Witch Twins and the Ghost of Glenn Bly (2 page)

“Hey! Where’s the sun?” Claire frowned up at the sky. “Where are all the sheep and grass like what I saw on those Scotland Web sites?”

“Don’t be a nincompoop,” snapped Grandy toggling up her overcoat. “Scotland in November is just like Philadelphia in November, only Scotland has more rain. Oh, what a nice, cloudy day! I hope you packed snuggly clothes.”

Claire didn’t answer. Suitcase-packing was a chore and a bore, and she had waited until the last minute to do it. Her swimsuit, cutoff shorts, Camp Bliss T-shirt, and wraparound movie-star sunglasses weren’t exactly
snuggly.
In fact, the warmest clothes Claire had with her were the jeans, purple sweater, and rainbow-sleeved parka that she was wearing now.

But she forgot about all that when she looked again at her stiff new passport with its first stamp ever.

As they entered the airport lobby, a jolly airline employee waved to them.

“Ta! Enjoy your holiday!”

Ta!
Claire had never heard that expression before. It sounded very Scottish.

“Fred! Arianna!” In the Arrivals section of the airport lobby, a short, plump man in a tweed cap waved from behind the ropes.

“Why, it’s Mac!” Grandy leaped ahead, leaving Claire and Luna to trundle behind dragging the canyon luggage. Grampy took up the rear and walked the slowest.

“Cheerio! I’m Michael MacCorckle Bly, otherwise known as Mac!” Grandy’s old flame spoke with a Scottish brogue. His bright blue eyes were like two chips of the Scottish sky Claire had been hoping to see. “You must be Claire and Luna!” he said. “But how will I know which from the other?”

“I talk more,” Claire offered helpfully. That was what kids at the twins’ school, Tower Hill Middle, always said—although she herself didn’t really believe it.

Mac laughed and led the way to the Baggage Claim.

“Ta! All the cars’ steering wheels are on the wrong side,” observed Claire after they had picked up their bags and started for the parking lot. As of five minutes ago,
ta
was Claire’s new favorite word.

“Yes, yes,” said Mac. “You see, here in Scotland, our steering wheel is on the wrong side. Or, as we call it, the right side. But not to worry! It’s all quite safe.”

Claire bounced in her shoes as she climbed into Mac’s compact green minivan. Scotland! Then she glanced at Luna, who looked scared. Claire guessed it was on account of the wrong-sided, right-sided steering wheel. Poor Luna got nervous about the very same things that seemed cool to Claire.

During the winding drive to Glenn Bly, Claire kept her gaze fixed out the window so that she could shout out what she saw along the way.

“There’s a funny red phone booth! Ta, I see some goats! I see a moss-covered bridge! Now I’m looking at a sign for a
petrol
station.
Petrol
means gasoline. Ta! I spy teensy-weeny purple flowers!”

“My, my,” Mac remarked. “You are very observant, Claire. But actually, ‘
ta’
is the Scottish word for ‘thank you’.”

“Is
observant
the Scottish word for annoying?” asked Luna.

“Shut up, Loony-goon,” Claire answered.

“Why don’t you shut up, stinky-ugly?” asked Luna.

“Why don’t you shut up, creepy-icky?” Claire retorted. “You are already making my Scottish highland adventure bittersweet.”

“If both you girls don’t hush,” said Grandy, twisting around on the front seat, “I’m going to feed you toes first to Scotland’s famous fang-toothed, water-dwelling barge rats.”

For a while, the twins kept silent.

“There it is!” squeaked Luna. She tapped the window glass. “The castle!”

“Good eyes, Luna,” said Mac.

Claire’s head snapped around. No fair! She had wanted to spot the castle first! She stared. Up in the distance, Glenn Bly rose in a splendor of stone walls and towers.

“Crenellated,” said Grampy, “is the name for the special jagged cut along the roof.”

Crenellated
—what a word! It reminded Claire of the sound of teeth crunching into a buttered English muffin.

Mac turned through the castle’s open iron gates and slowed the van so that everyone could enjoy the sight of the castle’s surrounding fields and woodland.

“‘Glenn Bly Welcomes You.’” Claire read the hinged sign that swung from a post. “I see the horse stable! I spy a watchtower!”

“Mac, it’s just as beautiful as I remembered,” said Grandy as they parked behind the castle and piled out of the van. “You must be running a profitable bed-and-breakfast business.”

“I don’t see any guests,” grumped Grampy.

