Belle decided not to tell Jack that Cassandra was keen in a weird, scary way that made Belle’s heart lodge in her throat. Jack, she figured, probably wouldn’t like that.
“Readings,” Jack muttered again, sounding at a loss.
“Jack?”
She heard him sigh another sigh and then he assured her, “It’s fine, Belle.”
“Yasmin thinks they know what their doing.”
“It’s fine.”
“Yasmin seems pretty certain.”
“Poppet, I said, it’s fine.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“I’ll be home soon.”
“Um…” she muttered again and Jack was silent so Belle forged on, “Angus wears a kilt.” This was met with more silence so she continued, “And hose, ghillie brogues, a sporran, the whole lot.”
She heard him burst into laughter.
It was, she thought, very funny. So, softly, she laughed with him.
“I’ll be home soon,” he repeated when she’d stopped laughing.
“Okay, see you.”
“Good-bye, poppet.”
“’Bye, Jack.”
He disconnected, Belle took the phone from her ear and put it on the nightstand.
She stared at the phone realising she forgot to tell him about Cassandra and her scarves.
She licked her lips and took in a breath through her nose.
Oh well, he didn’t seem overly upset about the rest so Cassandra and her abundant use of accessories probably wouldn’t faze him.
She leaned forward and gave each dog a thorough head rub, saying, “I’m hungry. Let’s see about dinner.”
Baron woofed and Gretl got to her feet and did an excited circle.
Belle got up and walked from the room.
The dogs were at her heels as she made her way down the hall, her mind on her now grumbling belly and wondering how long it would take Jack to fly home.
Therefore, as she reached the top of the stairs, it took her by surprise when both Baron and Gretl closed in and started growling.
She stopped and looked at one dog then the other.
Both were pressing close to her legs, both looking back down their bodies, both had teeth bared.
“What on –” Belle started to say but stopped when movement caught her eye and she looked down the steps.
A young, black-headed boy was racing up them.
Not racing, as in treading, but drifting, swiftly, like a shot.
He was see-through.
Belle’s mouth dropped open.
The boy’s pale, ghostly face suddenly filled with terror and he halted.
“Belle! Watch out!” She heard his eerie, disembodied shout right before the dogs started barking and snapping and she felt what seemed like a hand at her back, shoving.
She lost balance, automatically reaching into the air but there was nothing to grab onto.
Therefore she tumbled down the stairs.
She tried to stop her fall but her head cracked against the fifth step with such force she was unconscious by the time her body rolled to a rest at the foot of the stairs.
* * * * *
Lewis and Myrtle
Myrtle zoomed directly to Belle but Lewis floated in suspended animation in the middle of the stairs and, head tipped back, he stared in horror.
The bad man stood at the top of the steps, grinning.
He could see him, see him for the first time ever.
See him shimmering through.
“You,” Lewis whispered, shocked, scared and angry.
The bad man lifted his ghostly hand and touched his index finger to his forehead in a mocking salute before he glittered and disappeared.
“Help! Help! Help!” Myrtle shouted, her unearthly voice echoing through the stone hall, mingled with Jack’s dogs’ frantic barking.
Lewis heard footsteps as he floated down.
Myrtle was drifting in a crouch over Belle’s motionless body as the dogs circled, sniffed and kept howling.
“Oh my God.” They heard breathed and they looked at who they knew was Yasmin, a family friend both of them liked a lot, mostly because she was funny.
She was staring at them in dazed disbelief.
“Go! Get help!” Lewis shouted, his strange, ghostly voice now echoing with the dogs’ frenzied woofs.
Yasmin ran forward toward Belle and Myrtle drifted away.
She dropped to her knees beside Belle then her head snapped up and she looked at Lewis, demanding, “What happened?”
“Get help!” Lewis replied.
More steps, more people and Yasmin’s head jerked around to look over her shoulder.
“Call 999!” she cried.
“She fell down the stairs,” Myrtle informed the pretty witch who was dialling on her phone.
The Scottish man crouched beside Belle, ignoring Myrtle and Lewis, intent on his effort of feeling for a pulse.
“Belle!” They heard shouted as Rachel arrived, her face white. “Oh Belle! Oh my God! What happened?”
Rachel was shoving in as Lila and Joy made it to the scene.
“Yes, there’s been an accident. Chy An Als Point. Belle Abbot has fallen down the stairs,” the witch said. “She’s unconscious.”
“Belle, honeypot. Belle?” Rachel’s hands were on her and Lewis went to Myrtle, pulling her back.
“She’s got a pulse. It’s strong,” the Scotsman told the witch then he moved to pull Rachel away as he soothed. “Don’t move her. We need to let her lay, lass, wait for the paramedics.”
“I can’t let her lay!” Rachel shouted, her eyes wide, tearful and full of fear as she began to struggle against the Scot.
“Her pulse is strong,” the witch said into the phone.
“Keep holding her hand, Yasmin,” Lila said softly, getting close and dropping down, she gently pulled Belle’s hair away from her neck. After she did this, she continued to stroke her granddaughter’s hair even after she sucked in breath when she saw the blood at Belle’s temple.
“She’s bleeding!” Rachel wailed, her struggles turning frantic.
“It’s a head wound, love. We’ve got to let her lay or we might do her more harm,” the Scotsman tried to calm Rachel while gently pushing her back.
“She’s bleeding,” Joy whispered in a voice so horrible, everyone knew she was referring to something else. They stilled and looked down at Belle, even Myrtle and Lewis.
There was, they saw, blood pooling between her legs.
“She’s pregnant,” the witch said urgently into the phone. “And she’s bleeding between her legs.”
Lewis turned and pushed his sister through the wall.