The Ghosts of Talverton Keep

The first thing you notice is she's done something with her hair. Her tousled dyed blonde look had been cut shorter to its dark brown roots and there were highlights. Maurie, and her new haircut, had plowed through the Edinburgh airport with the determinations of a seasoned business traveler. While keeping up with the slender FBI agent was a challenge, you were grateful to at least follow in her wake. When she walked, she left a trail of bodies; hapless baggage handlers, drowsy tourists who happened to be lingering too close to the coffee stand and beleaguered taxi driver, who, after some fiercely combative words, delivered the two of you to a cheap motel in a hamlet two hours into the countryside.

You had hoped to catch a glimpse of Scotland from the air but the plane ride which had started unconscionably late in Seattle had finally delivered you into the rapidly dimming grey of twilight. There was a glimpse of stone and a lovely glittering of yellow street lights next to the green and the sea before the smothering rain swept in with the rolling darkness.

Maybe the highlights were her actual hair color. You are beginning to doubt yourself now - clearly there was a cut but the way the color blended where it framed her sharp eyes. Maurie had hardly said one word the entire time. Well, that's not fair. You both had tried some awkward chitchat near the beginning but she was clearly wound too tight, her voice clipped, her gaze always darting away. She had clearly transmuted her inner turmoil into rage at anyone unlucky enough to be vaguely underfoot so you had resigned yourself to analysing her new haircut.

Maybe the highlights were her natural color, the shorter bits had a different shade, an almost chestnut compared to her longer deep brown. The spluttering 1980s honda lurched to a stop outside the diminutive motor inn. The driver muttered something that sounded vaguely like, but clearly wasn't, "There-ya-go" as Maurie jumped out into the pouring rain to retrieve her bags from the trunk.

You squint at the accommodations - the neon sign for the lobby, the dull off-white paint on the numbered doors. If it hadn't been for old stone sidewalks and the decidedly British looking light pole on the corner, it could have been right out of Forks or Centralia.

"Not terribly hobbit-y." you grumble, pulling yourself out of the car and into the deluge. Maurie is already putting in a code into a little box next to room number six, for probably the third time judging by the velocity with which she is punching the numbers.

There's a click and the two of you tumble into the room with its 90s wallpaper only slightly redeemed by it's '70s furniture choices. Two queen beds, a decent sized tv and a bathroom that looked way smaller than you had hoped.

"Well - at least it's going to be quiet." She rolls her suitcase over to the bed nearest the door.

"Oh! Did you . . . did the FBI do something . . ." you ask. Maurie barks off a little laugh.

"Hah! No, we're barely on a per diem here." There had been some talk initially about some sort of pay for your assistance. Ryan was thrilled, a little extra cash could always be put to good use, although you suspected that he just wanted to invest more money in Jared and Sarah's Llama Hat business. The venture was surprisingly successful although not quite enough to warrant buying a larger share, but no matter. When Pitts and Maurie arrived, there was no discussion of money, simply free tickets to Scotland with your name on it and flexible dates.

If nothing else, I get to see Scotland. I could scout out that perfect follow up trip with the family. It was good reasoning but you knew in your heart of hearts, it wasn't why you were here.

"Hey." Maurie throws her suit jacket haphazardly over a chair, the light silhouettes her slender frame. "You hungry?"

You shake your head. The meals on the flight had been terrible but filling.

"Me neither." Maurie glances away, mouth pressed tight. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Okay." The door closes and the fan whirs to life.

You had dressed comfortably but you take the opportunity to check your suitcase and take off your bra. Maurie had said to bring professional clothes - she has credentials as a mining inspector and that was your cover story for . . . for what exactly?

Maurie had said the goal was to locate how they were using the pocket dimension to get the Rhodium. Pure information gathering, no arrests, she had said, but this felt different. At the airport, you were surrounded by people but here - if something went wrong, you were in another country and at the Talverton estate, everyone would be on their payroll.

You smoothed out your skirt and nice blouse and refolded them into the suitcase. Maurie had assured you they would have backup and people would be monitoring the situation but you were skeptical. Aside from Agent Pitts seeing you off at the Bellingham airport, Maurie had not interacted with anyone else - no check in with Scottish authorities, nothing but tense quiet and anxiousness.

