Page 5 of Spellbinding Spirit

Sebastian

The coffee shop inFellside is tiny but warm and has wooden beams low enough to make me duck as I head to the table in the corner. I’ve picked this spot-on purpose because it’s near the heater, and I figure Cat will appreciate it after her trek north. I’ve barely sat down when I spot her shaking rain off her umbrella through the steamed-up window. She pushes open the door with a determined shove, her coat appearing damp and herscarf all twisted, and my chest does that annoying thing where it tightens just a little.

“Sebastian,” she says before giving me one of her signature smiles. I pull her into a hug and it feels good to have her close again. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her because we’ve both been busy in our jobs.

“You look so professional in your uniform,” she giggles and pulls on my tie.

“Don’t worry I’m still the same idiot underneath,” I grin as she shrugs off her coat and settles opposite me. “Tea?”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she sighs, wrapping her hands around the mug I slide towards her. “I need this. The train was like a fridge, the taxi driver was a grumpy arse, and then the rain decided to personally attack me. I swear that Fellside’s testing me.”

“Consider it an adventure,” I say, leaning back. “You’ve made it this far. Congratulations.”

“Barely.” She laughs, soft and warm, and I realise how much I’ve missed hearing it in person. We talk every week, text every day, but it’s not the same. Not even close.

“How was the first shift?” she asks, blowing on her tea. “Feel like a proper boss now?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Not bad. Being the one in charge of the whole reception team and not just the night shift feels weird, but no major disasters. Yet.”

“Give it time,” she teases. “Still, I’m proud of you Sebastian. You’ve worked hard for this.”

She says it so earnestly that I feel my cheeks heat up. I clear my throat, gesturing to her bag. “Speaking of work, you’re here for a reason aren’t you? Tell me about this big investigation of yours.”

Her face lights up and she pulls out her notebook. It’s a bit battered with loose papers sticking out the edges, but she handles it like it’s something precious. “Right, so you know the story about Sally the maid?”

“Vaguely,” I say. “But remind me. I’ve heard so many ghost stories about Greenview that they all blur together.”

Cat sighs, and for a moment the playful edge in her voice is gone, replaced by something softer. “Sally worked at the manor during the war, the First World War. She was young, eighteen, and in love with a local lad called George, who worked in the stables at Greenview Manor until he was called up to join the war effort. He went missing in action. When she got the news, she... she couldn’t handle it. Apparently she received the letter on Valentine’s Day, a day that meant a lot to her, although nobody knew exactly why.” Cat hesitates, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. “She took her own life in the servant’s quarters.”

I let out a low whistle, leaning forward. “That’s devastating.”

“It is,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “I can’t stop thinking about her. How alone she must’ve felt. And people say she’s still there waiting for George to come back. It just… it makes me sad, you know?”

Her voice catches a little and I feel a pang of something. Empathy, maybe. Or guilt because I’ve never really thought about the stories we hear like that. Ghosts are just curiosities to me, shadows and whispers in the night. But to Cat they’re people.

“You’re taking this seriously then,” I say quietly.

“Of course I am,” she replies, sitting up straighter. “I don’t go into these things looking to prove people wrong or make a spectacle out of it. I go into all the investigations with an open mind. And if Sally’s there, if she’s really there, I want to try to help. Even if it’s just to understand what’s keeping her here. Besides, even if there is no ghost the story of Sally and George is still real and heart-breaking.”

I nod, fiddling with the handle of my mug. “Fair enough. So what’s the plan?”

Her smile returns, a little brighter now. “Well I’ve got all the gear—EMF meters, motion detectors, recorders… the works. I thought we’d start in the servants’ quarters in the attic, where she... you know. See if we can pick up anything unusual.”

“We?” I raise an eyebrow. “Since when am I a part of this?”

“Since you volunteered five minutes ago,” she says, smirking.

“Did I?”

“Yes. You said, ‘Cat, I’d love to carry all your equipment and make you tea while you hunt for ghosts.’”

“Sounds like something I’d say.” I grin despite myself. “But for the record I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You don’t have to,” she says, her voice light but her gaze steady. “I know you believe in me.”

It’s such a simple thing to say but it knocks me sideways. I cover it by taking a sip of tea, pretending her words don’t mean anything. “Well,” I chuckle after a beat, “as long as you’re not expecting me to hold a séance or anything. I draw the line at chanting.”

Cat laughs and the weight in the room lifts just like that. “No chanting, I promise. But you might have to stand in a dark room by yourself for a bit.”

---