The Elf Widow

Pizza

When David knocked off at ten that evening, Aubrey said no, she thought it best she didn't come until everyone else had gone home. The next morning he found a platter of cherry curd tarts—one for each of the six employees of Kate's Time that Aubrey called his family. By the time Chloe walked in at nine—on time but later than everyone else—two tarts were left. Again Jack had refused to take one.

"Hello, all!" Chloe announced. "Another great day in Cottage Ferguson. Do I have a story for you. Did you know this place is haunted?"

Jack shot David an irritated scowl. He returned a warning look. He'd always found it best when working with a creative—and Chloe was certainly that—to first stand back and observe their natural inclinations and only then step in to guide them. Their summer intern was smart. She'd completed her level 5 program with honors and would be off to Cambridge in the fall. They could trust her to not link Kate's Time to such silly notions as hauntings.

"If you want to see a ghost, you're out of luck if I'm here." Ryan swiveled his chair to smile at Chloe. "I've been to seven haunted castles, three haunted manor houses and two haunted graveyards, and... nothing. I've always wanted to sketch a ghost, but if I'm around, they never appear."

"The only ghosts here are in these ancient machines."

The sarcasm in Zain's comment and in Zandy's appreciative snicker wasn't lost on David. The three-year-old refurbished computers were the best they could afford, and everyone just needed to just shut up and work. When Jack rolled his chair back an inch, David felt relieved he wouldn't have to be the one to voice that thought to everyone. Task master was Jack's role.

But his partner's response was unexpected. "Cottage Ferguson isn't haunted by a ghost. When I signed the lease, Old man Ferguson told me everything. The entity that haunts this place is a glaistig."

David cocked his head.  Jack had invited even more conversation—unexpected yet welcome. 

Then his partner brought down the whip. "Unlike ghosts, glaistigs do nothing but work. They herd the cattle, milk the cows, churn the butter, sew the clothes, scrub the floors, collect the kindling and stoke the fire. If someone tries to stop them from working, they get mad. They start breaking things."

Zain and Zandy turned back to their keyboards. They had clearly understood the message in Jack's words.

Goz only heard the story. When the graphic artist broke into a grin, David grimaced.

"My nana told me stories about glaistigs—my Scottish one, not my Spanish one."

"You're half Spanish?" Chloe asked.

"From the time of the Armada. My family name—Gosman—comes from a sixteenth century sailor who fell madly in love with the daughter of the fisherman who pulled him from the ocean when his ship broke up on the rocks."

"Oooo, sailing ships. My brother's on the crew of a--"

"All right, everyone." David stood up. Time to cut short this one-things-leads-to-another conversation—though he suspected that everyone who didn't have a nana who liked to tell folktales would be sneaking a peak at the Internet to look up what exactly a glaistig was. "Team meeting later. Tomorrow we need to update our hopeful investment partner on our progress."

Zain made a little snort of annoyance but said nothing.

Zandy hooked her hair behind her ear. "We don't even have our monitors--"

"I'm picking them up at one. You can sit around and complain when I'm out."

"Not while I'm here." Jack's tone meant business.