Dedicated to Matt and Mike, for the many reasons they know and probably some that they don't. And especially for the chocolate. Special thanks to Cass, who jumped up and down on this story until it cried for mercy, and made it so much better.

Just when Sara thought her day couldn't get any worse, her scarf caught on fire.

Her classroom erupted into pandemonium. The air filled with the smell of singed cashmere as Sara struggled to untangle the scarf from her neck. Erin, the eighteen year old pyrokinetic who had tried to light a candle and missed, let out a startled shriek and frantically waved her hands in the air. In response, the fire tickling the end of Sara's scarf engulfed three more inches of beautiful hand-knitted cable-stitch.

"Someone blow it out!"

"Air will make it burn faster, dumbass!"

The warning came too late. The lighter items on Sara's desk went flying as Nate, the class's lone elementalist, sent a miniature whirlwind swirling toward her.

Dodging an entire stack of homework cost her valuable time, time during which the fire crept dangerously close to her hair. God, not the hair—

"Erin, where's the emergency bucket?"

"What?"

"The water!"

Sara ignored the shouts and stayed calm enough to get her poor scarf unwrapped from around her neck. She dropped it to the floor just as Brandon shouted in triumph.

All five gallons of water from the bucket in the corner spiraled into the air and cascaded over her head, drenching her, her clothes, and her desk.

Silence fell. Someone in the back of the room snickered and was quickly shushed. Sara glanced at Brandon and found the telekinetic grinning at her. “Did you see my control?"

Did you see the scarf already on the damn floor? But Brandon was so proud of himself, which she supposed he had every right to be. The trick with the water had been a fine bit of control for a telekinetic. She forced a smile before bending over to pick up the charred remains of what had been her very favorite scarf.

When she stood, the wet, stinking yarn clutched in one hand, she found out that her day could, indeed, get worse. Much worse. Her fingers tightened around her scarf as she stared at the new arrival. Reed Mercier, her rival for top spot in the graduate department and all around golden boy.

Even worse, she'd bet good money she wasn't the only one staring. Reed was the sort of man women loved to stare at.

All the women might be staring at Reed, but he was looking at her. Soaked to the skin, standing in my shambles of a classroom, holding a burnt scarf. Perfect. She'd bet none of his students lit his clothing on fire, tore up his desk with whirlwinds, or upended buckets of water over his head.

None of his students do anything but stare at him, she thought bitterly. It wasn't quite the truth; she'd sat in on enough of Reed's classes to know he was a good teacher. But he did have a tendency to attract a lot of young women who took his classes “for the elective credit."

Silence stretched out between them, finally broken by nervous laughter from one of the girls in the front of the classroom. “Hey, Mr. Mercier. Erin's been setting things on fire again."

He leaned one shoulder against the door frame and grinned at Sara as he watched water drip from her soaked clothing to the floor. “Who put it out?"

Brandon didn't give her a chance to answer. “I did! And you should have seen it, not even a splash, I held all the water together until it ... uhh...” He made a vague gesture toward Sara, and she gritted her teeth with the effort it took not to snap at him.

Reed just turned his smile to Brandon and nodded. “Good job. I'm sure Ms. Patel appreciates it.” When he glanced back, his eyes focused on her chest for a moment before returning to her face.

Sara glanced down at her shirt. Her very wet, very clinging shirt through which her bra was now very visible. And not just her bra ... It was cold in the room.

Heat flooded her cheeks as she jerked her head back up and turned to look at her class. The girls might be staring at Reed, but the boys ... Oh, they were staring at her. Most of them didn't even bother to look guilty about it.

She crossed her arms over her chest and attempted to adopt a professorial attitude. “Who's going to stay and help clean up?"

Reed shoved away from the doorway and strolled toward her, his movements slow and graceful. “No need for volunteers. I'll do it."

Four girls’ hands shot up.

Sara fought the urge to groan. “Okay, out. Everyone out. If you all clear out in under thirty seconds, no homework tonight."

Reed flattened himself back against the wall as the students almost trampled him in their haste to leave. When the last stragglers rushed out, he grinned at her again. “So ... Should I hit the janitor's closet?"

She shivered and tightened her arms across her chest, having no intention of moving them while he was in the room. “I can take care of it. I don't have any more classes today."

"Nah. I said I'd help.” He walked around her to a table by the window and snatched up a roll of paper towels. “Here, this should get us started."

It was ungracious to refuse his help, but Reed made her feel awkward and disheveled at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. “It's okay. Reed, really. Did you need something?” Or do you just have a sixth sense for when I look like a fool?

"Dr. Kendrick wants to see us.” He knelt and tore off long strips of the paper towels to soak up the water. “I think it's about the Montera assignment."

Sara glanced down again, taking in her soaked clothing and transparent shirt. “Right now?” This day really can't get worse...

"Four. Didn't you get the email?"

"No, I haven't had a chance to check today.” Her car had broken down that morning, leaving her scrambling for a cab with barely enough time to make it to her classroom. And if I'd had any sense, I would have called in sick and stayed home.

Reed just nodded. “Think he's sadistic enough to break the bad news to one of us with the winner in the room?"

That thought was unpleasant enough to make her snap. “Dr. Kendrick is not sadistic."

He snorted. “Guess that means we're splitting dessert, then, sweetheart."

Sara ducked down behind her desk and started to gather up the soppy homework. “Well, they're certainly not going to double the grant. If we did both go, we'd have to split the money and probably write the paper together."

He shrugged one shoulder and ran his hand through his dark blond hair. Every strand fell perfectly back into place. “You're the one who said he wouldn't be sadistic enough to call us both in to award one of us. It's the only thing that makes sense."

He was right, damn it. Which meant she'd be spending Halloween night trapped in a haunted house with Reed. Half the girls in the department would kill for that chance, and she bet none of them would be thinking about work once they got there. Except for me. And I'll be competing with a fucking medium for the best ghost research. He's going to wipe the floor with me.

She threw the last few papers on top of her stack and checked her watch. She had a half hour to find something presentable to wear and get back to the departmental offices for the meeting. “Shit."

Reed seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “Want me to swing by his office and see if Susanne can push the meeting back a little?"

Susanne would probably do anything Reed asked of her. Campus rumor linked the Dean's blonde, gorgeous assistant to Reed's bed at least once a month. The thought made her grimace as she shook her head. “No, that's fine. I'll be there."

"Okay.” He scooped up the sodden towels and tossed them in the wastebasket beside her desk. “See you then, I guess."

He'd been so helpful that she forced herself to smile. “Thank you, Reed. I appreciate the help."

He stared at her for a moment, then flashed her a cheeky, irreverent grin. “You're welcome, Professor Patel."

Sara rolled up the enormous sleeves of her newly purchased Mystic Ridge University sweatshirt and shoved the door to the departmental office open with her hip. The selection of clothing in the campus bookstore had been depressingly scarce, but she hadn't had time to get back to her apartment.

Which means I'm attending the most important meeting of my career in a sweatshirt that goes to my knees and cheap track-pants that could come unsnapped at any moment. She'd had to change in the women's restroom, and had barely gotten a chance to finger-comb her hair and wrestle it into a sloppy looking braid. She looked absurd.

Reed, of course, looked perfect. He glanced up when she hurried into the room and smiled. “No time to go home, huh?"

"No.” Her cheeks heated a little, and she glanced at her watch and then at the dean's office door. “Is he running late?"

"Conference call.” His gaze roamed over her. “You look nice."

She couldn't tell if he felt bad for her or was trying to make a snide remark. Reed had never seemed the type to stoop to pettiness ... But competition can do crazy things to everyone.

Settling for a noncommittal noise, she sank into the chair next to him. “So. How are your classes going?"

"Not bad. My lectures are all full this semester."

"Oh yeah? That's good.” And par for the fucking course. She wasn't exactly hard on the eyes, but she doubted boys were signing up for her lectures just to stare at her. Though they would be if I ended up with a wet shirt more often.

"Yeah.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and grinned. “Keeping busy. What about you? Aside from the unfortunate demise of your scarf, that is."

Her cheeks heated again and she fought the urge to fidget. “Oh, you know. My practical classes are always exciting. That's the first time they've set me on fire, but we have that bucket in there for a reason."

Reed laughed. “You're a brave woman, Sara."

Before she could come up with a suitable reply, the door next to them popped open. Dr. Kendrick stuck his head out and smiled. “Good, you're here. Come on in.” They stared at him for a moment, unsure of which one he meant, and he waved his hand impatiently. “Both of you. Come in."

Reed rose and held the door for her. Even when they were in direct competition, he always had flawless manners, a sort of gentlemanly charm that made other woman fall head over heels for him. Other women. Right. Life would be easier if she hadn't spent one or two—one or two dozen—nights thinking about his flirtatious little smile and that look in his eyes that said more clearly than words that he was a man who loved women.

Sara tightened her fingers around her bag and rose to her feet. Now was not the time to let his pretty smile and his pretty manners make her stupid. Not with the most important opportunity of her career hanging in the balance. And you're wearing track pants, Sara. Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.