You absent-mindedly flip through the channels, trying to ease your frazzled thoughts. The fan clicked off and Maurie came out, a white towel wrapped around her body and hair. She marches over and plops down on the bed directly across from you.

"Okay. Look. I've been trying to . . . we need to talk." You click off the tv and look her right in her clear blue eyes. She stutters for a moment, her cheeks blushing. She takes a big breath.

"Um . . . I'm sorry. I know I've been a terror and I just . . . I really appreciate you coming out here with me." She gets up and starts pacing back and forth.

"Your welcome?" You say, confused.

"It's just . . . ever since Marquis' island, I can't stop thinking about . . . " she looks over at you guiltily. ". . . about being in that world. It felt more real, you know?"

"I know the feeling." You close your eyes, feeling the soft kisses of snowflakes on your cheeks from London, the smokey lingering notes of the saxophone from Sea Breeze club, the sweet juice from a melon running down your cheek as Michael feeds you pieces next to the hot springs. You smile, so many treasures tucked away inside of you.

Maurie is still pacing, her hand firmly clamped on the towel, holding it in place.

"I thought it was something with the world itself - it alters our perception or drugs us or something but they did tests on me after the trip and there was nothing in my body so why!" Her voice suddenly snaps. "Why can't I stop thinking about you!"

She freezes, her face turning white at the sudden outburst.

"Thinking about me?" You ask, startled. Maurie gives a sound somewhere between a groan and curse and covers her face with both hands, letting the towel flutter precariously. She flops down on the bed and pulls a pillow over her face.

"I'm the worst fucking FBI agent in the world." She mutters. You crawl onto her bed, peeling back the pillow.

"It's okay. I've thought about you alot too." You say softly. In her eyes, a churning sea of emotion; hope and fear, desire and concern.

"Pitts asked if I needed to bring you - 'an untrained civilian into a potentially dangerous situation' and I lied and said yes." Maurie's voice is barely a whisper, a confession. "I said I needed you to navigate the world we might enter but that's not really true." Her lips tremble.

"I asked you to come because I was hoping . . . I was hoping we could . . that if it was in the other world, it would be okay. But all I could think about on the plane, on the drive here and in the shower is . . . how much I want to kiss you."

You lean in, and press your lips to hers. She is soft and yielding, but a fierce urgency runs through her body as she runs her slender fingers through your hair and pulls you to her. You lightly run your fingertips along her jawline and neck, kissing softly where your lips find purchase.

"Brenna . . ." she moans softly. "Come with me under the covers."

And you do.

###

During the night, the rains finally wind down to a soft drizzle. Maurie was up before you opened your eyes, wearing her button-up shirt and panties, she's negotiating with the half-functional coffee pot. Finally, she pours two styrofoam cups of black sludge and brings yours over, the steam whisping up in the cold morning light, and leans in for a soft kiss.

"How'd you sleep?" She asks with a sly smile. You give her a grin, sitting up.

"You know exactly how I slept." You take an experimental sip of the coffee before making a face and setting it down. You pull yourself out of Maurie's bed and rummage through your suitcase, retrieving your long blue skirt and light blue blouse. Maurie drinks in the view as you get dressed.

"So I've got our credentials there on the table. You're now Brenna Woods and I am Maureen Langston, with the ICMM."

"ICMM?" You ask.

"The International Council on Mining and Metals. Basically, the Chamber of Commerce but for mining operations worldwide. We are doing an annual audit to keep their certification for exporting material out of the EU. We're expected to look at workplace safety issues, that sort of thing. I've got us an appointment with Gerald Campbell, I believe he's the site manager, although in his last phone call, he said that Joseph Talverton might stop by so we will have to be careful."

She buttons up her pants and straps her firearm to her ankle holster.

"The important part, and Brenna? I mean this. The important part is we are just looking around. We find out where they are getting the Rhodium and then we get clear so that Interpol and the local authorities can make the arrest, okay? Say as little as possible and no heroics, alright?"

"No heroics." You repeat solemnly. You hear tires on gravel outside the motor inn. "That's our driver." She says, grabbing her suitcase. "Let's go."

