Sir Guillaume made a show of inspecting my room while I stood on the rug in my oversized sleeping tee, barefoot, arms crossed, tempted to throw the visitor out but unsure of how to achieve it.

"Nice." He stopped at the window, studying the view, and turned back to scrutinise me. "I admit, while alive, I never spent much time in the castle's attic."

Through his translucent form, the waxing moon sent pale light into the room. The ghost's mail shirt gleamed in the eerie illumination, each tiny link outlined in silver, and I took a dizzy step back. "Then why visit now, of all times?" I was tired and not in my best mood for paranormal apparitions and small talk.

"Because I can?" His ectoplasmic grin was smug and his mail-covered, back-lit belly wobbled in suppressed laughter.

"Obviously. Well, thank you for the visit, Monsieur de Corbières, and good night. I'm sure you have more important guests to spook."

"None as attractive as you, my dear. Besides, half are afraid of me and the rest ignore me." He threw up his hands in a dramatic gesture.

"Yes, living humans fear ghosts, those that perceive their presence, anyway. The others—are the lucky ones, they lead a peaceful life."

"Ah, but they miss out on our enlightened company." He sniggered.

"If you insist. What about you?" Stuck chatting with the castle's apparent founder, I could at least try to gather useful information. "Is there a special reason you haunt this place several centuries down the line?"

"Good question, my dear. If there is a valid reason, it eludes me." He twirled his enormous moustache with see-through fingers. "It's easy to get sidetracked with all the fancy new inventions. The letterpress, television, whirlpools. Who cares to be dead and forgotten while the world turns so exciting?"

"So you spend your eternity watching tv and—" I frowned, taken aback. "Why would a ghost enjoy a whirlpool?"

"Ha. Just one word—bubbles. If one day it's your turn to haunt earth, don't forget to try whirlpools."

Pictures of bubbles in chain mail flooded my tired mind. I needed rest and a dose of undisturbed sleep. "Listen, Sir Guillaume, I really enjoy discussing the pleasures of the afterlife with you, but I have to get an early start tomorrow and a puzzle to solve." I realised my mistake too late.

Guillaume's brows formed two bushy arcs. "If you don't mind me asking, what line of work brings an attractive woman like you to my quaint castle?"

I searched my exhausted brain for an answer, but he lifted a hand before I came up with something plausible, his eyes burning like red-hot coals.

"Don't tell me. You're one of the ghost hunters this clown who inherited my estate hired to dispel me." Sir Guillaume's shoulders shook in anger, and his moonlit form dissolved at the edges. "I overheard his phone calls."

I took a deep breath to steady my voice. "Lou isn't targeting you—he never mentioned you and might not even know about you. I take him for the type to suggest you a business deal, spooking on command. No, he wants to get rid of the birds molesting the tourists, says they chase the guests with their pooping antics. Are they your responsibility?"

"What birds?" I was impressed by the advanced acrobatics of his eyebrows.

"Ravens, deceased ones, if my partner is right." Theo had been clear about the species, and I had no reason to doubt him.

The gleam of the ghost's eyes softened, and the brows relaxed. "Oh, those buggers again. Seems my ancestral authority is needed." He puffed out his chest. "Don't go away, I'll be back later. Or, tomorrow night, so you can enjoy your beauty sleep." He sank into the polished pine floorboards but stopped when only his shoulders and head, wearing a cocky smile, remained visible. "Bye, my dear, sweet dreams." With a wink, he disappeared, leaving the faint smell of ozone to keep me company while I slipped under my covers and closed my eyes.

<> <> <>

The next morning, I met my team in the yard for breakfast. The air was crisp, but the cloudless blue sky promised another scorching day. Despite my unexpected visitor, I'd slumbered better than I did for months. As a result, I overslept and was late. Matt and Theo didn't complain. The former, wearing his junior-sales-agent outfit again, concentrated on his screen, the other leaved through a journal and greeted me with a heart-warming smile.