Dr. Kendrick had been the Dean of the School of Paranormal Studies for two years, during which he'd turned the previously spartan office of his predecessor into a delightfully cluttered shrine to all things odd and kooky. Usually Sara loved being in his office. She could spend hours examining the magical knick-knacks he'd picked up all over the world while he told her their stories. Her own magical talent was minor at best, but Dr. Kendrick had never made her feel like less of a magical scholar because of it. Not like her father, whose disappointment in having a child who was practically human had resulted in his near complete withdrawal from her life.

And the last time she'd seen him had been at the department's Career Fair, when he'd spent most of the afternoon engaged in hearty, enthusiastic conversation with Reed. He hadn't even broken from his determined recruitment pitch for long enough to acknowledge his own daughter. Not with Reed in front of him, brilliant Reed whose modesty about his talents as a medium didn't make him any less desirable to corporate executives like her father.

Just be glad Reed doesn't know he's your father and get over it, she told herself as she lowered herself into the nearest chair. Reed followed suit, since he was far too polite to sit before she'd taken a seat herself.

Dr. Kendrick smiled at them. “I suppose I don't have to explain to you both why you're here. Halloween is this Friday, and the committee is supposed to announce the winner of the Montera Grant."

She chanced a glance at Reed. He was composed, unflappable. Then she noticed with satisfaction that his leg bounced nervously. “Have they made a decision yet?” he asked without a hint of that nervousness.

"It wasn't an easy one. The circumstances are ... a bit unusual.” Dr. Kendrick smiled and leaned back in his chair. “We've never had two students with such competitive portfolios before. You have perfect GPAs, you're both excellent teachers and you each presented very interesting proposals."

Sara could almost hear the ‘but’ coming, and the way Dr. Kendrick was looking at her now, slightly worried, made her heart sink. Maybe he's more sadistic than I thought...

"This wasn't an easy decision,” he continued, turning his gaze to Reed. “But we spoke to Mr. Montera, and he agreed to a compromise. We've decided to offer you both the opportunity to visit Villa Montera on Halloween. You will share the grant and the publication credit."

Reed's jaw tightened and then he smiled. “Well, Sara. Looks like we're sharing dessert after all."

Sara smiled back, just a little too sweetly, and nodded. “Looks like we are.” Haunted house. Alone. All night long. With fucking hot Reed. Fate hated her. Or loved her. She wasn't sure which.

Dr. Kendrick cleared his throat and slid two folders across the table. “Your information, instructions and paperwork."

Reed picked them both up and handed her one, his fingers brushing hers for a second. She ignored her body's reaction and clutched the folder to her chest. “Thank you."

The professor seemed unconvinced by their show of civility. He glanced at Sara with one eyebrow slightly raised, but she ignored it. “Is there anything else we need to know?"

"No.” Dr. Kendrick sighed and waved a hand toward the door. “I've got another meeting in fifteen minutes, so if you don't have any questions...?"

"Not a single one,” Reed assured him. “We'll get out of your way. We have a lot to talk about, after all."

Any hope of a dignified escape vanished. Sara rose to her feet and summoned up the best smile she could manage. “Thank you, Dr. Kendrick."

"Congratulations, to both of you."

Sara wanted to go home, take a hot shower and forget this day had ever happened. Instead she stopped outside and turned, watching Reed as he closed the door to the dean's office behind him. “Well?"

"Well what?” He checked his watch and looked her up and down again. “Want to get some coffee? We need to talk about a few things before All Hallow's Eve."

The angry heat was back in her cheeks. His grace and charm always brought out the opposite in her, leaving her feeling clumsy and unlikable. The events of the day had done nothing to soothe the feelings of inadequacy and resentment that had been growing in her since the damn Career Fair.

Those feelings made her feel ungracious, and she snapped at him without meaning to. “Can you handle being seen in public with someone so poorly groomed?"

"I...” For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then he smiled, and her stomach flip-flopped. “I think you look fine, Sara.” His voice was low and amused. “I have no problem being seen in public with you. But can you say the same about me?"

The way her heart thumped in her chest was unfair. Everyone loved Reed. Teachers, students, friends ... My own damn father ... She would not be just another person under his spell. Not even if some days she thought maybe she wanted to be.

He was still looking at her, his eyes almost too knowing. She drew herself up with what little dignity she could scrape together and gave him a cool look. “I have no problem being seen in public with you. What I lack is time. You know my e-mail address. Send me a note. I have to get back to work."

Something flashed in his eyes. “The insinuation being that I don't.” His smile grew wider, and he inclined his head. “You're getting better at the sneaky insults. I think academia's going to suit you just fine.” He turned and walked away, leaving her wondering how she'd once again managed to prove that Reed was a better person than she.

Maybe he is.

Reed slammed the front door of his first-floor apartment and gritted his teeth when a framed photograph fell off the wall. Glass shattered, and he cursed. “Perfect. Fucking perfect."

"Mom would kick your ass if she heard you talk like that.” His sister, Harrison, appeared out of nowhere and smirked at him.

He sighed and tossed his bag on the couch. “Really not in the mood today, Harri. I almost lost the Montera grant."

She snorted and tossed her head, making her golden curls cascade over her shoulder. “You couldn't care less about the grant. You want to get in that house."

"It's all the same,” he reminded her as he headed into the kitchen to find the broom. “The grant, the paper, and the haunting. It's a package deal."

"Aren't they always?” She bent and picked up the fallen frame. “Hey, this is a picture of me, you jackass."

"Sorry.” He took the photograph from her and laid it on the coffee table, then started sweeping up the broken glass. “I'll replace it tomorrow."

"You'd better.” She dropped to the sofa and drew her knees up under her chin. “You have to go with her, don't you?"

He growled. Sara Patel had been a thorn in his side since his first year. She'd had the advantage of having done her undergraduate work at the university, and he'd had to work twice as hard in every class just to match her grades and achievements. To make matters worse, she was constantly looking down her nose at him because he didn't want to finish his doctorate and teach. “She still thinks I'm scum because I don't want to sprout a tweed sports jacket and lecture for the rest of my life."

Harrison suppressed a laugh. “The real question is ... why do you give a damn?"

"I don't.” He almost winced when he heard the defensive tone of his own voice. “Screw you, Harri."

This time, she didn't bother to choke back her amusement. “You like her."

He coaxed the glass fragments into the dustpan and straightened, fixing her with a withering glare. “Were you this annoying when you were alive?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You're too young to remember, but I was actually worse.” She rose from the couch with unearthly grace and headed down the hall. “Let me know if you decide to watch something entertaining on TV, would you?"

He tossed the glass in the garbage can and carefully removed the photograph from the ruined frame. Harrison still looked the same, a smiling sixteen-year-old with bright eyes and the world at her feet. He remembered the day his father had taken the picture, how Harri had coaxed him into one last piggyback ride before he grew too old and too heavy for them.

He'd just turned five, and Harrison had died in a car accident a week later.

Reed sighed again. What good was his gift if he couldn't use it for work? He hadn't had a reason to do so, at least not yet, but staying at the Villa Montera on Halloween was perfect. He could make contact with one of the most notorious hauntings in the state, and possibly more.

He just wanted to accomplish one thing an actual employer would find impressive. Dry, esoteric research papers might excite lifers like Sara Patel, but a corporate contract required real results.

And this haunting would be nothing if not a challenge. Plenty of others had tried and failed to make significant contact. If he could manage to communicate with and ultimately free the spirit that had haunted the Villa Montera for the last century and a half, it would prove his ability. He could write his own ticket with any paranormal specialty firm in the country.

Only now he had to do it with Sara breathing down his neck. It wouldn't be easy, and she'd more than likely be horrified by his attempts. To her, spirits were nothing more than research material. She'd never understand they were just as complex in death as they'd been in life, if not more so.

He shook himself. It didn't matter. She didn't matter.

Except she did, so he supposed it was a good thing she couldn't stand to look at him, because his attraction to her was a nuisance. A mutual attraction would have been dangerous. Maybe devastating.

Dammit. Harri was right. He did like her.

Reed shifted nervously and checked his digital voice recorder for the tenth time. According to the file they'd been given, most of the equipment they'd need for an investigation had already been delivered to the Villa. Not that he planned to use any of it. All he needed was the voice recorder and the chance to have a heart-to-heart with Celestina Montera.

A wry smile curved his lips. If he knew Sara, she'd show up for their ride loaded down with gear she'd carefully calibrated herself, not trusting the department to have done a satisfactory job. She was a walking contradiction, someone who seemed wildly disorganized at life while still being incredibly rigid and demanding with her work.

She appeared as if the thought had summoned her, just as encumbered as he'd predicted. Neither tall nor sturdy, she struggled under the weight of the hiking backpack she'd somehow wrestled onto her back, a backpack that looked to weigh almost as much as she did.

He told himself not to rush to her side, that she'd just take it the wrong way. But he couldn't help himself. He lifted the pack's straps from her shoulders with what he hoped was a charming grin. “Did you forget about our assignment and decide to go hiking?"

He actually caught a faint sigh of relief before she covered it by clearing her throat. “I like to be prepared. This is the chance of a lifetime."

For both of us, he agreed silently. “Everything we need is already at the Villa."

"Maybe.” Relieved of the burden of the backpack, she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair into the knot at the back of her head. It was the perfect professorial hairstyle, proper and boring and far too severe for her face.

He glanced down at his own faded jeans and the old t-shirt under his leather jacket. If Sara wanted to act like they were going on some sort of job interview, she could knock herself out. At least he'd be comfortable. “The car thing is weird, huh? I mean, why can't we drive ourselves?"

