Chapter 23: THE HISTORIAN'S EYE
Isaac appeared in Logan's doorway with the measured stride of a man who'd been composing his words for two hundred and fifty years.
"Mr. Arondekar. Might I have a word?"
His uniform was immaculate — ghostly Continental Army regalia, buttons polished to a shine that hadn't been real in centuries. His hands were clasped behind his back in parade rest. His expression was carefully neutral.
"This is going to be an interrogation."
"Of course," Logan said. "What's on your mind?"
"I thought we might discuss history." Isaac stepped into the room, ghostly form passing through the doorframe. "Revolutionary War history, specifically. I understand you have some familiarity with the period?"
"I've seen the show. I know he tests people with historical traps. Fake battles, wrong dates, invented facts. He's testing me right now."
"Some familiarity," Logan said carefully. "I'm not an expert."
"Excellent. Then perhaps I might educate you." Isaac settled into the desk chair — or through it, his transparent form overlapping with the furniture. "The Battle of Saratoga. Are you familiar?"
"The turning point of the war. American victory that convinced France to ally with the colonies."
"Correct." Isaac's eyes didn't leave Logan's face. "And the Battle of Fort Stanwix? The siege that preceded it?"
"I know it happened. I don't know the details."
"The details are fascinating." Isaac launched into a lecture — dates, troop movements, supply lines. Logan listened, nodding at appropriate intervals, looking for the traps.
They came quickly.
"And of course, the Battle of White Creek preceded the siege — "
"There was no Battle of White Creek. It doesn't exist."
"—a decisive engagement that shaped the entire—"
"I'm not familiar with White Creek," Logan said, cutting him off. "Was that significant?"
Isaac paused. His expression flickered — disappointment? Relief?
"It was... minor. I merely wondered if your studies had covered it."
"He's testing me. Seeing if I'll correct him on fake history."
"My studies were pretty basic," Logan said. "High school level. You probably know more about the war than anyone alive."
"Indeed." Isaac's tone was dry. "Though 'alive' is a generous description of my current state."
They continued for another twenty minutes. Isaac dropped three more invented facts — a General Patterson who never existed, a treaty signing that happened in the wrong month, a battle that allegedly took place in a town Logan was fairly certain hadn't been founded until 1820.
Logan caught himself almost correcting the second one.
"That's not— no. Redirect. Don't show what you know."
"That's interesting," he said instead. "How did that affect the overall strategy?"
Isaac's eyes narrowed. Just slightly. Just enough.
Through the library window, Logan saw movement in the hallway — Nigel, the British ghost from the shed, passing through the house on one of his rare visits. Isaac's attention shifted immediately, tracking the other ghost with an expression that was trying very hard to be neutral and failing completely.
"He still hasn't told anyone. Two hundred years, and he's still hiding."
Logan made a decision.
[NUDGE ACTIVATED. GE: 124/150.]
The library door swung closed, seemingly on its own.
"Draft," Logan said. "Old house."
Isaac turned to look at the door, then back at Logan. His expression was complicated.
Outside, Logan heard footsteps — Sass, probably, doing his usual rounds through the house. The footsteps paused near the library.
"He's eavesdropping. Of course he is."
[RATTLE ACTIVATED. TARGET: FLOORBOARD NEAR SASS. GE: 121/150.]
The board groaned loudly. The footsteps retreated quickly.
Isaac and Nigel had a moment — or they would have, if Logan hadn't been in the room. The British ghost hesitated in the hallway, visible through the library's interior window, and Isaac's face showed something raw and unguarded.
"I'm engineering their privacy. Is that generosity or control?"
"I should go," Logan said, standing. "Thank you for the history lesson."
"Mr. Arondekar."
Isaac's voice stopped him at the door.
"You seem remarkably unsurprised by the things people share with you." His tone was measured, careful, dangerous. "You react as though you already know the ending of every story before it's told."
Logan's heart rate spiked.
"I'm just a good listener."
"Yes." Isaac's eyes were steady. "Unusually so."
The door closed between them.
Logan leaned against the hallway wall, breathing hard. His hands were shaking.
"That wasn't a test. That was a warning."
Through the keyhole, he could see Isaac pulling something from his coat — a quill pen, ghostly but somehow still functional. The captain began to write on a piece of parchment that materialized from nowhere.
Notes. About a living man who knew too much.
[WARNING: ISAAC HIGGINTOOT HAS ESCALATED FROM EVALUATION TO ACTIVE INVESTIGATION.]
[RECOMMENDATION: BE MORE CAREFUL. OR DON'T. YOUR FUNERAL.]
Logan counted the data points on his fingers.
The flinch when Trevor walked through him. The too-perfect introductions. The hallway flicker. The non-surprise at the talking coffee maker. The door closing on its own just now. The near-correction of fake history.
He ran out of fingers.
"How many more before someone figures it out?"
His phone buzzed. Sam's group text:
Sam (7:34 PM): New booking! Family reunion, 12 guests, this weekend. Big one. Let's make it count!
The system console flickered at the edge of his vision:
[LARGE AUDIENCE DETECTED. AAR OPPORTUNITY.]
[SUGGESTED ACTION: IMPRESS THEM.]
Logan stared at the notification.
Twelve guests. A family reunion. Maximum audience for maximum impact.
"I could do a proper haunting. Coordinated. Planned. Show them what Phase 2 can really do."
[AAR: 56. POTENTIAL GAIN: +15-20 WITH SUCCESSFUL LARGE-SCALE PERFORMANCE.]
"Or I could fail spectacularly and lose everything I've built."
The choice, he realized, had already been made.