“Aye. November is a slow time for tourists.” Mac cleared his throat and, in a louder voice, called, “That’s why young Daphne will be glad for a bit of company. Right-o, Daphne?”

“Daphne?” repeated Claire. She looked around. All she saw was brown lawn bordered by green pines. “Who’s Daphne? Where is she? Does
young
mean she’s older than eleven or younger than eleven?” The twins had celebrated their birthdays last month, on Halloween. Claire was happy to be eleven, finally!

“Daphne is my granddaughter. She is ten,” answered Mac.

Now Claire’s ears picked up a rustle. She looked up-up-up into the branches of the evergreens. She could not spy anyone.

“Who goes there?” Claire shouted.

“I go here! And I’m turning eleven in two days!” said a voice from above.

“Daphne, not too high,” warned Mac. “Daphne’s a bit untamed,” he explained. “Right-o. I expect everyone could use some refreshment.”

With a hand at Grandy’s elbow, Mac led them all around to the front of the castle and through its iron-hinged front doors.

The inside front hall of Glenn Bly was larger than Tower Hill Middle’s lunchroom cafeteria.

“Crumbs! You could do ten backflips in a row across this floor!” Claire exclaimed, hoping someone would invite her to try.

“Look!” Luna shrieked, and everybody jumped. She pointed. “A hanging tapestry, a stone fireplace, and a curving staircase! How castle-ish!”

“Er, yes,” said Mac. “The drawing room is this way. I’ve set out an early supper.”

Claire walked across the flagstones to get a better look at the large, faded tapestry.

“That tapestry depicts the Battle of Sodden Field, a bloody combat that took place in 1616,” Mac explained. “The Boyds against the Blys. Needless to say, the Blys won, otherwise this castle would be called Glenn Boyd, and I wouldn’t be standing here. But victory came at a cost. Nearly four hundred soldiers were lost.”

“Ah, for shame,” clucked Grampy.

Claire scanned the soldiers that had been stitched into the tapestry. Immediately, her eye caught the face of a young man who did not look much older than her brother, Justin. Dressed in plain chain-mail armor and astride a silver steed, the boy and his horse seemed to glow from the fabric. In fact, Claire thought, they looked alive enough to charge straight off the tapestry and gallop through the castle doors.

Claire sniffed. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn she smelled strawberries.

Transfixed, Claire kept her eyes on the tapestry boy, even after the others drifted out of the hall and into the drawing room.

“That’s Sir Percival Quilty,” said a voice at her shoulder. “He was a brave young knight who died in battle.”

Claire turned. A girl stood next to her. She was taller than Claire and blue-eyed like Mac. Her curly ginger hair was scattered with ever green needles, and there was a sly look on her face.

A True Scottish Lass!

“I am Daphne Bly of the castle Glenn Bly,” said the girl.

“And I am Claire Bundkin of the United States of America,” answered Claire.

“Well, American Claire, I’m glad you think you’re brave enough to stay with us here,” said Daphne Bly, “considering that our castle is haunted by a fierce and beastly ogre.”

Claire wasn’t scared that easily. “I’ve heard you had a haunting problem. But can you prove it?” she dared.

Daphne looked surprised. Then unsure. Then determined. “Yes!” she declared, flushing. “Just not this minute.”

“Sorry, lass. Seeing is believing!” said Claire.

Nose in the air, Daphne flipped around and skipped off to join the others.

“Aha!” Mac smiled as Claire followed Daphne into the drawing room. “Here is my granddaughter. Daphne, may I introduce you to the lovely Mrs. Arianna Bramblewine; her short and balding husband, Fred; and their twin granddaughters, Claire and Luna Bundkin.”

Without a look in Claire’s direction, Daphne said hello and shook hands nicely with everyone. Then she popped a biscuit into her pocket, turned on her heel, and trotted out the door as fast as she had entered.

“I do apologise,” said Mac, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Daphne doesn’t have much practice meeting people. As you might remember, Arianna, dear, my granddaughter is an orphan. She’s been my ward ever since she was but a wee thing of six months, when her parents died in a terrible hang-gliding accident. I’m afraid Daphne’s been left to herself too much.”

“Ooh. An orphan raised in a castle. How romantic,” whispered Luna.

Claire frowned. She didn’t think that girl was one bit romantic.

On the contrary, Daphne Bly True Scottish Lass, had Claire’s witch senses pricked up for mischief.

F
ROM THE BEDROOM WINDOW
, Luna watched a pale vein of lightning split the night sky. She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the feather mattress, counting
one-crackled-cauldron, two-crackled-cauldron, three
—

Crrr
—
aaack! Ka-boom! Blam!