I was halfway through my first coffee and croissant when Catherine entered the courtyard, out of breath and pale as if she'd seen a ghost. On the way to the reception, she almost tripped over Mister Mortimer, who ignored her and hopped into his favourite chair. Catherine stopped, a hand pressed against her heaving chest. "My gosh, what a day. Do you know where Mister Conelly is? We need help, I fear Roberto had an accident on the shore."

I gulped down my coffee and stood up. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure. We enjoyed a walk on the promontory when we heard screams and spotted him halfway down the hillside."

Matt closed his laptop and picked up his phone. "Should I call an ambulance?"

"I don't know if he's hurt, and there is no road... Alice and I tried to reach him, but the terrain is nothing for old birds like us. So I came for help." Her voice trembled, and I feared she stood under shock.

"Matt, can you fetch Louis and follow us?" I took Catherine's arm. "We will check on him. Show us the way, please."

While Matt sprinted to the gate, Theo and I hastened after our guide down the road, past the last houses of the village and to the belt of forest bordering the lake. At the road's end, she stooped beneath the wire of a fence. "It's the shortest way. The footpath is right down there." I could make out a strip of white gravel between trees, several meters beneath us. If she climbed that stretch, I wondered what kind of terrain could distress her.

Theo glanced back at the castle. "San, I'll better wait for the others, or even go back. Matt and Louis won't find us otherwise."

I nodded, ducking beneath the wire. Catherine turned around, already halfway down the slope. "The spot is two hundred yards to the north, where the path leaves the forest."

While Theo's running steps faded on the road, I slid from tree to tree in an avalanche of dry leaves and loose pebbles. For a precarious moment, I hugged a sapling to prevent a fall. Somehow, I reached the path standing and hurried after Catherine to where Alice waited, her arms slung around her frail frame, staring down the bare slope. "Cat, he is still stuck—I hope his injuries aren't serious. Such a pleasant gentleman."

For a moment, I couldn't make out anything in the dirt, gravel, and mud extending to the water's edge. Now I understood why Catherine didn't consider venturing further down on the tricky ground.
"Where?" Short of breath, I let my gaze follow the direction of Alice's pointing finger to a patch of darker soil halfway between us and the ominous cottage in the deserted lakebed. And there, half-buried under lumps of earth and rock, I made out a bright yellow piece of fabric and a twisted human form. My stomach flooded with icy dread. Where had I seen this colour before? "Did you talk to him?"

"Yes, after Cat left, he insisted he was fine, but couldn't move. And something else, but with the accent, I didn't understand."

Worried about other things than an accent, I filled my lungs for a shout. "Hello, are you alright?"

Everything remained silent except for the sound of someone crashing their way through the forest behind us. I turned to the British ladies. "You called him Roberto—is he Italian?"

"I think so, why?" Catherine frowned.

"Roberto, state bene?" My Italian wasn't the best, but perhaps the name would elicit a reaction. It didn't, and I pulled out my cell phone to call for help.

"San, what happened?" Louis reached us, panting, followed by a dishevelled Matt and an unruffled Theo, who seemed unfazed by the run.

"Someone slipped, got caught in a landslide." I fumbled with my phone, mistyping my code. Lou took hold of my hand, his firm grip calming me down.

Surprised, I looked into his grey eyes, but the moment was interrupted by Theo's soft voice. "Are those tracks crossing the slope from the right?" He pointed to the spot where the earth had slid, carrying the victim downwards.

I glanced at the potential tracks before I called myself to reason and punched in my code, glad when the screen lit up with the well-known picture of a golden sunflower. This instant, I remembered where I'd seen that yellow before, in the stairwell, and at dinner. "Wait, is this the guy with the camera, with the yellow shirt?" I dialled the emergency number and pressed the phone against my ear.

"Roberto Papi, the journalist? Could be." Louis scratched his beard. "What did he search down there?"

Alice winced. "Last night, he told the Swedish girls he planned to visit the haunted cottage at sunrise. He investigates a story for an esoteric journal."

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