The moment I stepped inside, a tingle raced down my spine—an indefinable prickling, like something in me perking up.
"You feel that?" Trsiel whispered. He had his back to me, scanning the room, body held tight. As I stepped up beside him, he continued, "I told Katsuo—the angel who investigated—that I've felt something here, but he swore he didn't."
I stared at Trsiel, not so much because of what he said as how he said it. His lips never moved, yet I heard him clearly. He caught me staring.
"Sorry," he said, still speaking telepathically. "Should have warned you. Is this okay?"
I nodded.
"Keeps things quiet. If you need to talk, just think the words."
"Like this?"
He nodded. "And don't worry, I can't read your mind. It has to be a distinct thought aimed at me."
"Like a communication spell."
"That's right." He looked around, tensing again. "I don't know how Katsuo couldn't feel this."
"You've been here before?" I asked.
A shrug. "Once or twice. Sightseeing."
I doubted that.
"Split up?" I said.
He gave me a look that needed no telepathic explanation. I sighed. It was going to be a slow search.
As we headed deeper into the castle, my sense of disquiet grew, wavering between unease and something almost like anticipation. It wasn't what I'd call a negative vibe… certainly not negative enough to scare away any ghost with an ounce of backbone. Still, it was unsettling. As we searched for what drew the Nix to the castle, Trsiel did his best to keep us both calm with a running telepathic commentary, part castle tour, part historical ghost-walk.
From the dining room, we went into the Great Hall, a long tunnel-shaped room with an ornate plaster ceiling and more paintings of family members, including some guy wearing a really strange-looking flesh-colored suit of armor.
Adjacent to the Great Hall was the chapel… and still more paintings of dead guys. These, I think, were the disciples, though my knowledge of Christianity is a bit sketchy. In the center of the wall, over a candle-covered table, was a painting of Jesus on the cross. That one I knew. What really caught my eye, though, were the paintings on the ceiling. Fifteen of them, showing various religious scenes and at least one winged cherub.
"Doesn't look a thing like you."
Trsiel smiled. "Ah, but you haven't seen my baby pictures." He looked around. "Now, this, in case you didn't guess, is the chapel. Listen closely, and you might hear the scratching of a vampire, trapped forever within these walls."
"There's a lot trapped in these walls, isn't there?"
"It's a popular place. Do you want to hear about the vampire?"
"Let me guess, he infiltrated the castle as a servant or something, then they found him sucking the blood of some poor schmuck, and walled him up in here."
"No, they walled her up in here." He glanced over at me. "But, otherwise, you're right. Standard vampire lore. On to the billiard room."
We walked through a doorway into yet another oversize room, with yet more paintings. Glass-cased bookshelves lined one wall.
"Looks more like a library," I said.
Trsiel pointed at a table in the middle.
"Billiards, and a decent segue into my next story. The second earl of Glamis, known as Earl Beardie, was an inveterate card player. One Saturday night, he and his friend, the Earl of Crawford, played for so long that a servant came in to tell him it was nearly midnight, and to beg him to stop playing, for it was sacrilege to play cards on the Sabbath. Beardie sent him out, saying, 'I'll play with the Devil himself if I like.' A few minutes later, there came a knock at the door. There stood a man, dressed all in black, asking to join the game. The earls agreed and, that night, wagered and lost their souls. When Beardie died five years later, his family began hearing the sound of curses and rattling dice coming from that same room where Beardie had played. They walled it up, but the noises continued."
"More walling up? Geez, they must have employed full-time bricklayers in this place."
We continued on our walk. A few minutes later, he led me into a sitting room.
"And here is a bit of history closer to your time. The Queen Mother's sitting room. This was her ancestral home. She grew up here, and Princess Margaret was born here—well, not in this room, but in the castle."
"So the Queen Mother grew up and had a child in a castle known for ghosts, vampires, visits from the Devil, murderous revolts, executions, and torture? You know, this may explain a few things about the British royal family."
As we continued up a wide set of winding stone stairs to the clock tower, I saw a young woman in a long white dress standing at the landing window. My first thought was not "Ack, a ghost!" but "Hmmm, these Scots wear some pretty strange jammies." As Trsiel had said, the castle was still the private residence of the latest Lord Glamis, with the family and their staff living in a wing off-limits to the daily tours. But then the woman turned, and it was obviously not a nightgown, but a formal white dress.
She turned from the window, her eyes wide with horror. "They come!"
She snatched up her skirt and raced toward the stairs, passing right through an urn.
I glanced over at Trsiel. "I thought you said there were no ghosts here."
"That's a residual."
"A residual what?"
"A residual image of a past event. Some traumatic events burn images of themselves into a place. Like a holographic sequence. When triggered, the sequence replays. Any ghost or necromancer, and some sensitive humans, can trigger them." He paused. "You have seen these before, haven't you?"
I thought of the crying woman in Paige and Lucas's home.
"Er, right. I just… didn't know they were called that."
Trsiel grinned. "You thought they were ghosts?"
"Of course not. I—"
He threw back his head and laughed. "What did you do? Try to talk to them? Entreat them to go into the light?"
I glared and stalked past him up the stairs.
After two rooms of being ignored, Trsiel offered an olive branch by way of a story, one about the woman I'd just seen. The White Lady. Ghost hunters can be the most ingenious breed when it comes to inventing ghastly tales, but ask them to think up a name for the ghost of a woman dressed in white, and they give you "the White Lady."
