Quickly I told them all how I had come by the statue, emphasizing that I had Jake check it over for any bad emanations. "I assume the guy who shot you must be the one the statue was intended for," I finished, glancing back at Clare's report. "He said he knew you had it, and would stop at nothing to get it?"

"Yes," Clare answered, mournfully examining a portion of the dress.

"That's odd. I wonder why he thought you had it? You weren't anywhere near the antique shop."

"He could have been using the collective you, referring to both you and your cousin," Paen pointed out, looking toward the battlefield, which now rang with cries and shouts accompanied by the sound of clanging metal as the extras gave their all to looking like a horde of wild Scots defending their land.

"True. Well, whatever he meant, I'm not at all inclined to give him the statue now that he tried to kill Clare. If he had asked nicely, I'd have had no problem giving it up, but not anymore. Now I want something."

"Revenge," Finn said, smiling his approval.

"Justice for my dress!" Clare snorted.

"Answers," Paen said succinctly.

I nodded. "I want answers. How long will they be filming?"

"At least another hour. They just got started when we arrived an hour ago. Why?" Finn asked.

Clare gave me an outraged look as I scooped her dress off the table and laid it over the back of a chair. "I'm going to try to contact the essentia of this area and see what it can tell me."

"The what?" Finn's face mirrored his confusion.

Clare explained briefly how I could communicate with locations while I made myself comfortable on the rickety portable table.

"I thought you could only do that with structures?" Paen asked, watching as I stuffed my purse under my head as a support. I folded my hands together and closed my eyes, trying to ignore the exposed feeling of lying on a table in front of three other people. Fortunately, the rest of the movie people were attending to the filming, so we were alone in our corner of their camp.

"This is a structure of sorts. It's a historic battlefield—didn't you see the marker when we came in?"

"I know it's a historic battlefield. My ancestors fought here. But there's no building for miles."

"There's a ring of standing stones on the other side of the trailers, and beyond that, some sort of rocky area that's the heart of the moor. It has enough history for me to look through its memories."

Clare held a whispered conversation with Finn, telling him more about how elves can feel the souls of places. I ignored them, pushed down my consciousness's awareness of Paen standing so close by, and cleared my mind.

Normally it takes me several minutes to calm my thoughts enough to be able to hear the voice of the house, but this location, being founded so strongly in the beyond, took no time before it started talking to me.

Or rather, the men did.

"Whoa," I said, my eyes opening a few seconds after I'd closed them. Surrounding us was a ring of men, their numbers growing as I stared at them.

"Sam?" Paen asked, a faint frown between his brows. "What is it?"

I looked around at the men, a good twenty or so of them ranging in age from early teens to late sixties, all of them dressed in ragged tunics, grubby bits of plaid worn wrapped around their waists, each armed with a huge, massive sword. "I think I just met the residents of Dunstan Moor. Hello, gentlemen."

One of the men stepped forward and said something in a language I didn't understand.

"Ghosts?" Paen asked.

"That would be my guess. Unfortunately, we don't seem to speak the same language. Do either of you speak old Scottish?"

"It would be Gaelic, and I am reasonably proficient in it."

"Good," I said, taking his hand. It was warm and strong and sent little excited chills down me at the feel of it. "You can translate, then."

"Translate? Translate what?"

I opened my mind to him, willing him to see through my eyes. He jerked away at the touch of my mind. "What do you think you're doing?" His voice was low enough that only I could hear it, but it was rife with indignation.

I'm trying to let you see the ghosts. Mom used to do this with Dad whenever he wanted to see elf stuff. She said she just merged consciousness with him, and he could see things she saw.

"You are not a full elf, and I am not your father."

We can do the mind-speak thing. I think it's probably a given we can do other things, as well.

"I don't want to—"

Afraid? I interrupted.

"No, of course not."

Then merge up, handsome. The ghosts are waiting.

He gave me a long, unreadable look before I felt the tentative presence of him in my mind. I smiled to myself over his reluctance to admit what was pretty clear to me…

"Stop that," he growled.

… and turned my attention to the ghostly figures who stood around us.

Paen felt a moment of surprise that quickly melted into active curiosity.

"There are more than I expected." He pursed his lips a little as he looked at the ring of ghosts around us. "Do you normally see ghosts when you talk to houses?"

"Ooh, she found ghosts," Clare said, scooting closer to Finn. "Isn't this exciting?"

"It's something, all right," Finn answered, a comical expression of disbelief and amusement on his face.

"Not normally, no," I told Paen. "It's especially rare at night, when I'm not at my best, power-wise. Sometimes you'll find one if it has an extremely strong tie to the location. But this place is kind of special. The ground is practically steeped in blood. I'm guessing that's given these ghosts the powers to make it through to me even late at night."

"Yes, Dunstan Moor is one of the bloodiest battlefields in Scottish history. It makes Culloden look like a virtual playground. Er… can you talk to them?"

"She's going to talk to the ghosts now," Clare said to Finn, sotto voce, but not nearly quiet enough.

"Clare!"

"Sorry."

"I'll try. No promises." I looked at the nearest ghost, a man with a long scraggly black beard, a filthy yellow tunic, and a yellow and brown bit of plaid material twisted around his waist as some sort of primitive kilt. "Hello. I'm Sam."

The ghost squinted at me for a minute, then said something to the man nearest him. They both laughed.

"I don't suppose you got that?" I asked Paen without taking my eyes off the ghosts. Normally I wouldn't be worried about them, since ghosts can't interact with this reality without first being grounded, but with this area so strongly steeped in the beyond, I was willing to bet it served as a grounding force.

"Actually, I did. He seems to be speaking an ancient dialect of early Gaelic."

"Oh, good. What did he say?"

"That you're splayed out like a pig about to be roasted."

I glared at the ghost as I sat up, swinging my legs off the table, making sure to keep my mind firmly enmeshed with Paen's. I was a bit woozy with the drain on my power, but I figured I had enough to get us through a brief chat. "How do I say 'up yours' in ancient, ghostly Gaelic?"

He told me. It was highly satisfying to see the ghosts' eyes widen with surprise for a moment when I repeated it, and then the lot of them burst into laughter and clapped each other on the back.

"Why do I suspect you just had me telling a dirty joke?" I asked Paen as I carefully slid off the table and moved over to stand next to him.

He grinned in response. My stomach contracted at the sight of his grin, but it soon settled back to normal as we conducted a one-sided interview of the ghosts. Paen translated for me, while I tried my best to repeat phonetically everything he said.

"Did you see a man with a monkey shoot this woman here?" we asked the ghosts.

The leader, who identified himself as a man named Uilleam, answered in the negative.