CHAPTER ONE
Sensing he was no longer alone, John MacEachern instantly broke into a grin, flipped his face shield up onto his head, and turned. But it wasn’t the friend he was expecting who stood just inside the back door to his armory.
Two elderly women with matching faces, dressed in matching blue snowsuits, with halos of white fur framing their faces, smiled at him like cats that had just tracked down the milk cow.
“Ever sae sorry, ladies, but the armory is closed to all visitors the first Saturday of the month. Ye must have missed the sign?—”
“We saw your sign, John,” said the one on the left, who was slightly taller than her sister. There was nothing at all familiar about them. He reckoned, by her American accent, she didn’t know better than to address a stranger by his first name, even if she’d found it on the internet.
“Then ye’ll understand if I ask ye to go, and be quick about?—”
“You are expecting the Glenmore Ghost.” She pushed her hood back and blinked innocently. Her twin did the same.
John clenched his jaw so his mouth wouldn’t fall open. How could they possibly know about his secret visitor? He’d only toldhis wife, and now she was gone. Not another living soul knew about his top-of-the-month appointments.
“Rest easy, my man,” said the shorter one. “We mean him no harm, we swear it. We intend to be gone before he arrives, but we must get a message to him.”
“It’s quite urgent,” said the sister.
“Urgent?” He scoffed. “Fer a ghostie, ye say? Nothing could be urgent.” He folded his arms and cocked his head. “I dinnae ken this ghost o’ yers, but I reckon ye’re talkin’ ballocks. And if there is a Ghost of Glenmore, shouldn’t ye look there for him? AtGlenmore?”
The cats’ smiles widened, which sent an ominous shiver up his back and immediately chilled the sweat drenching his spine.
“Ah,” said the taller. “But the three of us all know he doesn’t livethere, don’t we?”
After holding onto his secret for nearly eight years, he was incapable of letting it loose for anyone but his beloved Effie. Especially when his visitor had a very good reason to hide from the world. But if he didn’t get rid of these two before his visitor arrived, the secret would out itself! What the devil was he to do?
“Yer bum’s oot the windae, ladies. Nae offense. But I’ll ask ye tae go now.”
They rolled their eyes at each other and edged toward the door. The tall one wasn’t finished. “We can respect your commitment to your friend, John. But if you would, tell him a pair of witches stopped by to give him a warning.”
The other nodded. “He must be warned.”
“Tell him he mustn’t dawdle today. There is a storm coming?—”
“Amightystorm?—”
“Mighty enough to change his life?—”
“He must forget whatever else he’d planned and hightail it home?—”
“To Balnacoorie.” And with that, they stepped out the door.
Balnacoorie!
“Wait!” he shouted. The name of the settlement, hidden in the deep folds at the base of the Cairngorms, had been forgotten nigh two hundred years ago—until his mysterious friend had said it aloud. Abandoned and overlooked by written history, how did these two know about Balnacoorie? They’d have to be true witches…
He had to follow them outside to get them to stop.
“Is there more to the message for…for my friend?” He squinted up at the sun shining merrily in an empty blue sky. “Are ye certain about this storm? Tadee, ye say? Not the morrow?”
“Nothing more,” the pair said in unison.
“He must hurry home, John. Trust us.”
He harrumphed. “And…who are ye, exactly, that I should trust ye?”
“We, uh, mend what was rent?—”
