I spent the afternoon speeding to the flat to pick up essentials, glad Celine wasn't home to nag me with questions. As it was, I left her a scribbled note on the kitchen table.

Taking the job and will live on site for ten days.
I'll call, San.

She'd burn from curiosity, but that served her right for pushing me to apply. I might call her in the evening, or perhaps the next day. The bit of gloating gave me the energy boost to fill my backpack and a gym bag with an assortment of summer clothes, a pair of sneakers, flip-flops, my toothbrush, and other necessities. As an afterthought, I remembered to add my phone charger and slipped on the necklace with grandma Elise's pendant. Somehow, it seemed appropriate to wear the heirloom of my gifted ancestor for this mission.

Two hours later, I was back on the highway, enjoying the wind rushing around me, conjuring the impression of coolness.
Back at the castle, I brought my bike inside the courtyard and parked it in one of the former stables transformed into a garage besides a lime-green Citroën 2CV. The car was a beauty, restored with love and a keen eye for details. I wondered if it belonged to Lou and decided it fit his hippie style. The fact he took good care of this vintage car made me like him a fraction better.

I shouldered my bags, picked up my room key from the blonde, mousy student tending the reception, and went in search of number 47.

After stumbling up several flights of stairs, cool stone at first and creaking wood, later, I reached the former attic under the enormous jerkinhead roof. To my surprise, my room was small but cosy, its white walls contrasting with the age-blackened wooden roof beams. Aside from a tiny bathroom, it contained a bunk bed, a colourful woven rug, a polished maple-wood desk and two upholstered period chairs. Only the stifling heat was a drawback. To admit fresh air, I opened the single window. It offered an impressive view over the broad Sarine valley, which should be filled by the now-missing lake. Instead, the sore sight of bare shores confirmed Lou's tale.

The sound of distant laughter let me lean out. Four stories below me stretched the castle's backyard and garden. A few tenacious sunbathers lounged on lawn chairs, and a mixed group of young tourists played volleyball on a sandy patch. The blond ponytails of two tanned beauties shook in laughter while a guy brushed sand out of his brown hair. For a moment, I wondered if I had seen him before but couldn't place him.

My phone told me dinner was still more than half an hour away. Determined to use the remaining time to explore, I scampered down the stairs and almost collided with an elder gentleman in a yellow shirt, climbing upstairs while scrolling through pictures on his camera. He fumbled to prevent dropping his device, his glare threatening to impale me. My muttered apology didn't prevent a verbal outburst about the ruthlessness of youth in accented English.

Loath to engage with the grumbling foreigner, I crossed the lobby, collected a sympathetic glance from the desk keeper, and followed the signs pointing me to the garden area. Aside from the backyard and the walled lawn I'd observed from my window, I found a traditional flower and herb garden on the western terrace. My respect for Louis grew. He seemed to pride himself in keeping the premises in top shape.

Instead of strolling along the neat pathways of the deserted gardens in the glaring heat, I was about to return into the shaded courtyard when two ladies joined me.

"Hello, my dear. Do you mind if we share the solitude of this beautiful corner?" The speaker must have been in her sixties and reminded me of my former English teacher with her British accent and rimless glasses, the salt-and pepper-hair drawn back in a tight, timeless bun.

I smiled. "Not at all. I was just exploring."

"Oh, there is a lot to discover. Did you know the history of the castle reaches back into the twelfth century?"

"I didn't, no." It was the truth, although I was sure Lou's documentation mentioned the fact. I still had to study it.

The second woman chuckled. "Don't mind Alice, she is a history geek. If you allow her, she'll lecture you on the genealogy of the Corbières, including their occasional missteps and adventurous flings."

Her twinkle made me like her on the spot. About the same age as her companion, she was a head taller. Her short-cropped hair dyed a dark auburn, she wore a black tank top and shorts from a renowned outdoor brand. I could see myself in her, thirty-something years down the line.

"History is fine, as long as I don't have to read bulky books."

"Well, then you should join us for tea someday, shouldn't she?" Another wink.

The question was aimed at Alice, whose smile broadened. "You should, if you don't mind Catherine. Rudeness is her middle name. How do you like your stay in beautiful Corbières, dear?"

"I only arrived this afternoon, but the place is amazing." Another honest answer, aside from my bad feelings about the upcoming ghost chase. But in the pleasant company of these British ladies, my anxious premonitions seemed like childish overreactions.

"It is, and interesting from more than a historical point of view. We discovered this gem two years ago and returned at the first opportunity."

With the lingering insecurities after Brexit and the pandemic, I imagined it took perseverance to travel. "You visit from the UK? It's not exactly the Mediterranean coast."

Catherine grinned. "Right, but you picked this destination, too. And might have travelled further."

Suddenly self-conscious, I ran a hand through my curls. "Oh, I might not look it, but I grew up around the corner. I'm not on holiday, this counts as work." Her surprised expression urged me to add an explanation. "My Grandma came from the Lesser Antilles."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend."

Her obvious sincerity made me brush her faux pas aside. "No worries. Consider me the exception to the rule that locals are blond, yodel, and play the alphorn."

Their hearty laughter dissolved the awkward tension. I was about to join when fast steps scrunched on the gravel path behind me.

"San? Glad you're back. I feared you deserted me, too." In a pair of cut-off jeans and a faded blue tee, it took me a moment to recognise my business partner, Matt. One knee scratched, with a thin fathom of blood running down his shin, he resembled a boisterous schoolboy.

"I signed the contract, remember? You're stuck with me." I studied his dishevelled appearance.
"What happened?"

"Nothing, some Swedish tourists challenged me to a volleyball match. Guess I'm out of practice." His rueful smile was to die for.

"Young man, get that wound cleaned." Alice sounded more like my teacher than ever.

"Nah, I'll be fine, Mam, it's just a scratch." He turned to me. "Have you seen Theo?"

"Not since I returned half an hour ago."

"After you left, we separated to check into our rooms, and he disappeared. I searched him when I got distracted by that game. Wonder if he climbed down to the lake shore to explore those infamous ruins." He shook a cloud of sand from his tousled hair.

"The cottages beneath the lake?" A deep crevice formed on Alice's forehead. "Why would your friend venture down there?"

"It's complicated." I wasn't sure if Lou allowed us to talk about our mission, and it seemed unfair to compromise my new acquaintances.

Catherine glanced from Alice to Matt, to me, and back with squinted eyes. "Does this involve ghosts?"

Aghast, I searched for an adequate answer. Matt beat me. "You heard rumours about ghosts?"

"Well." Catherine placed herself beside her friend as if she wanted to protect her. "Everyone knows about the bird ghosts pestering the hostel guests. The smelly evidence is hard to ignore."

"We haven't encountered them yet." No need to mention we were hired to get rid of them. "Do you believe in a connection between these so-called ghosts and the cottages?"

Alice shook her head. "You got it wrong. Only one house deserves the name cottage, most are in shambles. But one appears to be intact, the shingled roof in better shape than it should be after seventy-odd years submerged. And..." She trailed off, running the tip of her tongue over wrinkled lips while her friend laid a protective arm around her shoulders.

"And?" Matt wasn't giving in.

A scowl marring her face, Catherine picked up the thread. "Call us crazy. Last night, from the terrace, we observed a flickering light in one window."

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