Ghost Girl

Chapter 1

"I remember," Sylvia said with a shudder. "But no one else fell ill and I was there, as were Charity and Mr. Myer."

I'd been trying to converse with the spirit of Mr. Garrett but it had been nearly impossible to get any sense out of him, mad as he was. He'd been angry with Myer and shouted at him. He'd spoken ancient words in verse form, as if he were cursing him.

No. Oh no.

Had he cursed me instead? Was I under some sort of supernatural illness and not a physical one? If so, Dr. Gowan couldn't cure me.

"It's impossible to say what caused this," I said lightly in an attempt to remove the frown lines from Sylvia's pretty face. "But I seem to be improving." There was no point in letting her think I was worsening. I was, after all, awake. That had to be a good thing, despite the dull ache pulsing through my body and the pain in my chest.

She smiled. "Indeed you are looking a little like your old self again. Now, I'm going to take these down to the kitchen and bring back fresh water."

I returned her smile and sank down beneath the covers again with a sigh of relief. Holding myself upright was exhausting. I watched her leave then closed my eyelids. They felt heavy. Everything inside me felt heavy, and cold. I shivered and tried to snuggle deeper into the blankets, but it wasn't enough. A chill settled under my skin and seeped into my bones. The click clack of my chattering teeth was the only sound in the room.

And then it wasn't. The ghosts were back and their whispers seemed to surround me.

"…shouldn't be here," the man was saying.

"Go back," the woman said, shooing me with her gnarled hand, crippled from the fire.

The little girl suddenly appeared at my side, bending over me. She kissed my lips. Her mouth was cool and damp like mist. "Poor you. Cursed for all eternity."

"Cursed?" I murmured. My heart sounded a single, thundering beat in my chest. "What do you mean?"

"Leave her." That low, masculine voice had me turning toward it again. My angel stood in the same position, arms still crossed over his chest, as if he hadn't moved since my last…visit.

"Am I dead?" I whispered.

"Not quite." He had an accent, but I couldn't place it. It was similar to my father's French one, yet different too. A little harsher, perhaps. I would need to hear him say more to place it.

"The ghosts said I'm cursed."

He nodded and lowered his arms. His right hung close to his side, but his left had to contend with the sword at his hip. It was the most enormous sword I'd ever seen, the tip almost reaching to the floor, and the man was very tall. If it were mounted on the wall, it would likely pull off the plaster, it was so heavy looking. He approached the bed. He didn't so much walk across the floor as prowl.

I should have felt afraid to have a big, armed, half-naked man in my bedroom; but I wasn't. I felt safe with him there, as if he were protecting me from something.

"Are you my guardian angel?" I asked, tilting my head to follow him as he drew close to the bed.

One corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. "I am a warrior."

Warrior. I frowned, trying to recall why that term seemed so familiar. Through the fog of fever I could just remember the spirit of an old monk telling me that a supernatural warrior had once been summoned at the abbey ruins when a group of demons escaped in the sixteenth century. He hadn't been seen since. If this were he, then he was older than he looked. And fiercer. Demons were strong creatures and the warrior had battled many of them to send them back to their realm.