Chapter 11 #2
Moira presses a hand against her mouth.
Old Angus stares thoughtfully at the ceiling.
Across the crowd, Cameron finds my gaze.
His expression clearly says: Your turn.
But there's amusement sparkling in his eyes too.
I have no idea what comes over me, but I hear myself adding:
“It's true. I hear things at night. Footsteps in the hallway. Objects moving by themselves.”
Every villager in the pub turns toward me as one.
“You've heard Brodie and Mairenn?” Moira whispers.
“I... yes. Well, I don't know if it's them. But there's definitely something.”
It's not entirely a lie.
There's Hamish.
Technically, Hamish counts as something.
The pub explodes into excited whispers.
Moira has completely forgotten her quiz sheets.
Connor grins into his beer.
And Cameron...
Cameron is looking at me with an expression I can't quite decipher yet, but it makes me feel strangely special.
Ten minutes later, the quiz has officially been abandoned in favor of a heated debate about the precise geography of the haunting.
Ewan quietly slides a bottle of whisky beneath the bar with weary resignation.
The entire room is arguing with exhausting enthusiasm.
I slip outside.
The air is cool, and I pull my jacket tighter around myself.
As I tilt my head back to look at the stars, I become aware of someone beside me.
I turn.
Cameron is there, leaning against the pub's stone wall, hands tucked into his pockets.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
Inside, someone is loudly insisting that Mairenn had red hair, while someone else passionately disagrees.
“You realize what you just did, Clementine?”
The way he says my name does something strange to me.
Maybe it's the accent.
Maybe it's the smile.
I push the thought away.
“Oh, it wasn't much. I just lied to half a Scottish village about ghosts living in my house.”
“You gave Glenfield exactly what it wanted.”
I simply shrug.
He smiles.
“What if we gave them even more?”
I frown.
“What do you mean?”
Cameron pushes away from the wall and steps closer.
When he tilts his head slightly to look directly into my eyes, I completely lose my train of thought.
Cameron and Connor may be twins, but Cameron has something extra.
He's ridiculously handsome.
“I'm talking about feeding the legend of Brodie and Mairenn.”
“I'm not sure I follow.”
“I'm suggesting we give them a story so well-crafted that they stop inventing their own.”
I think about it.
My attention drifts briefly toward the pub window.
The debate is still raging inside.
I look back at Cameron.
Whatever his plan is, going along with it would mean seeing him more often.
A prospect that sounds surprisingly appealing.
“That's completely irresponsible,” I observe.
“Completely.”
“This is going to end badly.”
“Probably.”
“And you're suggesting it anyway.”
“I am.”
I fold my arms.
I look down Glenfield's quiet main street beneath the glow of the streetlamps, the road winding out toward the manor.
I think about all the different versions of Brodie and Mairenn that will continue multiplying if we do nothing.
Or if we do something.
“We're not doing anything illegal,” I finally say.
“Just storytelling.”
“If this spirals out of control, it'll be your fault.”
“Obviously.”
The pub door opens and Ailsa pokes her head outside, wearing the expression of someone who knows exactly what chaos she created tonight and is immensely pleased about it.
“Are you two coming? We're ordering another round.”
“I'll be right there,” I answer.
Then I turn back to Cameron one last time.
“Brodie and Mairenn Fraser. What kind of story are we giving them?”
This time, his smile is genuine and unguarded.
“Something good. Let's discuss it properly tomorrow.”
His gaze never leaves mine, and I feel something inside me begin to thaw—a part of myself that has been asleep for so long I'd forgotten it existed.
“I'll stop by the manor in the morning, if that works for you,” he adds.
My heart stumbles at Cameron's smile.
My breathing does that ridiculous thing where it dies halfway up my throat and leaves me deprived of oxygen.
And as for my brain?
My brain has apparently decided to take an unscheduled vacation.
I have no idea how many seconds pass before I manage to respond.
When I finally do, the word that comes out is a strained little “Okay” that sounds more like a croak than actual speech.
And as I turn and head back inside the pub, I silently pray to every deity willing to listen for a tiny shred of dignity.
Inside, the chaos has become perfectly organized.
Every resident is defending their own version of events with admirable conviction, considering that every single version is entirely made up.
I sit back down.
Moira immediately turns toward me with eager anticipation.
“So? Have you given any more thought to Brodie and Mairenn? Which ghost haunts which room?”
I take a sip of beer to buy time.
Or maybe to find inspiration.
Across the room, Cameron returns to his table.
His eyes find mine.
He gives me a subtle nod that feels suspiciously like encouragement.
“Both of them haunt every room,” I finally tell Moira. “Just not at the same time. They don't speak to each other anymore.”
Moira gasps and presses a hand dramatically against her heart.
All around the pub, shocked exclamations erupt.
I may have just unleashed a catastrophe whose full magnitude I have yet to comprehend.