"The whole thing is a little odd.” An engine purred at the end of the quiet street and they both turned to see a limo with tinted windows pulling toward them. “Really odd."

Reed laughed. “This is like the prom. I should have bought you a corsage."

For the first time she cracked a smile. “I never went to the prom. Do people really go in limos? I thought that was just in the movies."

He shrugged one shoulder. “Wouldn't know. I went to the prom in a 1988 Oldsmobile.” Memories assailed him, and he laughed again. “Karen Griffin. Man, she was the eleventh grade love of my life."

Sara gave him an odd look, but held her tongue when the car rolled to a stop in front of them. After a moment the driver's side door opened and a tall man stepped out, his face completely expressionless. “Mr. Mercier? Miss Patel?"

"That's us.” Reed flashed Sara a grin and hefted her pack before turning to the driver. “Pop the trunk?"

He nodded and leaned back into the car. A moment later the trunk flipped open, and Reed swung the backpack carefully into the cargo area.

Sara held herself rigidly, her gaze fixed on the gleaming finish of the car. He tapped her shoulder and pulled the door open before the driver could get to it. “Ready to do this thing, Patel?"

For one second—a hopeful second—he thought she might back down. Then she squared her shoulders and nodded shortly. “I guess this is the ultimate in trick-or-treating—going to a haunted house to try to find ghosts. Should have worn a better costume."

He tilted his head and snorted at her. “Life isn't a masquerade, you know. You should try being yourself once in a while."

"I don't—” She snapped her mouth shut and slid into the car. By the time he was seated next to her, she'd recovered enough to glare at him. “You're a fine one to lecture someone about being themselves."

He arched an eyebrow at her as he fastened his seat belt. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on.” It was dark in the back of the car, even though the divider between the back seat and the front was down. He could barely make out her features, frustrated and a little accusatory. “I gave you enough credit to assume you weren't Mr. Corporate America all the time."

It was a rehash of an old argument, one of which she never seemed to tire. “I plan on graduating and getting a job, like millions of other people. Now, why does that make me evil, again? Oh, right.” He grinned mirthlessly. “Because it's not what you think I should do."

"No,” she countered, her voice rising sharply. “It's because you want to work for the people who exploit the supernatural."

He snorted and leaned back against the expensive, supple leather. “Right. What are we doing tonight, Sara? It's not exploitation to go in a ghost's home and poke at her?” He lowered his voice. “Or is it all right in the name of science?"

"We're trying to learn. Maybe if we know more—if we understood—” Her voice cut off. “How can you have that gift, have that power to help people, and want to use it for corporations?"

That was typical. “You don't think I could do a damn bit of good outside of a university, do you? None at all."

"You're twisting my words!” she snapped. “You always do that. You have no idea what I'd give to have your advantages!"

Her voice had risen to an angry volume and, as if in silent reproach, the divider between their seats and the driver slid closed, saving the driver, at least, from Sara's anger.

Reed stared out the tinted window into the darkness. “What do you know about my ‘advantages'?” he asked flatly. “Not a damn thing."

"I know you could help people understand.” Her naive earnestness was almost worse than the righteous anger.

"Understand what, Sara? There's no fundamental truth to it.” Irritation sharpened his voice. “People don't suddenly get simple and easy to categorize just because they died.” He thought of his sister and sighed. “Cognizant hauntings are just as complex as living people."

She threw up her hands. “Fine, whatever. Why don't you set up shop down across the river? You can charge people thousands of dollars and tell them that dear Aunt Margie loves them, and you'll be rich in no time."

"So you're lumping all corporate work in with the charlatans who prey on grieving families?” He gritted his teeth, but forced himself to maintain an even, low tone. “I see nothing wrong with asking a spirit for clarification about his intentions for his estate, or clearing a malevolent haunting from an orphanage."

"Don't be naive!” She leaned forward until her face was mere inches from his. “That's what they tell you now. How much money do you think those orphans have to make it worth your while? You think a place like Para-Tech considers anything other than their bottom line?"

He tried not to think about how green her eyes got when she was being earnest. “I think life is about taking the bad with the good. Everywhere."

"Well they're more bad than good,” she replied, and for the first time he heard something more than intellectual fervor or condescension in her voice. He heard pain. “You're not a bad guy now, but I bet you would be after ten years with people like them."

He stared at her for a moment, running through the possibilities in his mind. Finally, he sighed. “Someone you know?"

"I—” Color rose in her face and she snapped her mouth shut, but she didn't look away from him. That icy facade she wore showed the faintest crack, and her eyes softened. He held his breath, afraid that any movement, any sound might destroy the moment. The woman staring at him in the dim light of the car was the one he caught a glimpse of sometimes, the passionate, brilliant one whose company was so enjoyable when she didn't hate him.

She opened her mouth again, obviously intending to say something, but the car came to an abrupt stop. She pitched forward, and he caught her before she could smack her head on the divider. “Whoa, hey. You okay?"

"Yes, thank you.” She pulled away, and the mask was back. One hand reached up to smooth her hair into place, and she cleared her throat as they heard the driver's door open. “I suppose that means that we're here."

"Either that, or they sent us a crappy driver who just rear-ended someone at a stoplight."

The door opened a moment later and Sara jerked away from him, scurrying to the other side of the car as the driver stuck his head in. He studied them both in silence for several seconds before speaking in a dry, humorless voice. “We have arrived at Villa Montera, sir. Miss."

"Excellent, Jeeves. Thank you.” Reed scrambled out of the limousine, suddenly glad for the space, and arched an eyebrow at Sara. “Want me to get your bag?"

"Yes, please."

He gave her a jaunty salute and followed the driver to the back of the car. All he had to do was get through the night. What Sara Patel thought of him wasn't important. Not in the least.

Walking into Villa Montera felt like stepping back in time.

Sara temporarily forgot about her rivalry with Reed. She even forgot that she needed to be a professional scientist and not an awed visitor.

She swung the beam of her flashlight around the perfectly maintained foyer and gaped. “Holy shit."

Reed concurred with a whistle. “This is the creepiest haunted house I've ever seen,” he murmured, nudging his foot against the gleaming wood of the bottom stair. “It's so clean."

"Are we sure no one lives here?” It certainly didn't look like a house abandoned to caretakers. It looked like a museum or a shrine. A shrine to a time nearly two hundred years gone.

"The caretaker's cottage is a half mile back down the road.” Reed shined his light into a side parlor, where their equipment had been laid out. “Want to take a quick tour before we calibrate this stuff?"

His words dragged her back to the task at hand. “No, I need my equipment.” Especially if she wanted to have any hope of keeping up with him. Some of us don't have natural advantages, Reed.

For a moment, she thought he might suggest she get started while he looked around. He certainly appeared to be eager to see the rest of the house. Then he shrugged. “Okay.” He walked over to the table and picked up a digital thermometer. “Wonder if we'll have any trick-or-treaters."

Sara moved to the table and set her flashlight down with the beam pointed at the ceiling. “Probably not. A lot of people are pretty scared of this place. Might get some thrill-seekers though. Did you lock the front door behind us?"

"No, but Lurch did."

She surveyed the table in front of her with a slight frown. “Didn't the driver say that there would be candles and oil lamps for us? The flashlights aren't exactly meant to light a room properly."

Reed glanced up from the thermometer and nodded at the wall behind her, where a lamp rested in an artful brass sconce. “Got a light?"

Her frown deepened as she patted her pockets and then moved to her backpack. “I should have brought some matches, or a lighter—I thought you smoked...?"

He reached into his back pocket and drew out a disposable lighter. “I quit, but I thought we might need it.” He tossed it to her without looking up, the gesture as smooth as everything else about him.

It was infuriating.

She closed her fingers on the delicate glass that topped the lamp and held her breath as she lifted it. It felt fragile, as if it might really be from the eighteen hundreds. Which would make it some sort of catastrophe if I broke it....

She fumbled with the lighter, but after the third soft click a flame jumped to life. She lit the small wick and watched as the flame rose, filling the room with a gentle glow that utterly failed to illuminate the corners but at least made it easy to move around without tripping over furniture.

Reed tapped her on the shoulder and covered her hand with his. “I'll light the others,” he said, his eyes on hers as he took the lighter back.

Annoyance would have been understandable, but Sara was completely unprepared for the heat that flared between them where his hand touched hers. Warmth flooded her cheeks and her heart jumped.

No, Sara. Every other girl who looked at him might fall into his arms, but she was not every other girl. She was smart, and focused, and determined....

And still holding his hand.

He arched an eyebrow and smiled a little as he glanced down at their joined hands. “Scared, Sara?"

She jerked her hand away with a glare. “You wish."

Reed just laughed. “You're the one clinging to me like the endangered heroine of a Gothic novel.” He placed the thermometer on the polished surface of the table and picked up a digital video recorder. “'Save me, Reed!'” The words were high-pitched and amused, but not mocking. “You'd better watch it. With the level of activity this place is rumored to have, you might have to save me."

"You keep on like that, and maybe I won't save you,” she retorted. She moved back to the table and switched her flashlight off, using the light from the lamp to study the equipment on the table. “Besides, I'm not the one with the flashy magical gift."

