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In the morning, I repeated the cycle.

Saturday a storm blew in, thunder and wind rattling the stone foundation. I’d never seen a sea so violent before, so hungry, as it slammed into the cliffs at my feet over and over again.

I burrowed in bed and watched a handful of movies on my laptop, eating microwaved pizza and fistfuls of chocolate candy. I slid into the giant bubble bath in the en suite and soaked until I was pruned, until some of the knots in my shoulders had lessened. I crawled back into bed, blankets pulled up to my nose, and slept.

I’d never slept better in my life. My dreams were quiet. The bed was comfortable. I might never leave Ireland just because of this.

Sunday, the storm broke, and I walked to see Tommy at the general store. I was low on groceries and I had questions I wanted to ask him.

Mainly about the ghost living in the castle, and if anyone had ever spotted who it was.

He greeted me with a wide smile and a flourish of an invisible cap.

“Weather that storm, did ya?”

“I’ve never seen it rain like that. I could barely see out my windows!”

For a moment yesterday I thought I had found my way into Dracula, locked in a castle with a force I didn’t understand.

“We’re approaching rainy season. There’ll be more like that one yet. How are you settling into that old, drafty place?”

“Good, for the most part.” I grabbed a loaf of bread and added it to my basket. Tommy walked with me while I browsed, nodding to the other patrons in the store as he passed. “I wanted to ask a question.”

“Go on then.”

“Is uh, is the place haunted?” I asked, cheeks heating. “I’ve just…noticed some things.”

He stared at me somberly for one moment before erupting into laughter. “Is it haunted? Lass, you’re in Ireland. If every building in this row doesn’t have a ghost, then Lord strike me down.”

Nothing happened. No lightning strikes, no parting of the clouds. Tommy stood waiting, rocking on his heels.

“See?”

“That’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?” I asked dryly. “I’m serious.”

“As am I!” he cried in outrage. “Ireland is full of ley lines. Full of the magic of faeries and pixies. Will-o-the-wisps, too. Plenty of souls choose to stick around after they pass.”

“And Kilmorran?”

“Aye. There’s been plenty of ghosts over the years there, for certain, but they say there is one consistent one. It likes the study.”

“It sure does,” I grumbled. “It closes the door every night on me.”

Tommy laughed like I told a joke. “No one is quite sure who it is. Rumors are it’s one of the lords from the past, still taking care of the place.”

“And the family never said?”

“They barely bother. They hire a caretaker to oversee the grounds once a week, house cleaners for the inside, but they aren’t around much. Old Wolfe would be rolling in his grave to see it.”

I grabbed two cans of soup and a bag of apples. I tried to sort through the information I’d read in R.J. Wolfe’s journals.

“They were active here then?”

“Oh, quite. There wasn’t a day you wouldn’t see one of them in town. Especially the eldest. We have no use for lords now—haven’t for some time—but this town is long lived. Mostly everyone here lived under the Wolfe lordship.”

“I found some ledgers. Journals,” I offered lamely. “I’ve been reading them.”

“Tedious stuff, eh? Taxes and fish hauls, I’m sure.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Using this for your book?”