Page 7 of Spellbinding Spirit

Nothing happens. No footsteps, no whispers, no sudden cold spots. Just silence. After a few more questions, Cat switches off the recorder.

“Anything?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’ll play it back later. Sometimes you don’t hear responses until after.”

At one point the motion detector goes off, but it turns out to be a moth that’s flown in through the window.

“Spooky,” I say, holding up the tiny culprit.

Cat laughs, though it’s clear she’s disappointed. “At least we know the equipment’s working.”

As it is getting later, we are getting ready to leave. Cat wants to take the voice recorder with her so she can listen to it in the morning, but the rest of the stuff will stay here for tomorrow night.

By the time we finish it’s close to eleven and the attic has taken on a different feel. The shadows seem deeper, the air heavier. As we step back into the corridor Cat pauses, her hand on the doorframe.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers.

I stop, straining to listen. At first there’s nothing, but then—a faint sound like a sigh coming from the far end of the attic.

“Probably the wind,” I say, though my voice is quieter than I mean it to be.

“Maybe,” Cat murmurs, but she doesn’t look convinced.

We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving, then the sound comes again. It’s so faint that it could be anything. A draught, the old house settling, or... something else.

“Come on,” I say, gently tugging her sleeve. “We’ve done enough for tonight.”

She nods, but as we head down the stairs, I catch her glancing back over her shoulder, mumbling, “Why always when I leave?”

Chapter 4

Catherine

Sebastian’s flat hasn’t changedmuch 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 veryhim.

“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 beyouif 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.”

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