Page 208 of The Protective Gryphen

The witching hour.

This was either the dumbest thing he’d ever do, or he was going to have one hell of a story as he got old.

Tracking her through the silent rooms, at a safe distance, he saw her heading to the part of the castle that wasn’t under construction. It was still in the state it had been when Callen and Chris had bought it.

As she turned, she touched her lips with her finger, and then turned to make her way further down the hall.

Oh, he wished he brought his phone or something to light the way. There was only that one bulb, and it gave off almost no light.

This was definitely dumb.

Really.

Really.

Dumb.

Ian, for some reason, thought to reason with her.

“Ceit, where are you? Your body isn’t in the crypt,” he said.

She moved closer to him, and he gasped as she appeared right in front of him.

“Bring me home,” she said, her voice soft and melodious. It was thick with a Gaelic accent. “Please bring me home. I can’t rest until I’m back in my home.”

Then, as quickly as she moved toward him, she was back in the original spot.

When she turned, Ceit pointed toward a room, and with some laughter, she was gone.

Holy shit.

Did he just talk to a ghost?

Where the hell did she go?

Looking around, he saw the door near where she’d been pointing, and slowly, he pushed it open and walked in. The only light was from the window, and it danced shadows across everything in there.

That’s when he saw the paintings.

It appeared he was in a storage room of sorts. All around him, various pieces of art were left out.

Out of curiosity, Ian checked them out. They were oil on canvas, and incredibly old.

Callen and Chris must have had them taken down when construction started to keep them safe from being damaged.

He hoped they’d be going back up when the castle was fully restored.

Moving closer, he reached for one that was of a man and young boy. It looked chipped like the oil painting was coming off from being so old.

Turning it around, Ian noticed the back. The paper backing was torn, and he could see something inside.

There was her soft melodious laughter all around him, as he could feel her urging him on.

“How is this supposed to bring you home?” he asked. “What is it that you want me to find, Ceit?” he whispered, sticking his fingers into the back of the frame.

At first, there was nothing, but then, he could feel it.

Just as he was about to pull it out, he was grabbed from behind, and pulled into the firm, hardness of a chest.

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