Page 47 of Purrfectly Haunted

“This must be the window they used to clean the chimneys and do repairs on the roof,” I say, climbing out.

“Ewan...,” James says behind me. “This is a terrible idea.”

“It’s okay. He’s not an evil ghost. I’ll be right back.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you do this alone.” He follows me.

I hold on to the window frame as I give him a hand. His grip is almost too-strong.

We emerge from the spire and onto a wide roof. It’s not slanted enough to be truly dangerous, and it’s large enough that we’re far away from the edge. Edinburgh’s skyline spreads before us, and I can’t help but to gasp. There are a thousand chimneys, spires and towers, but no skyscrapers. And on the hill at the centre of Edinburgh, the castle with its turrets and battlements.

“This city is truly something,” I say.

The night is bright, and the crescent moon hangs in the sky.

“Yes.” James is still holding on to my arm. “I don’t like heights, so let’s please hurry.”

The Nobleman is sitting at the end of the roof, looking at Arthur’s Seat, the green hill dominating Edinburgh from the east. It’s the only spot where the artificial lights are completely absent. The ghost is singing to himself. A sad song about a man who went to war and never came back.

“Let me talk to him, please,” I say to James.

He hesitates for a moment, then, “Alright. But I’m staying with you.”

We carefully walk to the opposite end of the roof, until we can both sit by the Nobleman. He eyes us wearily but says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him in French. “My teammate takes my safety very seriously.”

The ghost sighs. “It must be nice, to have someone like him care for you, even for a short time. For what is living, if not a series of moments, each briefer than the last, but blazing so bright?”

I nod, heart in my throat. “It is.”

I didn’t expect having talk about the meaning of life with a ghost on a roof at two in the morning. This job is full of surprises, to say the least.

James is watching us, a perpetual frown on his face. He doesn't understand a word we're saying, and it frustrates him.

“We have swallowed the stars,” the Nobleman says, eyes on the horizon.

“I’m sorry?”

He gestures at the sky. “The stars. The more we built and expanded the city, the more stars we swallowed, and now they are almost all gone.”

I shake my head. “They aren’t gone. They’re just hiding behind all the light pollution. It’s all about perspective. Just walk out of the city, and you’ll see them again.”

“Will I? That’s good to know. I haven’t been able to leave this place for over two centuries. I watched as the world changed, but I stayed the same.”

I wonder how it must have felt for him, to see people like us finally get recognition and the freedom to love, while his life was already gone.

“You can be free,” I say. “You can leave now, I release you from this house.”

He takes a shuddering breath, and I think I can see golden threads fall around him, like silk unravelling.

“Oh. I was scared it might hurt,” he whispers. “But it’s quite pleasant. Thank you.”

I smile and feel tears prickle my eyes.

The Nobleman gets to his feet, robe flying around him in a phantom wind, and he floats to the edge of the roof.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, which hurts and is desired!” he says in English before falling off the edge dramatically and disappearing into thin air.