He pointed the camera at her. The flashing red light indicated it was on and recording. “Say ‘hi’ to the folks at home, Sara."

She rolled her eyes and reached for the digital recorder. “Can't we at least pretend we're going to be professional about this?"

Reed snorted. “And you wonder why I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a university somewhere. You have to leave your sense of humor at home.” He handed her the recorder and winked. “Or did you not have one in the first place?"

"There's a time and a place, Reed.” She hit the button to start the recorder, then tucked it into her back pocket with the microphone pointing up. Her level of annoyance rose dramatically when she realized she'd been staring at his hands, at his strong fingers and the nimble way they disassembled the electromagnetic frequency meter to check the settings.

"Right.” he agreed. “The time is never, and the place is—” He snapped his mouth shut as a crash sounded on the floor above them. “Did you hear that?” The EMF meter hit the table, and he snatched up another oil lamp and quickly lit it.

She shivered, and an icy feeling trailed down her spine. She took a deep breath and braced herself. “Sounds like something that needs investigating,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Do you use any of this stuff, or are you going to wave your hands and chant?"

He gave her an arch look and handed her the DVR. “If it doesn't work, can you scare the ghosts away with your legendary bitchiness?"

"As long as you stay close by.” There was something soothing in bickering with him. At least it was comfortable and familiar. “Okay, are we bringing flashlights or a lamp?"

"Does it matter?” He picked up the EMF meter and turned it on. “You record, and I'll carry a lamp. Maybe we'll get less reflection with a diffuse light source.” He headed for the staircase without waiting for her to respond.

"Shit.” She scrambled to catch up with the fading light from the lamp. She reached the bottom of the stairs as he started up them and swore at herself again when she caught her gaze admiring the way his jeans hugged his ass. Couldn't you be a little less drool-worthy?

He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Did you say something?"

Heat rose in her cheeks and she swore to herself again. “No. No, let's go."

He shrugged one shoulder and checked the meter as he ascended to the second floor. “The house still hasn't been wired for electricity, so we should have minimal interference.” When he reached the landing, he peered down the hallway. “Where'd it come from?"

"I think the right...” The thermal infrared recorder in her hand painted the world in a rainbow of colors, with Reed showing up in bright reds and oranges. “Pretty cold in here. Ambient temperature's only about sixty-five."

"Could be poor insulation from the elements,” Reed commented, then reached for the first door on the right. It swung open, and he shivered visibly. “Or not."

Sara moved the camera to point at the door and blinked when the temperature reading dropped. “Jesus Christ, it's sixty-one in there."

"It's probably about that outside right now,” he noted. “Maybe a window—” The curtains were still, and he held up the lamp. “Well, there's our crash.” He nodded to a candelabra on the floor beside a small, leather-bound book.

She swung the camera around, but the entire room was cold. “Not picking up anything but cold everywhere. What about you?"

"Not a peep so far,” he admitted, turning around and holding the lamp aloft. He glanced at her and looked away immediately, and Sara could have sworn he was blushing.

She glanced down a second later and realized why. Her shirt was comfortable, but not nearly voluminous enough to hide the fact that the cold—or the thoughts of Reed and his damnably dexterous hands—had hardened her nipples to a rather alarming degree.

She wanted to be offended, but the thought of Reed staring at her breasts was only slightly less arousing than the thought of him actually touching them. And they were alone. In the dark. In a damn bedroom...

"You're a pervert,” she snapped, unsure if she meant the comment for him or for herself.

"Hey,” he shot back, sounding indignant. “I wasn't looking, all right? It's just the ... Well, hell, it's the kind of thing you notice."

Other parts of her body were starting to get interested in the conversation, so Sara scrambled for a retort that wouldn't turn into an invitation. “How exactly do you notice things without looking? You'll have to teach me."

Reed's jaw tightened, and he gave her a pointed look. “Gee, I don't know. How's my ass tonight? You seem to have noticed it just fine a couple of times."

It should have been impossible to blush this many times in ten minutes. “Fuck you."

He took a step closer, his hazel eyes flashing. “You're the one who brought it up, Ms. Patel. And, since you're being so defensive, I have to assume that you have been checking me out all night."

"I—” She took a step back and knocked into the small dresser next to the door. “Jesus, it's not exactly news that you're easy on the eyes, Reed. How many dozens of girls sign up for your classes every semester just to check you out?"

"I don't usually ask that as part of my course evaluations,” he teased, then walked over and flopped down on the brocade-covered bed. “Though if you feel the information might be of value to the department, I will certainly consider it."

Her heart was beating too fast, and she had no idea why. Sure, Reed was attractive. And yes, being stuck in a dimly lit room with him reclining on a gigantic, sinfully appointed bed was enough to make any woman's pulse race...

But I'm here to do a job. I'm here to— “Get off the bed,” she choked out, her voice sounding high and desperate to her own ears. What in hell is wrong with me?

Reed set the lamp down on the bedside table and stretched out. “Nope. I'm going to hang out here for a while. See if anything else happens.” He gave her a wicked look and patted the bed beside him. “Want to join me?"

He thinks you won't, a tiny voice taunted, the same voice that had commented on the tight fit of his jeans earlier. A voice whose judgment was highly suspect...

Sara snapped the camera shut and stalked around to the other side of the bed, determined to prove him wrong. Or something.

He seemed unbothered by her presence or her anger. “Watch the mattress. It's a little lumpy."

She climbed gingerly onto the bed, keeping a good foot between them as she leaned back against the pillows. She opened the camera again and surveyed the room through the viewscreen. “Still barely sixty-two in here."

Reed was silent for a moment, then reached back and rapped his knuckles on the headboard. “Anybody home? Come out and talk to me, why don't you?"

Sara held her breath, watching him in silence. The stillness of the room was almost eerie, the sort of quiet that she was unused to. She'd never realized how much noise the simple electronics in her apartment made, or how accustomed she'd grown to the sound of footsteps in the apartment above her or vehicles rumbling by in the street.

No such sounds broke the stillness of the room. The only sounds were their breathing and the soft pounding of her heart in her ears as she stared at Reed and struggled against temptation.

Sara was watching him again.

Reed shifted uneasily on the heavy bedspread and tried to ignore her gaze as it burned into him. She was impossible to figure out. Every time he thought he had a handle on her, she did or said something inexplicable and confused him once again.

Finally, he sighed and turned his gaze to hers. “What did I do this time?"

It was too dark to be sure, but he thought she might have blushed. “Nothing."

"Then why are you staring at me?"

She jerked her gaze to the ceiling. “You're the medium. I figured if anything interesting happened, it'd be around you."

He smirked at her. “Ghosts don't pop out of my ears, or anything, if that's what you're thinking."

"Too bad.” It was muttered just low enough that he was sure he wasn't meant to hear it.

He decided to let it slide. “Place seems kinda dead, anyway. No pun intended.” He sat up and surveyed the room. “Hey! Medium, right here. Come and get it!"

"Oh, Jesus. Is this how you conduct a professional investigation? Taunting?"

Reed bristled. “Sorry. I'm supposed to be staring at someone's ass instead, right?” He didn't tell her how to do her work, and he sure as hell didn't need her telling him how to do his. “Why don't you let me handle the hard stuff, okay, princess?"

"Princess? Princess?” A balled up fist hit him in the shoulder, hard enough to hurt. “Get the hell over yourself!"

He should have yelled. He wanted to, even ... just not as much as he wanted to kiss her. She was right there, her eyes sparking with anger and something else. Something he could feel curling in his own belly.

Desire.

He wrapped his hands around her shoulders and dragged her closer, his lips covering hers. A muffled sound escaped her, something that could have been protest—but probably wasn't. Not when her mouth opened under his as she tilted her head to the perfect angle.

He slid his hands up into her hair and urged her mouth open with his tongue. “Kiss me, Sara.” It was crazy, ridiculous. She hated his guts, and he wasn't much fonder of her. “I want you. Kiss me."

She moaned, soft and a little desperate, and he heard a faint thud as she let go of the camera and it tumbled off the bed. A moment later her hands were on his shoulders. She clutched at him and returned the kiss, her tongue venturing out to meet his with a timidity that faded when he cupped her breast and thumbed her nipple.

He laid her back on the bed, his head buzzing with passion. He tore his mouth from hers and kissed a path down her jaw to her neck. “You broke the DVR."

"Shut up,” she whispered, her voice fierce. Her hands dragged at his shirt, pulling it up until her fingers brushed across his lower back. “Shut up and touch me."

He rose up on his knees and yanked it over his head, then reached down to tug at hers. “This is crazy."

"I said, shut up.” She lifted her arms over her head and let him pull the blouse away, revealing a surprisingly expensive looking bra edged in pale blue ribbon.

"Nice attitude.” He stretched out over her and guided one strap down her shoulder. “Are you always this pleasant when you're getting lucky?” He licked the hollow of her throat and groaned when she arched her hips up against his.

She dragged her fingernails up his back as she pressed up against him again. “Talk about something sexier than the damn DVR if you want a positive reaction."

"I knew you'd be high-maintenance.” He bit her neck and caught her mouth again, seeking her tongue with his. She wiggled under him, and the insanity of their current situation drifted away to the back of his mind. All he could think of was getting her out of her prim, pressed khakis.

