I paused and glanced at the brooch resting innocently on the bedside table. Thathadto be it. Somehow, my pricking my finger on it had woken Ewan, and now I was stuck with him until… well, that was the question, wasn’t it?
I looked back at the book. Pennant continued, listing ways ghosts could be laid to rest. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as simple as destroying the object.
I sighed again. “It says here I need to help you ‘finish your unfinished business.’” I glanced up at Ewan. “Do you even know what that is?”
He scratched his chin, clearly amused by my predicament. “Aye, that’s a fine question, lad. But what’s the fun in tellin’ ye?”
“You don’t even know, do you?”
He gave me a shrug that was far too casual for my liking. “Maybe I dae. Maybe I dinnae. I’m enjoyin’ seein’ ye squirm.”
I closed the book with a thud. “So, what? I’m just supposed to let you haunt me indefinitely while I play detective? What did you do, murder somebody?”
Ewan didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, I thought he’d actually left. I glanced back to find him staring off, his expression briefly clouded. But then he shrugged, his usual indifference settling back into place.
“Eh, maybe. Could be somethin’ like that.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if the idea of unfinished business was a mildly interesting curiosity, not the reason for his eternal haunting.
I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe? That’s it?”
He shrugged again. “Who cares? Ye think I’ve spent me afterlife wonderin’ what’s keepin’ me here? If I’m here, I’m here. If I’m no’, I’m no’.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to slam the book shut. “So, you don’t even know if there’s something you need to finish? How did you die?”
Ewan curled his lip. “Culloden. On a Sassenach blade.”
I swallowed. No wonder he did not care for me. Egad, what if I told him my cousin was a colonel in the Regulars? That I had a great uncle who fought in that battle? I… no, that did not seem like such a good idea, after all. I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of him, so it seemed impolitic to make him hate me any more than he already did.
“Well, there go all my ideas.” I’d been hoping for a clue, a hint—anything that might give me direction. But no, I was stuck with a ghost who didn’t care in the slightest whether he stayed or left.
I skimmed the text again, looking for some practical advice. “It says here that spirits can be bound to objects—like the brooch.” I glanced over at thatthingsitting on the desk, the thing that had started this whole nightmare. “But it’s not as simple as just getting rid of it. Apparently, there’s something more to it. Something tied to your past.”
Ewan leaned over, peering at the brooch like it was some boring trinket. “Aye, that’s ma brooch, sure as. Bonny, ain’t it?”
I shot him a glare. “‘Bonny’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use. The thing was a seditious commodity. Probably illegal just to own.”
Ewan frowned and nodded, conceding my point. “Weel, ye pricked yersel' on it, so now we’re tethered, aye? Reckon bad luck flows in yer blood, lad.”
“Or it’s just bad luck being around you,” I shot back.
He let out a laugh. “Aye, that too.”
I rubbed my temple, the beginnings of a headache forming. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to keep haunting me, and you don’t even care if I figure out what’s keeping you here?”
Ewan leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms again. “Nah, no’ really. I’m havin’ a braw time, an’ ye’re just makin’ it all the merrier, ye ken.”
I closed the book with a thud and threw myself back in the chair. “Fantastic. I’m haunted by the most unhelpful ghost in history.”
“Could be worse,” Ewan said with a grin. “Ye could be dead like me, lad. At least ye’ve got a bed tae sleep in, and, if ye’d give yerself the trouble o’ it, you could feel the warmth of a lassie’s—”
I stood abruptly and began pacing the room, my mind spinning. “This is absurd. According to Pennant, Highlanders believed spirits would appear during storms, or in the dead of night, sometimes in dreams. You, however, appear whenever you feel like it and make yourself perfectly at home.”
“Aye, well, that’s true,” he said, sounding quite pleased with himself.
I rolled my eyes and returned to the desk, sitting heavily. I stared at the book, trying to will some piece of information to jump off the page and save me from this nonsense.
“Here,” I said, reading aloud again, “Many Highlanders believe that spirits linger where they are wronged, seeking justice or completion of a vow left undone in life. Only once these tasks are fulfilled can they cross over into peace.”
I glanced up. “Does that sound familiar to you?”