“Claire?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Of course I’m awake!” Claire’s voice came from the other side of the canopy bed they shared. “Who could sleep through this lightning and thunder?”

“Not me. I wish our room was cozy,” said Luna, although earlier that evening, she had been delighted when Mac had shown the girls to this beautiful bedroom. It had its own Juliet balcony, corner harpsichord, and a romantic name, Elderberry Chamber.

With their grandparents down the hall and settled into the even more majestic Peacock Chamber, they had all turned in for an early sleep.

But there’d be no sleep in this earsplitting storm.

Ka-boom!

“Crikey!” Luna shifted up in the bed. She did not like unexpected noises. “Claire! I just had a spooky thought! Do you think Glenn Bly’s ghost scared up this storm?”

“If a ghost scared up this storm, he’s doing a fantastic job!” Claire sat up, too, and squinted at her sister. “Loon, why are you wearing your lady-in-waiting Princess and the Pea costume as a nightgown?”

Luna touched the lace neckline. “Because I love-love-love olden-days clothes,” she said. “And this was the most romantic thing I had.” She squinted back at her sister. “Claire, why are you wearing your Camp Bliss T-shirt to bed? Aren’t you cold?”

“No. I love-love-love this T-shirt,” said Claire.

Kerrr-blam!

“Ugh!” Luna covered her ears.

But Claire’s nostrils flared. “Luna! I smell strawberries! Can you?”

Luna sniffed and shook her head no. Her sense of smell was not good. She tilted her head toward the door. “But I do hear a jingle-jingle,
clinkity-clink.
It’s very soft. Do you hear it?”

“No,” said Claire. “But if I use my nose and you use your ears, maybe we can figure out what’s going on. Come on, Luna. Time for some detectiving!”

With that, Claire leaped out of the bed. Luna noticed that her twin was also wearing a pair of cutoff jeans shorts. Claire definitely had forgotten to pack her nightgown. Probably her toothbrush and her spy globe, too. Crumbs! Claire was a bad suitcase-packer!

Luna slid out of the bed, knotted on her bathrobe, and slid on her pink fuzzy slippers. “Proceed with caution!” she reminded her sister. Luna never thought that Claire proceeded with enough caution.

Barefoot and bathrobeless, Claire slipped out the bedroom door.

In the echoing corridor, they could hear rain loud as marching drums against the roof and stone walls. The hallway’s narrow windows gave a view of moonlit trees bent backward against the wind.

Luna shivered as she tiptoed behind her sister. The ghost of Glenn Bly must be very angry to cast such a spooky storm!

As they moved down the hallway, the
jingle-jingle, clinkity-clink
noises got louder.

“My nose will lead the way!” Claire whispered.

Luna hooked Claire’s pinkie through her own to steady herself as she followed. The corridor was longer than a bowling alley, and the carpet runner was worn thin as lint.

“The noise is getting louder,” Luna whispered.

“The scent is getting strawberry-er,” assured Claire.

At the curved staircase’s landing lurked a moonfaced grandfather clock. In the shadows, it looked like a skinny giant.

“This place needs night-lights,” Luna whispered.

As if in answer, an electric zing of lightning lit up the hall, and for an instant revealed a slim, dark-haired boy who was standing still as ice next to the clock.

“Shadows and shape-shifters!” Claire gasped. “It’s the boy from the tapestry!”

Thunder boomed in answer.

“I saw him, too,” squeaked Luna. Every hair on her head stood up in fright. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

“Who goes there?” hissed Claire. She inched toward the apparition. “Are you the fierce, ghostly ogre of Glenn Bly?”

“I am a ghost, yes. But I am hardly an ogre, and my proper name is Sir Percival Quilty,” the boy whispered back. “Who art thou?”

“I’m Luna Bundkin, and that’s my sister, Claire,” piped up Luna. The longer Luna looked, the less spooky the ghost seemed. Except for his medieval clothes and his wan complexion, Sir Percival might have been any old eighth grader from Tower Hill Middle School.

“Ta, you strawberry-scented specter! We found you!” exclaimed Claire. “Our very first night in Scotland, and we nabbed the ghost of Glenn Bly!”

“Speaking freely, I believe the fact of the matter is that I have nabbed you,” retorted Sir Percival. “This is my castle! ’Tis a mystery how you both can see my phantom image, but by the troth of my knighthood, I order you to depart from Glenn Bly at once!” He shook his phantom finger at them.