He had no idea how long they kissed. Long enough that she was breathless and panting when she tore her lips away from his, only to move them to his jaw. She licked her way to his ear and bit his earlobe. “Even when I hate you the most, sometimes I can't help thinking about how hot you are. How much I wish you'd pin me against my office door and fuck me."

"Why do you hate me?” He slipped the button on her pants free and pulled the zipper down with a quick jerk.

"Because you're so damn good.” Her underwear matched her bra, tan with baby blue ribbons threaded through the hem. She moaned and curled her fingers around the comforter when his finger traced the edge. “And so damn hot...."

"Yeah? That's a stupid reason.” Reed slipped his fingers under the fabric and down between her legs. “I'm hot and good, and that makes you hate me?” He traced the outer shell of her ear with his tongue. “You're hot. I don't hate you."

She wasn't just hot, she was wet, too. She moaned as his fingers slicked against sensitive skin, the sound ringing in his ears. “I—I'm not as—” Another noise, this one a low whimper as her legs shifted apart to give him better access. “God, who cares."

He did. At least, he should have, but her dislike of him wasn't doing much at the moment to dissuade the throbbing in his cock. “Not me.” He moved his hand, rubbing soft circles over her clit. “Hate me all you want."

"I wish I could.” The words were soft and almost grudging, and swallowed by another moan as she pushed her hips up against his hand. “I got dumped because of you."

That stopped him. “You what?"

Sara groaned in protest and clutched at his back. “Fuck, don't stop, don't—” He felt the prick of fingernails in his skin. “Don't stop—"

"You're going to explain that later.” He delved deeper, sliding one finger inside her. “Later, we're going to talk. A lot."

She hissed out a breath and rolled her hips up. One hand fell to the waistband of her underwear, shoving at it with a tiny whimper that made his heart pound.

"Off?” he rasped, tugging at her pants. “Dammit, shoes—"

"Off,” she gasped. She twisted, managing to get one shoe off before she ended up tangled in her pants. “Help, Reed."

He rolled off her and sat up. He yanked off her other shoe and dragged the khakis down her legs along with the lace panties, then reached for his own belt. After a few seconds, he groaned. “Fuck it.” She'd started to sit up, but he pushed her back down and urged her knees apart, settling his upper body between them.

Sara propped herself up on her elbows and her auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders to frame her face. “Fuck what?"

"My belt,” he groaned. “Too complicated.” He stroked her with his thumb, then bent his head and rasped his tongue over her clit. “Later."

"Oh—oh God—” She let out a throaty moan. “The belt's too complicated but you can still handle oral sex?"

"No belt right now,” he confirmed, licking her again. “I'm busy.” She filled his senses, and he groaned against her skin. “Jesus, I want you."

"Yes. Yes—” Her hips jerked when his tongue circled her clit. “Jesus Christ, Reed, you can do anything you damn well want to me."

"Good.” He raised his head for a moment and grinned wickedly. “Hold on to something."

She fisted her hands around the bedspread as he eased his hands under her ass and lifted her hips. He started slow, barely letting the tip of his tongue touch her, then hummed against her skin. “Do you like it like this, or faster?"

"I—” Her voice broke. “I don't know. Just don't stop."

He didn't. He kept up his easy, teasing pace until she was twisting beneath him, arching off the bed. He steeled himself against the Siren call of her aroused cries and moans as he pushed his finger inside her again and sped the movement of his tongue.

"Reed.” One of her hands left the covers to curl in his hair. “God ... God you're good at this.” She gasped and pulled his hair a little. “Fuck—fuck—"

"Hadn't you heard?” he whispered. “I'm good at everything.” He thrust another finger into her and intensified his efforts, determined to show her just how good he was.

He was rewarded with a broken cry as she arched again, and he groaned when her body tightened around his fingers, tight and wet and God, it would be good to have his cock inside her, to feel that clenching heat around him...

He didn't have to imagine how she'd look in the clutches of release. He crooked his fingers a tiny bit and groaned again when she screamed raggedly and came. Her hips writhed and her cunt spasmed around his fingers and his name fell from her lips in a throaty, hoarse refrain as she rode out the pleasure he'd given her.

When she finally calmed, he kissed a path up her stomach to her breast. He tugged down the edge of her bra with one shaking hand and circled her nipple with his tongue. “Still hate me?"

She whimpered a little, her hands dropping from his hair and moving to tug at his belt. “Maybe, but not as much as I want you. Remember the last time we fought in my office?"

He pushed up off the bed to help her. “When you called me an ineffectual moron with the teaching skills of a single-celled organism?"

Her nimble hands got his belt open and tugged at the button on his jeans. “I wasn't red because I was angry. You were wearing that fucking tight little T-shirt.” Her fingers dragged the zipper down, over the aching bulge of his cock. “I kept thinking about fucking you. Riding you on the floor of my office or bending over the desk and begging you to take me."

"So you yelled at me and called me names.” He rolled away and kicked at his boots, then swore and sat up. “Why didn't you just tell me?"

She cursed slightly behind him. When he glanced back, he found her trying to wiggle out of the tangled straps of her bra. “Because we work together, and I'd just gotten dumped. Rebounding on the hot guy in the office who is my biggest damn rival seemed stupid."

His boots hit the floor, and he tore off his socks. “Right. Better to make me miserable every chance you got.” He stripped off the rest of his clothes and reached out to help her. In seconds, she was naked, too. He lay back on the bed and pulled her on top of him. “That's brilliant."

Sara braced her hands on his chest to catch her balance and stared down at him through the disheveled fall of her hair. The heat hadn't faded from her eyes, but something else overshadowed it—vulnerability. “Fine, you want the truth? I thought you'd laugh at me."

His heart thumped painfully. “You what?"

"You're the hottest man in the department,” she whispered. “Every woman wants you. Why would you be interested in me?"

He grasped her hips and arched up against her, groaning when her wet cunt slicked over his cock. “I'm pretty damn interested in you, Sara.” She shivered, and he did it again. “I would have done it, you know."

"Y-you would have?” She lifted her hips a little, trying to draw him into her body. “I thought you hated me."

One small movement and a quick flex of his hips brought him inside her, and he clenched his jaw for a moment as heat shivered through him. “N-No. But you seemed—"

Her moan cut him off, low and needy as she lowered her body and took him fully into her. She was just as hot and tight as he'd imagined, maybe more so. She rocked down once, grinding her hips into his, and when she moaned again it was his name. “I-I might come again."

He pulled her down against him and held her still. “Not yet. Let me come with you."

Sara whimpered and writhed in his grasp, her expression one of slack pleasure and need so intense it made him breathless. Her hands moved to his arms and she clung to him as she gasped for breath. “Feels—you feel so good—"

"Like this,” he whispered roughly, guiding her hips in a slow roll. She rippled around his cock, and he bit the inside of his cheek. “Fuck."

"I-I can't stop.” Her eyes found his. “I'm going to come, Reed. I'm going to—God, just fuck me, please—please—"

He arched up, thrusting as hard as he could. At the same time, he moved his hand to press his thumb against her clit.

Her reaction nearly undid him. Her back bowed and she ground down against him, pressing her hips into his hand as she moaned. Her moan changed to a whimper, high pitched and breathless, and then he got to feel one of those delicious orgasms as she came again, this time with his cock buried inside her.

"Dammit.” He could feel the beginnings of his own release, a white-hot cascade of pleasure shivering up his spine. Incredibly, it didn't stop, just kept on as he gripped her hips and thrust harder. “Sara—"

"R-Reed—” She swayed above him, still making those choked whimpering noises, and he swore she came again. “Fuck—fuck it just—it isn't stopping."

She threw back her head with another hoarse cry, and her cunt convulsed around his cock, dragged his pleasure higher. He rolled over, bringing her under him, and braced his arms by her head. His control fled, and he drove into her. She shuddered again, and the sustained bliss ignited, dulling every sense not focused on Sara and sweeping him away with a hoarse shout.

Her soft moans filled the air, filled his ears as the world faded away. Being inside of her was perfect, especially when he stilled and felt her trembling arms wrap around his body. His name fell from her lips, hoarse and hazy from pleasure, and he shuddered when the aftershocks of her final climax rippled through them.

"Oh—oh God—"

He couldn't manage to raise his head, so his words were muffled by her damp hair and skin. “What the fuck was that?"

"I-I don't—” She turned her head, and her lips tickled against his cheek. “Either something weird just happened, or I have been doing this very, very wrong my whole life."

He panted for breath. “Ditto. I'm pretty sure what just happened isn't physically probable. For me, anyway."

Her arms tightened a little and he shivered when her fingers brushed against his lower back. Then she froze. “Jesus Christ. I just fucked you in the middle of a house I'm supposed to be investigating.” She sounded disturbed, alarmed even, but she didn't release him. “II don't think that's normal."

"For you, probably not.” Not for him, either. Not usually, anyway, but he was willing to allow that Sara might have been an exception in any case. “You're too uppity."

She let out a little laughing groan. “I am. So why can't I let go of you?"

"Excellent question. Maybe I'm just that damn good."

Sara didn't answer, but another voice did. “You are quite good. I'm rather impressed myself, and I wager I've been around a lot longer than she has."

Reed sprang up, tearing at the bedspread in an effort to cover Sara. “What the hell?” A dark-haired woman stood by the window, her diaphanous white gown barely brushing the floor. “Let me guess."

