Page 44 of Purrfectly Haunted

He is? Our eyes meet, and butterflies flutter in my belly.

Lana snorts and raises her glass of green smoothie in a toast. “To our wholly unprepared but quite efficient ghost hunters. You’re doing a damn fine job!”

We raise our coffee mugs.

We spend the afternoon relaxing at the hostel, nursing a mild hangover and drinking an ungodly amount of tea even by British standards. Lana and Shirley come and go, managing the hostel that is again at full capacity. Many visitors like to come during October and enjoy the full scope of Halloween season in Edinburgh while staying in a haunted hostel.

I realise I could get used to this. This wonderful place full of life, with a roaring fire in the hearth, a library stacked with books, friends who come and go, and cats on my lap.

Daylight and sobriety brought up questions about what Lana said to us the previous night. She called the house sentient. Now I’m aware of every strange thing, like the lights flickering during an argument between guests, or the different smells in the rooms, as if the house holds memories of things long gone. The staff kitchen always smells of baked bread, even though no one used the stone oven in a while. The grand staircase has the scents of flowers, such as roses or lavender, even though there is no bouquet in sight. The hats and scarves on the suits of armour in the large living room seem to change from time to time, from one blink to the other, even though no one touched them.

“Is it me, or does the boar’s eyes follow us?” James says at some point as we sit in front of the fireplace.

And yet, the cats are the strangest of it all. James was right. They always appear in rooms even if the doors are closed, and they watch over the hostel like furry guardians. Three of them harassed a guest for an hour, stopping him from leaving with his luggage, until Lana made him admit he’d stolen a small statue from the second floor by sneaking it inside his backpack. The cats’ yowls chased him out in the streets.

James is still a little freaked out by them, but he seems to slowly get desensitized as they keep rubbing themselves on his legs or jump on his lap. He told me in confidence that his grandmother had a cat who traumatized him growing up, and to him they still appear like feral beasts waiting for their chance to claw his face off.

We eat dinner with the others around nine, the usual excitement subdued, but we’re all content and relaxed. Then we play board games by the fire until midnight comes and all the guests have disappeared in their dormitories. Lana and Shirley wish us good luck as they go to bed hand in hand.

James yawns, relaxing back on the couch, my eyes catching on the curve of his body as he stretches. This is the first time we find ourselves alone together since last night. I’ve been trying to find his flaws all day, something to keep my sanity when he gets too close. Something to help me keep my head straight and not fall to my knees in front of him and beg him to let me come again. But it’s no use, he’s simply amazing. He’s witty and sharp-tongued, but never mean. He’s funny and bossy, and so beautiful it hurts to look at him sometimes. His beauty is like a blade, cutting me down when I let my eyes wander to him.

I clear my throat. “I think it’s time to go find the Nobleman.”

The two of us like this, in the quiet of the night, feels dangerously intimate.

James holds my gaze for a moment, then says, “Yes. Let’s kick our fourth ghost out of the house.”

Pearl, the ragdoll, meows loudly from her position on one of the chairs. The cats haven’t tried to stop us from hunting the ghosts down so far, so the house is probably glad to be rid of them. I wonder if she was sentient before being haunted, or if the presence of the ghosts was part of the reason why she came alive.

Can the word alive be even used to describe a building with a mind of its own?

Lana thinks it takes particular conditions and events to turn a place sentient, like a recipe of magic, time, and events. Some locations are known to hold something dark, to suck away all the light and happiness. Lynch House feels like an old friend. A protector.

James grabs the bottle of French wine and the two glasses Shirley left for us on the table, and we make our way to the parlour where the French Nobleman is often seen. The house has now abandoned all pretence to be a normal building, and she lights the way as we walk, the lamps glowing like fireflies before fading again into the darkness behind us.

“Okay, that’s really weird but kind of awesome,” James admits.

Our steps are muffled by the carpets along the hallway and the smell of flowers follows us. The bats and garlands we hung along the banisters sway in a phantom wind, as if the house is breathing. Rava, the black cat, is waiting for us by the door, eyes glowing. She meows and scratches the carpet before disappearing in the dark.

The parlour has been turned into a quiet work room during the day for digital nomads, and a place where the guests are allowed to get a little rowdy at night, as Lana aptly put it, since it’s remote from the main living room and the dormitories. The light comes from candelabras with fake candles, giving the impression that we’re back in time. Maybe Lynch House is just that, a pocket of different timelines existing in one location, with its ghosts and centuries-old stones.

James places the bottle of wine on a coffee table and pours us two glasses as I put some music on my phone. We sit face to face, and I cringe as we toast. After last night, we don’t really feel like drinking again, but we need some incentive to bring out the Nobleman. I pretend to take a sip, and James does the same.

He leans back and his leg touches mine under the table. I remember how he touched me in the pub, and I blush. He hasn’t tried anything all day, and a part of me wonders why. Did he get bored of me already, or did I set clear boundaries and he just respects them? Against my better judgement, I already miss his flirtation.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, nudging my leg with his.

I blink. “What?”

“Are you scared?”

Oh, the ghost hunting. Right... “I’m fine.”

I feel safer with him, I realise.

James smiles, and bloody hell he looks so good. The fake candlelight is reflected in his dark hair and the silver piercings on his ears glint. He makes me think of a black panther lounging on a branch in the jungle.

“I won’t let him touch you,” he says after a moment. “Bodyguard, remember?”