"You feel that?" Trsiel whispered. He had his back to me, scanning the room, body held tight. As I stepped up beside him, he continued, "I told Katsuo—the angel who investigated—that I've felt something here, but he swore he didn't."
I stared at Trsiel, not so much because of what he said as how he said it. His lips never moved, yet I heard him clearly. He caught me staring.
"Sorry," he said, still speaking telepathically. "Should have warned you. Is this okay?"
I nodded.
"Keeps things quiet. If you need to talk, just think the words."
"Like this?"
He nodded. "And don't worry, I can't read your mind. It has to be a distinct thought aimed at me."
"Like a communication spell."
"That's right." He looked around, tensing again. "I don't know how Katsuo couldn't feel this."
"You've been here before?" I asked.
A shrug. "Once or twice. Sightseeing."
I doubted that.
"Split up?" I said.
He gave me a look that needed no telepathic explanation. I sighed. It was going to be a slow search.
As we headed deeper into the castle, my sense of disquiet grew, wavering between unease and something almost like anticipation. It wasn't what I'd call a negative vibe… certainly not negative enough to scare away any ghost with an ounce of backbone. Still, it was unsettling. As we searched for what drew the Nix to the castle, Trsiel did his best to keep us both calm with a running telepathic commentary, part castle tour, part historical ghost-walk.
From the dining room, we went into the Great Hall, a long tunnel-shaped room with an ornate plaster ceiling and more paintings of family members, including some guy wearing a really strange-looking flesh-colored suit of armor.
Adjacent to the Great Hall was the chapel… and still more paintings of dead guys. These, I think, were the disciples, though my knowledge of Christianity is a bit sketchy. In the center of the wall, over a candle-covered table, was a painting of Jesus on the cross. That one I knew. What really caught my eye, though, were the paintings on the ceiling. Fifteen of them, showing various religious scenes and at least one winged cherub.
"Doesn't look a thing like you."
Trsiel smiled. "Ah, but you haven't seen my baby pictures." He looked around. "Now, this, in case you didn't guess, is the chapel. Listen closely, and you might hear the scratching of a vampire, trapped forever within these walls."
"There's a lot trapped in these walls, isn't there?"
"It's a popular place. Do you want to hear about the vampire?"
"Let me guess, he infiltrated the castle as a servant or something, then they found him sucking the blood of some poor schmuck, and walled him up in here."
"No, they walled her up in here." He glanced over at me. "But, otherwise, you're right. Standard vampire lore. On to the billiard room."
We walked through a doorway into yet another oversize room, with yet more paintings. Glass-cased bookshelves lined one wall.
"Looks more like a library," I said.
Trsiel pointed at a table in the middle.
"Billiards, and a decent segue into my next story. The second earl of Glamis, known as Earl Beardie, was an inveterate card player. One Saturday night, he and his friend, the Earl of Crawford, played for so long that a servant came in to tell him it was nearly midnight, and to beg him to stop playing, for it was sacrilege to play cards on the Sabbath. Beardie sent him out, saying, 'I'll play with the Devil himself if I like.' A few minutes later, there came a knock at the door. There stood a man, dressed all in black, asking to join the game. The earls agreed and, that night, wagered and lost their souls. When Beardie died five years later, his family began hearing the sound of curses and rattling dice coming from that same room where Beardie had played. They walled it up, but the noises continued."
"More walling up? Geez, they must have employed full-time bricklayers in this place."
We continued on our walk. A few minutes later, he led me into a sitting room.
"And here is a bit of history closer to your time. The Queen Mother's sitting room. This was her ancestral home. She grew up here, and Princess Margaret was born here—well, not in this room, but in the castle."
"So the Queen Mother grew up and had a child in a castle known for ghosts, vampires, visits from the Devil, murderous revolts, executions, and torture? You know, this may explain a few things about the British royal family."
As we continued up a wide set of winding stone stairs to the clock tower, I saw a young woman in a long white dress standing at the landing window. My first thought was not "Ack, a ghost!" but "Hmmm, these Scots wear some pretty strange jammies." As Trsiel had said, the castle was still the private residence of the latest Lord Glamis, with the family and their staff living in a wing off-limits to the daily tours. But then the woman turned, and it was obviously not a nightgown, but a formal white dress.
She turned from the window, her eyes wide with horror. "They come!"
She snatched up her skirt and raced toward the stairs, passing right through an urn.
I glanced over at Trsiel. "I thought you said there were no ghosts here."
"That's a residual."
"A residual what?"
"A residual image of a past event. Some traumatic events burn images of themselves into a place. Like a holographic sequence. When triggered, the sequence replays. Any ghost or necromancer, and some sensitive humans, can trigger them." He paused. "You have seen these before, haven't you?"
I thought of the crying woman in Paige and Lucas's home.
"Er, right. I just… didn't know they were called that."
Trsiel grinned. "You thought they were ghosts?"
"Of course not. I—"
He threw back his head and laughed. "What did you do? Try to talk to them? Entreat them to go into the light?"
I glared and stalked past him up the stairs.
After two rooms of being ignored, Trsiel offered an olive branch by way of a story, one about the woman I'd just seen. The White Lady. Ghost hunters can be the most ingenious breed when it comes to inventing ghastly tales, but ask them to think up a name for the ghost of a woman dressed in white, and they give you "the White Lady."