He'd expected Sara to look at him blankly, or panic. He hadn't expected her head to whip to the side, her gaze going directly to the ghost in the corner. “Holy shit."

"You can see her, Sara?” he asked tightly, not taking his eyes off of the newcomer.

She sat up, apparently having completely forgotten that she was naked. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “I—am I—is that a—"

The ghost laughed. “She's prettier than she is bright, isn't she?"

"You're her first manifestation,” Reed countered. “Cut her some slack."

Sara's mouth snapped shut and she turned that wide-eyed shocked look on him. “Did a ghost just insult me?"

"Yeah. She seems a little crabby.” He studied the spirit. “Celestina Montera, right?"

The ghost spread her voluminous skirts and dropped a proper curtsey. “The pleasure is all mine. Well ... mostly mine.” Celestina winked at Sara. “Lucky girl."

Sara seemed to suddenly recall her state of undress. She yanked the bedspread back up to cover her body, her cheeks flaming.

"Terrific.” Reed rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Did you enjoy the floor show? Is peeping your thing?"

"Quite the contrary.” She drifted over and lifted her skirts so that she could poke at the fallen DVR with one slipper-clad foot. “I'm only here because of you. With the sexual energy the two of you released ... Well, suffice it to say I wouldn't be surprised if every ghost on the block got a bit of a jolt."

"Or maybe just the pervy ones,” Reed suggested, willing himself not to flush.

"Pervy?” She tilted her head to the side. “You find sex perverted? You are rather enthusiastic about it for someone who finds it unappealing."

He snorted. “Sex isn't perverted. Peeping is."

Sara shifted beside him, rose to her knees and crept forward a little. “Are you really Celestina Montera?"

The woman frowned and sat on the end of the bed. “No. Is that what you wish to hear? That I'm an impostor? An actress, perhaps?"

"It would be more logical,” Sara acknowledged as she inched toward the edge of the bed. “I can't see ghosts. My magical powers are practically nonexistent.” She spoke those last words with the same edge of pain Reed had heard in the car.

Celestina snorted, an oddly inelegant sound. “I would venture to say most people could see me right now. I feel rather ... fully charged.” She winked at Reed. “Too bad you broke what I can only presume is a camera. I might be devastatingly photogenic at the moment."

"I have another one—” Sara found her shirt and tugged it over her head then rose to her feet. “Don't—don't go anywhere."

She was gone before Reed could say another word.

Celestina tilted her head to the side. “She's enthusiastic. I'm not sure she has her priorities completely in order, though."

He shrugged. “Sara's into quantifying things. I probably would be, too, if I didn't have a fair bit of inside information."

Her gaze drifted over him, lusty and approving. “I can only think of one thing she should be concerned with quantifying at the moment, and it isn't me, darling. Perhaps you should try a second time."

Reed cleared his throat and ignored her admiring stare. “Or maybe you had something to do with the first time?” he prompted. “C'mon, Celestina. Spill. Did you lay the whammy on us?"

"Oh, maybe a little,” she said in a cheerful voice. “Only at the end though. It wouldn't have been so easy if you hadn't already wanted to touch each other in such a delightfully naughty fashion, though. Surely that can't have been the first time?"

It was none of her business, and he told her so. “Isn't your curiosity a little inappropriate?"

She tilted her head to the side as if he'd asked an odd question. “Do you think I get many visitors? I should think I've earned the right to be curious about whatever I like."

"How?” he asked wryly. “By being dead? Happens to everyone, sweetheart. Doesn't make you special."

Celestina opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Instead fear filled her features and her head snapped toward the door. “Because I'm not alone,” she whispered, her voice filled with a chilling desperation.

A moment later, Sara screamed.

Reed bolted from the bed, his heart in his throat. Few things prompted fear in ghosts, and only one evoked the kind of terror he'd heard in Celestina's voice.

Pure evil.

Sara pressed her back against the wall and struggled to breathe through the terror constricting her chest. The flashlight in her shaking hand did little to penetrate the malevolent darkness gathering in front of her.

It had started as a cool draft, easily explained away by the fact that she'd forgotten to put on her pants. She'd planned to snatch up the camcorder and run back up the stairs, where Reed could get video evidence while she got dressed.

But the batteries in her video recorder had been dead, a frustrating discovery since she knew she'd tested them earlier. After that she'd gotten distracted trying to find a battery that would work, and when she'd looked up again...

Darkness floated in the dim light. She wasn't sure how something managed to be darker than the darkness around it, but there was no doubt that the shadow hovering at the end of the table was distinct.

When she tried to step around it, the shadow shifted, turned to inky blackness that emanated an ill-intent so tangible that even the stunted magic trembling inside of her recognized it.

Instinct drove her back to the corner in an attempt to get farther away. She stumbled into a serving table and fought to stay calm. You're a professional, Sara. You're a professional and you can handle this.

A tendril of darkness wafted toward her. The light from her flashlight wavered, and her heart jumped into her throat.

The flashlight dimmed, and the shadow moved closer.

Sara sucked in a breath, intending to call Reed's name in a calm, unafraid fashion. Then something icy wrapped around her hand, and the flashlight blinked off.

In the darkness, Sara gave in to a moment of sheer panic and screamed.

She heard pounding on the stairs and then Reed rushed into the room. “Sara, are you—?” He stopped short when he saw the darkness. “Fuck."

He was barely visible in the light from the lamp on the other side of the room. Sara shifted to the side, trying to move toward him, but the shadow surged forward to cut her off. She slammed back against the wall with a whimper she couldn't quite contain. “Reed—what—what is it?"

"It's a ghost.” He closed his eyes and muttered something. The blackness lightened a little, then darkened again and grew in a breathtaking surge. Reed's eyes snapped open. “Shit."

"What should I do? Should I—” She fumbled the camcorder open and watched in horrified fascination as the battery indicator on the side slid slowly toward empty. “Holy shit. It's—it's draining everything."

"Sara.” Reed's voice sounded weak, strained. “Sara, run."

Her gaze snapped back to him. He looked pale and his hands shook slightly. The air in front of her grew warmer as the inky shadow withdrew a little. Reed had its attention now—Do big black blobs have attention? came the slightly hysterical thought—and whatever it was doing was hurting him.

Which would make sense if magical aptitude made you more vulnerable. For the first time in her life, Sara gave silent thanks to whatever genetic lottery had handed her a dud hand where magic was concerned. She inched along the wall, her eyes focused on the table that held their supplies. “Tell me what to do, Reed. Tell me how to help you."

"It ... depends,” he whispered. “On what we're d-dealing with.” The blob moved to engulf him. Oddly, he didn't move. “Sara, you have to get upstairs. Ask—ask Celestina..."

He looked ill. She made it to the edge of the table and circled around him, giving the shadow a wide berth. “Are you going to be okay?"

He didn't answer. “Hurry."

The circle of light from the lamp fluttering weakly on the table faded near the foot of the stairs. Sara curled her hand around the cool wood of the banister and groped her way up the curving staircase, trying not to think about what might be happening to Reed behind her.

The darkness around her seemed malevolent enough that she gasped her relief when she made it to the top of the stairs and saw the light spilling from the bedroom. She hurried to the door, struggling against panic when she didn't see Celestina immediately. “Hello? Ms. Montera?"

"I'm here.” The words came from the corner of the room, but it took several moments for Celestina to appear. She looked frightened. “Where is your friend?"

"Downstairs.” Sara crossed the room and started collecting her clothing. “There's something—he said he needs to know what it is."

Sara could have sworn the spirit shivered. “Your friend knows. He must. I saw his face..."

She froze. “What do you mean? Why did he—"

Realization filled her and she swore viciously as she dragged her pants on and fumbled with the button. “Damn it, Reed. He's doing some stupid chivalry shit, isn't he? Tell me what the hell is going on!"

"Hello, Sara.” Reed stood in the doorway, the line of his shoulders tense as he leaned against the frame.

She froze, her hands clenched around the fabric of her khaki pants. He was naked, something that was highly distracting considering the fact that she'd been in no state to admire him while they'd been tearing each other's clothing off. And there was a lot to admire. Her gaze swept up his lean, fit body to his broad shoulders, then finally found his face.

He looked ... annoyed. A little off. She frowned, suddenly unsure. “Reed?"

He took a step toward her. The movement was hitching, nothing like the graceful way he usually moved. Then his gaze drifted past her, and the irritation on his face bloomed into rage. “Celestina."

Sara had never seen a ghost cower before—You've never seen a ghost before, you idiot—but Celestina was doing it now. She shrank back into the corner, her face alight with mindless terror.

"Reed.” Sara swung her gaze back to Reed, and froze when his head jerked in her direction. The man she knew was nowhere in evidence, not in his eyes or in the expression of hostility that twisted his features. She stumbled a step back and bumped into the foot of the bed. “Reed, can you hear me?"

"I see you finally managed the rest of your clothes,” he taunted. “What a Herculean feat it must have been, getting back into those. Especially when we all know your true talent lies in shedding them."

The words were so absurd that they wouldn't have hurt coming from anyone else. If anything, Sara was used to barbs about how unwilling she was to relax and have a little fun. But hearing the snide condescension coming from Reed ... it stung more than it should. Only the fact that it was so out of character let her choke back the instinctive reaction.

