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“Thank you, Mr Film Critic.”

He puffs on his pipe. “Anyway, I wasn’t aware that we’d had a talk. It has been more you lecturing me.”

“Well, that’s how conversation with me goes. Lucky you. I have zero intention of finding out anything about you because that way lies trouble for me. So, you get a lecture. No need to say thank you. Au revoir, strange handsome ghost.”

The little dog sits up and barks, a shrill, ghostly sound. The man immediately straightens, his face losing the humour and becoming set and cold. A chill skitters down my spine, and I twist to look at the door. For a moment, nothing happens and I start to relax just as the dog issues a barrage of barks, and I gasp as faces press against the kitchen window. They’re squashed and distorted and once again, I think I see snouts.

Then the whispers start again. “Blue Billings. Blue Billings.”

The sibilant hiss has an edge to it, a dissonance that makes my spine tingle. It’s like nails being drawn down a blackboard. I slap my hands to my ears. “Stop it,” I whisper.

The man in the chair stands suddenly and strides over to the door, putting his hand to the wood in the centre. “Be gone,” he thunders.

There’s a long silence that is full of a chilly amusement and then there’s movement and noise—a skittering and rustling in the walls and then the sound of running footsteps and cold laughter.

He flings the door open and steps out into the night, the dog at his heels. The fog retreats from him in a cringing way that’s so intrinsically wrong.

He looks back at me. “I need you to go to Dowran House.”

I blink. “Lord St Claire’s place?” He nods. “But why?”

“I want you to see if you can find any spirits there.”

“Why do I want to find them? They usually just find me.”

He doesn’t answer, just looks me up and down and says, “Stay here.”

“Where else am I going? It’s my honeymoon.” I’m talking to thin air, because he’s suddenly gone. I hear the garden gate open and close and a faint bark and then I’m alone.

I stand shivering, rubbing my arms and dancing from one foot to the other, waiting and waiting, but he doesn’t return. The fog is gone and the garden is moonlight bright. I send my senses out, examining the immediate environment, but I don’t feel anything.

There’s a red tinge to the horizon. Dawn is on the way. Shivering, I lock up and trudge back upstairs to bed. As I slide under the sheets, Levi stirs as I push my cold feet on his. “You’re cold,” he says groggily.

“Shh. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I stare into space, running my finger over his shoulder and feeling his breaths on my skin. Sleep doesn’t come for me.

I sit back in my chair and take another swallow of coffee. “So, that’s what happened. And now we can relax, move on, get over this whole ghost shit, and enjoy our honeymoon.” I fish a pamphlet out of my pocket, set it on the table, and tip my head toward the photo on its cover. “I found a nice beach I’d like to visit. It says it’s an arduous climb down which should satisfy even your exercise requirements. And maybe the lack of tourists means we could fuck there. I don’t think we’ve ever done it outside. Living in the city centre does have its limitations.”

Silence greets me, and I look up. Levi is staring at me, his fork halfway poised to his mouth. “What?” I recall myself. “Sorry. I should have said make love.”

He rolls his eyes and sets the fork down carefully. “Thank you, Barry White.”

“You look a bit confused.”

“Maybe I missed something, but I’m sure you just said that a ghost ordered you to investigate Dowran House for him.”

I point my finger at him. “Exactly. Ordered. I don’t work for the spirit world. And if I did, I’d be very concerned about the lack of a wage packet and an adequate pension.”

He wraps his hands around his mug of tea. We’re sitting in the little cafe at the cove. Jax isn’t here this morning, so we’ve been spared his lovelorn glances at Levi. Instead, there’s a lady on duty who’s spent most of the time we’ve been here either knitting or asleep with her head on the counter. Cornwall doesn’t seem very busy to me.

“I know you don’t work for spirits, but it seems like this ghost needs something from you,” Levi observes.

“I’ll ignore him.”

“And how has that worked out for you so far in life?”