###

Gerald Campbell, a rather dour but efficient Scotsman, met the two of you at the gate of the property. His off-white business truck with "Talverton Resources, INC" on the side doors was old but clean. The three of you set off along the winding gravel road the threaded its way between fog-soaked bogs and towards the foothills of Ben Macdui, what Mr. Campbell insists on calling a mountain but would barely qualify as a stubby peak on the peninsula.

"There." Campbell jabs a stubby finger over towards a rather modern looking house with tall windows and two large garages. "That's where the family estate was back in the day. Long before I worked here, obviously, but there was a castle. Well, more of a keep than a castle, but it was there and you can see the road?"

You and Maurie crane your necks in the other direction, following the sloping valley parallel to the foothills. "That's where the old village was, before the big fire in the 40s. With the castle gone and the quarry blasting away at all hours, they decided to rebuild everything over by the freeway so they'd have a place to sleep. Now, we stay up all night complaining about the clatter from the trucks on A9!" He barks a short laugh and you and Maurie join in.

Maurie has been all business, handing over the papers and taking notes, but everyone once and a while, you catch her staring at you with a soft little half-smile on her lips.

"Here we are." The gravel road dissolves into a quarry, wide and flat with half a dozen buildings scattered around the site. The Rhodium is processed on site, Campbell had explained, although the recent lode they had accessed produced high quality materials that, "required very little refining."

You did your best to nod sagely as the discussion rapidly devolved into acronyms and technical details of a professional mining operation as he pulled to a stop and got out of the car. As the three of you approached the nearest warehouse, Maurie cut to the chase.

"This new vein you tapped, can we see it? Our initiative this year is foreman safety, you know how it is," Maurie said apologetically, "they've always got to have some special initiative or program." Campbell nodded sympathetically but he didn't immediately change course.

"Let me check and see where we are and if that is a possibility. I know they were doing some blasting down there and I'm not sure if we've done the structural inspection yet." He steps away, turning on his radio and muttering into it.

You and Maurie poke inside the large warehouse, a garage you realize, for some sort of large conveyor belt machine.

"You think he's going to let us into the mine?" You ask. Maurie glances through the window to where Campbell is still talking, one hand on his hip.

"He doesn't look too worried. I bet they have something prepared just in case."

Maurie's instincts were right. Campbell returned and after securing hardhats and reflective vests, the three of you made your way into the mine using a modified golf cart. Campbell took a right at the first intersection and led you along a well-lit tunnel to a dead end where three men were operating a front loader, scooping up blasted material.

"There might be some dust from the blasting but our boys are doing it by the book down here." Campbell said proudly. Maurie hops out of the gator and waves at the men with the front loader,

"Kill it." She signals them as they turn off their motors. Dimly you hear the sound of tires on gravel as a second gator pulls up behind yours. Maurie holds out her hands dramatically, giving you a little bit of a cocky smile. Oh fuck - is she showing off for you? You give her a worried look, but aren't sure she can see it between the gator windshield and the sea of glittering dust motes suspended by the work lights.

"Mr. Campbell, I appreciate all the work you've gone to, but I'd rather not waste these gentlemen's time. You and I both know this vein was depleted back in 1997." You suck in your breath through your teeth as Campbell's hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"Now could you please show me where the real work is being done?" Maurie asks, her voice shaking the dust still suspended in the headlights of the gators. "I'd hate to have to escalate this situation to a higher authority." She sticks one hand in the waistband of her suit jacket, managing, for a brief moment, to make the reflective vest and hardhat look cool.

"Well done Ms. Langston!" A woman's voice, firm and commanding, sounds off from the second gator. The crunch of feet on gravel heralds the approach of a tall dark woman. She strides even with your side of the gator. Her hair is curled slightly at her shoulders, her neck tall and elegant. She wears sturdy khaki pants and a black blazer.

"Or should I say, Ms. Tennison? I agree, let's stop wasting time." Her hand rests on the door of the gator, blocking your escape. She turns, her lips quirking with just the hint of a smile.

"But really, it is Mrs. Sampson who I am most interested in." Her eyes lock with yours, an intense jolt of adrenaline surges through your body.