"That's not Reed, is it, Celestina?” Though she felt a little guilty for hoping he was possessed...

"Please,” she whispered, her arms folded around her knees. “I never meant—"

Reed blinked and sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes clearing for a moment. Then the anger was back. No, not anger. The fury. “The company you keep is rather damning, Sara."

Sara's mind felt clear as she stepped to the side, placing her body directly between Celestina and Reed—or whoever was controlling him. “You're a damn ghost, Celestina. Can't you just walk through the wall or something? Stop whimpering and get away."

"I can't.” The words were quiet, wispy. “I-I can't."

"Sniveling idiot,” Reed snapped.

"Celestina? Leave the room. Now.” Because he is a whole lot stronger than me, and I really don't want to damage the parts of him I'm just starting to appreciate. “Now, Celestina.” She didn't wait for a reply. Whispering a silent apology to Reed, Sara launched herself at him and bore him to the ground.

He landed flat on his back, sliding a little over the Oriental rug beneath him. His head hit the leg of a chair with a thud, and he fell still, his eyes rolling shut.

Sara blinked in surprise, then groaned as she fumbled at his neck, searching for a pulse. “Jesus Christ, Reed."

She found it, strong and steady under her trembling fingers, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Her fingers slid up to his jaw of their own volition, stroking softly against his cheek. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm going to find some help, Reed, I promise."

He moaned softly, then fell still again.

Sara climbed off of him and surveyed him for a moment. He was six feet of solid muscle, and she doubted she was going to have much success wrestling him onto the bed. She slanted a look at Celestina, and was annoyed to find her still cowering. “God, stop that already and tell me who the hell just took up residence in my friend's head."

Celestina looked up with clear eyes. “My murderer.” Then she faded into nothingness.

Reed ended up tied to the bed.

Literally to the bed, and not on it, because he'd proved just as impossible to lift as she'd imagined. In the end she'd dragged him across the floor and, sending a silent apology to the Montera family, absconded with the drapery cords to bind his wrists together and then to the wide wooden post at the foot of the bed.

The fact that he'd still been naked had made the endeavor feel the tiniest bit obscene, so she'd tugged a quilt from the bed and tossed it over his body. Then she'd settled down in a chair a few feet away to wait.

After what seemed like forever, he stirred, then opened his red, unfocused eyes and groaned. “What the fuck is going on?"

"Reed? Is ... is that you?"

"What have you been smoking, Sara?” He looked up at his bound hands. “Okay, seriously. What?"

She cleared her throat. “You don't remember being a little bit possessed?"

He arched an eyebrow in obvious disbelief. “Is that why my head is pounding like hell on fire?"

"No, that's probably from where I knocked you out by mistake.” When he stared at her she sank a little lower in the chair. “You kept calling me a slut, by the way, which is really rude even if we did have crazy sex an hour ago."

"Jesus.” He shook his head, then winced. “Why would she possess me? We were having a perfectly cordial conversation."

Sara shook her head. “Not Celestina. The ... other thing. You don't remember any of it?"

His blank stare answered her question. “There's—What was it?” he asked urgently. “What did it look like?"

The edge of panic in his voice didn't do much for her nerves. “You said it was a ghost, but I'd never—it was just black. Shadows and ... nothing. But Celestina said it was the person who killed her."

"Fuck,” he whispered, the panic in his eyes flaring into terror. “Did it go? Did you see it?"

"I haven't seen anything since it happened.” Which was annoying, to say the least. So much for my lack of magical ability being an asset.

He stared at her for a second, then yanked at the bonds around his wrists. “Make these tighter. Hurry."

Sara slid from the chair and moved to kneel next to him, her fingers shaking a little as she tried to hide her sudden fear. “I'm not an expert at tying people up, but I thought I did okay for a beginner."

"They're not strong enough, Sara. It—” He shuddered. “It's not gone."

"Oh, God.” She tugged one of the curtain cords tighter. “Tell me what to do. How to get rid of it. If I can get rid of it...” Years of feeling inadequate made her choke on the words as she added a second knot. “God, I'm so fucking useless."

"You're not useless,” he insisted. “I don't know, either. Maybe an exorcism, or ... Shit, I don't know.” He looked up at her, regret etched across his face. “I'm sorry I said those things, Sara. I didn't mean them."

"Shh.” She moved her hands to his other wrist. “Are you sure this isn't too tight? I don't want to hurt you."

"I'll be okay.” He watched her retie the second drapery cord. “You have it, Sara. You have some magic. I can feel it."

"Not enough,” she whispered. Her father's words echoed in her head and she spoke them without thinking. “I might as well be human."

"But you're not."

Frustration rose up as she sat back on her heels. “So what should I do with it?"

Her feelings of helplessness were reflected on Reed's face. “If I knew, I'd have told you already."

She had to tell him. She'd considered the perfect way to do it a hundred times, but none of her practiced words came to her lips. Instead she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head.

"Marcus Frazier.” At his blank look, she twisted her hands together and closed her eyes, unwilling to face the look in his eyes when he heard the truth. “The Vice President of recruitment for Para-Tech."

"What?” he asked, confused. “What about him?"

She took a breath. Took another and tried to fight back the shame and pain that scraped against her even now. “He's my father. My biological father. And an excellent judge of magical aptitude, so I have it on very good authority that I'm a magical dud."

He just snorted. “Frazier doesn't know everything. He was at my fucking apartment with my sister two feet away, staring at him, and he didn't have a goddamn clue."

"That's beside the point.” She opened her eyes and sought his gaze again. “So he's not a medium. He's still a brilliant wizard, and spent the first twelve years of my life putting me through every magical aptitude test imaginable. Do you want to see what I can do? The only damn thing?"

She didn't wait for a response. She yanked the quilt down to his waist with one hand and slapped her palm to the middle of his chest. The tiny trickle of magic inside her flared, and Reed's aura flared in response, becoming visible.

It was the only thing she'd ever been able to do. Touching a person, identifying their powers ... useful in the classroom, but not in the real world. Not unless she wanted to go around groping strangers, since it didn't even work unless the contact was skin to skin.

Reed's aura was strong, which she'd expected. It flared brightly around him, and he grunted in surprise and pain. His aura began to darken, blackness seeping into the clear blue, clouding it. “Sara, the other ghost—"

"No, Reed.” She leaned closer, her other hand going to his cheek. “Stay with me. Fight it, you can do it. I know you can. You're so strong, I can feel it.” And she could, could feel it so strongly she swore she could sense the presence inside him, could almost see the struggle.

"If it gets out...” He heaved a breath and gritted his teeth for a moment. “I don't know where it'll go."

She cut him off with a kiss, desperate and terrified. She could feel his heart pounding under the hand braced against his chest as she pulled back, her face only inches from his. “We're going to get it out of you,” she whispered hoarsely. “Because you have to come home with me and teach me how to tie people up right. So fight it, Reed. Fight it."

He nodded and closed his eyes, grimacing. “I can beat it.” He shook silently, then shuddered with a wrenching cry. His aura was black, inky, and she swallowed past a lump in her throat when he fell still. After several long seconds, the darkness began to clear. “Okay,” he whispered. “I'm okay."

Her hand trembled against his chest as she sat back and whispered silent thanks. “I'm going to untie you now,” she whispered, unsure if he was even awake enough to understand, or if the effort had drained him. “We can leave, Reed. Fuck the grant, fuck all of it."

He whispered something too low for her to hear, so she bent her ear to his mouth. “Car?"

"I'll call.” She finished unwrapping the drapery cord from one of his wrists and then reached into her back pocket and pulled out her slim cell phone.

She shouldn't have been surprised when she found the battery so dead it wouldn't even turn on. “Shit. Shit.” Somehow she doubted the Monteras had installed a landline anywhere in the house.

"How did you do that?” The voice was small and full of wonder.

Sara whipped her head around and found Celestina staring at her. “What?"

Celestina blinked. “You took his Sight."

Sara barely heard the words. Before Celestina had been a wispy figure, nearly transparent and completely intangible. Now, though, now she looked as solid as Reed. As real as Reed, if she discounted the flare of magic around her, a glow that gave off its own light. “You—what happened to you?"

"Nothing.” She blinked again and looked between Sara and Reed. “You took it. His Gift."

It was insane. It was impossible. Sara turned back to Reed and fumbled at the cord holding his other wrist to the bed. “Reed, what the hell's going on?"

He didn't answer her, just mumbled, “We have to leave."

"Shit.” She tore the cord from his wrist and rubbed at it, trying to work circulation back into his hand. “Reed, we can't leave unless you can get up. Can you get up?"

"Celestina...” The voice floated in from the hall, high and feminine. Mocking and vitriolic.

Celestina shot back toward the corner, huddling against the wall as if trying to drift into the lacquered wood. “No. No!"

Sara spun, placing herself between Reed and the door without thinking. “I can hear—” She shot Celestina a look. “Why do you think I have Reed's ... Sight. Gift. Whatever."

Celestina just mumbled, “She can see—"

A laugh interrupted her words, and Sara turned just in time to see a stern-faced woman in a flowing dress sweep into the room. She held a lamp in one hand and a knife in the other. “Isn't this providential?"

Celestina's words came back to her. My murderer. She recognized the energy in the angry ghost, though she'd been nothing more than a shadowy mist downstairs. Whatever had happened, whatever the ghost had taken from Reed—Or what I took from Reed—the woman was visible now. Solid.

