in the attic, about Sebastian’s teasing and the way his voice sounded different when he said my name.

Ten years ago seems like a lifetime but right now it might as well have been yesterday. I close my eyes and will myself to focus on tomorrow. But sleep doesn’t come easily with the past so close it feels like it’s standing just behind me, waiting to be acknowledged.

The smell of bacon and eggs pulls me into the kitchen where Sebastian is busy at the hob, looking far too handsome for someone who’s just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of joggers, his greying hair still messy from sleep, but somehow he makes it work. I settle at the small table with my laptop and recorder in front of me. The scent of toast is already making the morning feel better.

“Breakfast fit for ghost hunters… I mean paranormal investigators,” Sebastian announces, flipping a rasher of bacon with theatrical precision. “Eggs, toast, bacon, and my charm. What more could you want?”

“A winning lottery ticket?” I quip, pulling up the audio file from last night. “Or maybe just some sleep.”

“Well you won’t get either of those but you will get perfectly crisp bacon. What’re you up to over there?”

“Checking the tape,” I say, plugging in my headphones. “Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the play-by-play.”

“Appreciate it,” he says, though his tone is amused. “Let me know if Sally chimes in though. I’d hate to miss her big debut.”

I roll my eyes. There’s a part of me that hopes I’ll find something—anything—to justify dragging Sebastian through an attic all night. I press play and listen carefully, skipping past the creaks and thuds we’d heard while setting up. Most of it is just the usual static, my voice asking questions into the void, and Sebastian occasionally chiming in with his dry commentary.

I’m halfway through the recording when I hear it.

It’s faint. So faint I almost miss it, but it’s there. Just after I ask, “Is George with you, Sally?” there’s a sound. At first I think it’s just interference but when I replay it my stomach flips. It’s a voice. A quiet, breathy “No.”

My heart starts pounding and I pull the headphones off, staring at the recorder like it’s suddenly come alive.

“What?” Sebastian asks, glancing over his shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Pun intended.”

“There’s... something on the tape,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.

He turns off the hob and walks over, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “What kind of something?”

I hand him the headphones and rewind the file to the right spot. “Listen for yourself.”

Sebastian puts the headphones on, his expression sceptical but curious. I watch him closely as he listens, his brow furrowing slightly. When he hears it his eyes widen just a fraction but he doesn’t say anything until he pulls the headphones off.

“That’s... interesting,” he says, carefully neutral.

“Interesting?” I repeat, crossing my arms. “It’s a voice. A voice saying no. That’s not just interesting that’s—”

“It could be interference,” he says, though he sounds less certain than usual. “Or maybe one of us shifting around and making a noise.”

“You think either of us made a noise that sounds like ‘no’ right after I asked a direct question? I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know the difference between a no and a creak,” I counter, my tone sharper than I mean it to be.

Sebastian holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying let’s not jump to conclusions. Weird stuff happens with these recorders sometimes.”

I bite my lip, trying to rein in my frustration. He’s not really dismissing me, but I can tell he doesn’t want to believe it.

“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Let’s say it’s not interference. If it’s not one of us and it’s not the equipment... then what?”

Sebastian shrugs but there’s a flicker of something in his expression. Unease maybe. Or curiosity. “Then I guess Sally’s got something to say after all.”

I smile though my mind is racing. “I’m playing it again,” I say, hitting rewind.

We listen to the clip three more times, both of us straining to pick apart the sound but it doesn’t change. It’s still there, still quiet but undeniably human.

“I’ll admit,” Sebastian finally says, leaning back in his chair, “that’s not... nothing.”

“That’s the closest you’ve ever come to believing,” I tease.

“Let’s not get carried away,” he says, but there’s a glint in his eye. “I’m just saying... maybe there’s more to Sally’s story than the myths of time.”

I want to press him and dig deeper into whatever he’s feeling but the timer on the oven beeps and he’s up again, dishing out plates of food like nothing happened.

“Breakfast is served,” he says, sliding a plate in front of me. “Consider it fuel for the day ahead.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling as I pick up my fork. The food is perfect of course, but my mind keeps wandering back to the tape. To that voice. To Sally. Maybe I want her to be real way more than I usually do, just because her story moves me so much.

Whatever happens next I know one thing for sure: I’m not done with trying to help her.