"My name is Josephine Talverton, and I have a business proposition for you."

###

With a few clipped Scottish remarks, she quickly dispatched Campbell and the workers, before taking you and Maurie back towards the mouth of the mine in the gator. Maurie, squeezed in between you and Josephine, seemed momentarily speechless; although it was unclear as to whether that was due to the bad intelligence as to your host's gender, or the fact that Josephine rocked a blazer like no one's business.

"With your email address at the ICMM being less than two weeks old, and the Rhodium mining business being a pretty narrow field, I figured you were industrial spies but Mrs. Sampson herself?" Josephine threaded the gator through a small gap between suspiciously well-placed conex boxes and into a wide slowly descending chamber, as wide as a 747, with well light rail tracks along the left side.

"Me?" You ask, mind racing. Josephine shoots you an inscrutable look.

"The specialist on Lost Souls constructs? I understand through a mutual friend that you were the one Selena employed to extract your former employer, Daniel Quilp, after he had become lost in his own city? Please tell me that you are she, otherwise I'm afraid I must shoot Jerome."

"What?" Maurie says, recovering from her stupor somewhat.

"My head of research for Talverton Inc, you will get to meet him on the inside." Josephine gives the gator a little goose as you swing around a corner and deeper into the foothills.

You steady yourself as the rocky road and volatile situation are doing a number on your stomach. Okay, obviously somewhere along the line, the tales of your exploits have gotten a little jumbled, unless there is someone else out there who did get Quilp out and if he is out . . . he knows where you live.

You fight the urge to grab your cell phone but surely this deep in the rock, you aren't getting a signal.

You take a deep breath. One problem at a time. "I apologize for the deception." You say. Maurie gives a tight smile. Yes, less is more. Josephine continues undeterred,

"Well, I would call it an opportunity." She pulls the gator to a stop - at the end of the tunnel there is a wellhouse. Not some modern metal thing, but an ancient stone octagonal building.

"Now I am going to assume that you are here on behalf of your employer to scout out our operation, see if we resolved the resonance issue, and bring back a few schematics and layouts so that they can cash in. Perfectly understandable. I also expect them to have you two sign some pretty scary NDAs to that effect and I would hate to void your contracts." She gives an odd off-kilter laugh and you notice the tiny beads of sweat along her hairline.

She hops out and starts off at a brisk pace towards the house.

"Jerome! Look alive! I have brought our Dr. Venkman and Egon!" She shouts. A short earnest man with sharp cheekbones and clear blue eyes shuffles out of the wellhouse, dressed in a workman jacket thrown over what looks vaguely like a wool tunic. He speaks to her briefly in hushed tones, showing her some paperwork from a clipboard.

"Dr. Venkman?" You echo stepping out of the gator. Maurie punches you in the arm as she slides out.

"Ghostbusters, dude." You and Maurie approach Josephine and Jerome just outside the doorway to the well house.

"Precisely, Ms. Tennison. I have a ghost problem and I need someone to fix it."

She locks eyes with you. "I promise to show you every part, every operational schematic and every duty shift log if you can banish these ghosts from my lands. For that service, I will pay you an outrageous sum of money. In short, you will get paid twice for the same bit of work - a consultant's dream."

Josephine gestures to the well house. "The building itself is the gateway. My great-great-great-great uncle Alister Tennison found a strange bit of metal out in the bog and like the damn fool he was, melted it down and used it as brackets on building timbers."

"Luckily for him, the well dried up long before he figured out how to activate the construct. It wasn't until I took possession of the property that I was able to correctly identify the resource we had at our disposal."

Josephine turns back to you. "I apologize, I do wax on a bit. Surely you must discuss this opportunity with your partner. Jerome has some sample contract language if you feel that is necessary to begin but I feel confident moving forward on a handshake at this point. You are one of a select few that can be considered experts in this field, and I don't intend to let one of those rare few walk off this property without tapping your expertise."

She gives you another intense look and then turns on a heel, and strides towards the door.

"Jerome can handle all the details. I will see you at Talverton Keep, Mrs. Samson!" She shouts over her shoulder and then with a leap, vanishes across the threshold of the well house, gone in a blink of an eye.