To prove my point, I slide a hand through the middle of Ms Morgan’s body. Then I hold my breath, waiting for the moment of truth.
Harry blinks a few times before tilting her head as she thinks through my statements, weighing up the potential for truth. Finally, she comes to some decision. Standing up, she strides across the room, circling around me and Catherine.
“How do I know this isn’t a video projection?” Harry asks.
Catherine Morgan answers before I can open my mouth. “You could ask me a question if you’d like.”
Despite the offer, Harry still seems suspect. “Tell me something that happened here in the college, something only I would know about.” She folds her arms, awaiting a response.
Catherine thinks for a moment, giving a small chuckle before replying. “I remember one evening, around 20 years ago, when a younger Harriet thought she was alone in the main building and slid down the bannister of the main staircase. Twice.”
Harry’s face glows pink. No further confirmation is needed to know the story rings true. She spins, returning to her seat at the table, the empty cat bed catching her eye. “A wyvern, you say? That would explain why Lillian always had so much ash floating around her office.”
That breath I was holding in bursts out in a laugh. “That’s it! You’re going to accept everything I’ve told you, just like that?”
Harry’s eyes glitter with laughter, “Luv, I’ve been working here at St Margaret for years now. Many a time I’ve been sure I could hear the sounds of heavy skirts swishing along the floorboards or seen a shadow slipping down the hall ahead of me. And H! Do you know, until this moment, I never questioned why a cat could live for thirty-plus years and still be so spry!”
I cross back, sliding into my chair once again. “Harry, you are a miracle. A godsend. I knew… we all knew that you were the only person we could trust with this information.”
Patting my hand in reassurance, Harry says, “Well, now that we’ve got that mystery out of the way, could you all properly introduce yourselves? And I’m guessing there is a reason you shared this incredible information with me. Out with it, the lot of you. What do you need?”
❖
When H walks into my office, smacking the taste of sausage from his lips, Harry freezes. “He still looks like a cat, Nat. Is there a way for me to see what you see?”
Biting my lip, my eyes dart to H, hoping he has an answer to her question.
“Ya told ‘er about the magic, missie? Glad I missed that talk. Now she wants ta see tha real H, eh?”
“Is there a way to do it, H?” I ask.
“Yah, iffen ya want ‘er ta see wot ya see, we all need ta ‘old ‘ands.”
“Hold hands? That’s it?” I narrow my eyes. “That seems too simple, like it could happen on accident.”
H snorts, a cloud of sausage-scented smoke wafting up. “‘Ave ya ever seen a ‘uman ‘oldin’ ‘ands wiff a cat?”
I guess when you put it that way… I explain everything to Harry, who immediately jumps at the chance. She and I clasp hands over the table, sticking our free hands out for H to grasp. As soon as H’s hand folds into mine, I feel a zing of energy spark up my arm, racing across my body and along to my other arm and hand.
“Ah, there you are. And a handsome devil, aren’t you?” Harry lets go of H’s hand to pat his forehead. We all break out into laughs when H flaps up, doing somersaults in the air.
“All right, H. That’s enough showing off. We’ve still got work to do today.”
H’s replies by blowing out two puffs of smoke, forming a perfectly shaped “O” and “K” in mid-air.
We spend all afternoon and evening bringing Harry up to speed while the Eternals try and fail to figure out why some ghosts can make themselves seen while others can’t. Their age and ghostly tenure don’t seem to make a difference.
The solution presents itself as a complete surprise.
Harry, H and I are sprawled over the sofas in the Senior Common Room. It’s late enough that no one else is likely to come in and we long ago devoured all the chocolate biscuits stocked by the coffee machine. Bartie and Catherine Morgan are wearing ghostly tracks in the plush floral carpet. The three young women are sharing a settee, backs straight, but heads and shoulders drooping.
I stretch my arms over my head and make a move to stand. “I don’t know about all of you, but my brain is mush. I can’t think of anything we haven’t tried.” I fight back the tears that are welling up in my eyes. “Looks like I need a Plan B unless anyone has a last bright idea?”
No one responds.
“We’d better clean up the mess we’ve left. Would you all mind helping me dust up the biscuit crumbs?”
One woman stands up, “I’ll help, Nat. Feels like the least I can do since I don’t seem to be good at anything else.”
I give her a weak smile, aiming for reassurance. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. This was my crazy idea. It’s never been done before, we should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.”
She shrugs her shoulders, moving over to the end table. She tidies up a stack of magazines and then picks up an old candelabra, moving it aside so she can dust off the surrounding crumbs. The moment her hand touches the brass base, her form flickers into solidity. When she sets it down again, she goes back to semi-transparent. Is it that simple?
I call out, “Wait, do that again!”
Confused, the young woman looks at the table. “Oh sorry, did I not get all the crumbs? It’s hard for me to tell how many I’m scooping up.”
“Forget the crumbs