Oh God, please don't be tangible. The knife looked sharp and the woman seemed more than willing to use it.

She stepped forward in a swish of skirts. “Three sinners to be punished. Looks as though you'll have company tonight, Celestina.” Her dark eyes swept over Sara. “You again."

"She's insane,” Celestina whispered. “She always has been."

Sara rose to her feet and stumbled, feeling oddly off balance. Then her hands began to glow. She stared down at them, completely perplexed. “What in Hell—"

Celestina drew in a shaky breath. “Banish her. You have his Gift. Banish her."

Sara snarled her frustration. “I don't know how."

"Stupid bitch,” the woman hissed, waving the knife at her. “If you bothered to direct your energies somewhere besides the bedroom, you might have learned something besides how to lie on your back."

Sara blinked, one again floored by the sheer absurdity of the accusation. Her ex-boyfriend had averaged two calls a week to her office, always to chide her for spending so much time wrapped up in her studies. Remembering his angry accusations that she'd do anything to avoid the bedroom ... She couldn't help it. In spite of the danger, in spite of the very real threat, she broke out into borderline-hysterical laughter.

The three of them—two ghosts and her new lover—all stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.

Sara straightened and held her hands out in front of her, watching as the glow intensified. “I don't know what your damage is, woman, but you are in for a serious disappointment. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's directing my energies anywhere but the bedroom."

Reed fought panic and struggled to sit upright as the woman—the ghost who'd possessed him—hissed her rage and lunged at Sara. “Fuck—"

Light exploded in the room, forming an impenetrable barrier a few feet in front of Sara's outstretched hands. The ghost slammed into it and rebounded, flying back toward—and then through—the wall.

Sara teetered dangerously. “Holy shit."

He managed to catch her before she hit the floor. “Will she be back?” he demanded, glancing at Celestina. “How strong is she?"

"Strong. She feeds on fear. And the stronger she is...” Celestina's voice trailed off and she held out her hands. “Do you have any idea how many years it's been since I had the power to manifest?"

"Lots?” Sara's voice sounded high and giddy, which was not unexpected considering how much power she must have channeled through herself to banish the ghost.

"Shh.” Reed stroked her forehead. “Then we won't be afraid, right, Sara?"

She giggled. She actually giggled. “I banished a ghost. I-I took your power instead of just reading it.” Her expression turned to a frown in a heartbeat. “Do you still have it?"

He stifled a hysterical laugh of his own. “Yeah, Sara. I still have it.” He tucked her face into his neck and looked over her head. “If fear strengthens her..."

Sara's breath skittered over his skin. “She doesn't like sex. Can we sex her to death?"

That wasn't going to happen, not with his injuries and their situation and two ghosts watching. “Sorry, but no. I could manage some making out, though."

She jerked back so fast she almost tumbled out of his arms. “I was kidding. That won't work—that—” Huge brown eyes blinked at him, and Sara tilted her head to the side. “You know, the McCrantz and Timbolin paper did theorize that sexual energy was among the most potent sources of magical power, but it proved to be almost impossible to test under any sort of realistic circumstances, especially considering the fact that observing the test added an additional layer of illicit thrill that—"

Reed silenced her with a kiss, ignoring the painful pounding in his head. After a few moments of Sara's mouth under his, he didn't feel it anyway. He drove his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back, nipping at her lower lip. “Go away, Celestina."

Sara moaned in protest and caught his lips again. Her tongue snuck out, traced along his lips and then swept past them, searching for his. Her kiss was clumsy with need, a need echoed in the tiny, choked little noises she made as he slid his hand under her shirt.

"Going,” Celestina squeaked.

When he raised his head again, they were alone. He glanced down at Sara and smirked. “How long do you think it'll take to generate enough sexual energy to piss off our crabby, knife-wielding ghost?"

"You talk too damn much,” she muttered, shifting in his lap until she was straddling his legs. Her hands ghosted over his bare shoulders and caressed their way down his arms. “And not in a sexy, dirty way, either."

"Says the woman whose idea of pillow talk is recapping an academic paper.” He bit her collarbone.

She responded with a breathless moan as her head arched back. “I read a whole series of papers on sexual rites in magic. And on the roles of dominance and submission in shapeshifters."

"Kinky.” He licked her neck and nibbled her earlobe. “Not at all driven to such research by a crush on our Dean, right?"

Her hips shifted until she was rubbing down against him, a stark reminder that he was naked beneath the quilt tossed across his lap. Sara moaned again and dragged his head back, revealing eyes glazed with arousal. “I already told you who I want to bend over my desk for, and it isn't the Dean."

He wiggled his hips under hers. “How charged up do you want to get, baby?"

"I'm feeling pretty charged.” Her tongue swept out, licked her kiss-swollen bottom lip as she let her gaze trail languidly down his body. “I've never done it like that, you know. From behind. Thinking about you behind me like ... God it's hot."

Reed's laugh turned into a moan. “There's a crazy ghost somewhere around here."

Sara lifted her hands, and the air between them sparked with magic as she gathered power again. The look on her face was unspeakable wonder and sheer delight, intoxicating in its purity. “It's magic,” she whispered in a voice full of awe. “We're magic. Give me more, God ... I want more..."

He pressed his palms to hers and twined their fingers together. The glow illuminated her face, and he smiled. “Kiss me, Sara."

Her lips found his, brushed against them and then retreated. “Reed...” She kissed him again, a little firmer, and the magic between them spiraled dizzily upwards. She moaned and licked his lower lip. “Reed."

"I know.” He kissed her again, his tongue curling over hers. “I know."

He'd never felt anything like it. She was inside his aura, warm and sensual, but with the sharp little edges that made her Sara. Her power, usually a tiny trickle, swept through both of them in a flood of magic, wrapping them tighter together with every soft moan or shift of their hips.

He finally pulled his mouth from hers. “Can you hang on to it?” He had no idea how such things were supposed to work.

"I'm full...” Her eyelids drooped as she tilted her head back. She tugged on his hands, pressed them to her breasts with a soft sigh. “So full of magic, but so empty.... I wish you were inside me."

He bit her neck to muffle a helpless groan. “Talk to me when we get out of this mess, baby. We'll stay in bed for a solid week, if you want."

Sara rose to her feet in a move that seemed far more graceful than usual. She was flushed and gorgeous, her prim, proper shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the curves of her breasts. She looked strong, confident ... sexual, and in a way he'd never seen her before.

He followed her, his legs unsteady, and clutched the quilt as he looked around. “Uh ... where are my pants?"

She barely seemed to hear him. Her eyes drifted shut and she turned slowly, and the room seemed to turn with her as power spiraled inward. Then she stopped, facing the front of the house, and the glow around her magnified.

She smiled. “Found you."

Then she was gone.

He cursed and dove over the bed, finally finding his pants crumpled beside it. If she faced the ghost alone ... “Sara, wait!"

Celestina appeared in the doorway and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind her. “She says we have to wait here."

Reed yanked up his pants and shook his head. “Uh-uh. Fuck that. Out of my way."

Disdain filled Celestina's expression. “You can barely stand. You are wobbling in an alarming fashion as it is. Do you want to take the chance that you'll hinder her?"

She was right and he knew it. Dammit. “Look, I can't just leave her out there with ... Who is that, anyway?"

"Katherine Smithson,” Celestina replied in a stiff tone. It didn't hide the fear in her eyes. “She thinks sex is perverted and those who enjoy it are sinners. I enjoyed it with her husband a time or two, and for that she murdered me."

"Terrific,” he groaned. “Not only is she nuts, but she has a damn good reason for hating you."

"Really?” Celestina lifted an eyebrow. “My husband left me alone for months at a time. His wife barred him from her bedroom. Did we really deserve to die, just because we cared little for the idea of loneliness?"

Reed gritted his teeth. “I didn't say anything about you deserving to die. But righteous anger is a little easier to focus than general batshit crazy, so I need to get out there."

A crash sounded downstairs, metal clattering against stone, and Celestina sighed and stepped aside. “I wish you all the luck in the world. Your lover is a little frightening right now, and I have no intention of disobeying her."

"Duly noted,” he said, tugging at the doorknob. “Fuck! Does this lock from the outside?"

"No.” Celestina frowned and reached toward the door. Dark sparks erupted when her fingers touched it, and she recoiled with a cry of pain.

He let his head fall against the door with a stifled shout of anger. “Sara..."

He couldn't get to her. He'd just have to hope the power he'd given her was enough.

Sara felt alive.

Alive was a silly word, hardly adequate description for the power and life that flowed through her, but the limited vocabulary of the English language lacked words to describe most of the feelings that flooded her as she stalked through Villa Montera in search of her prey.

Alive. Powerful—oh, she felt that, too. Powerful in ways she'd never dreamt of, and not all of them magical. The most potent power of all was the one that she had spent so much of her life without, the power of a mature, sexual woman.

Not that she'd ever been prudish when it came to sex, not really. But her mother had raised her with such radically open ideas about sex and sexuality that the only way to carry on an effective teenage rebellion had been near chastity—and maybe a bit of shame.

Now shame was gone. Sara didn't bother to button her shirt or straighten her hair as she followed that dark, angry thread of magic through the foyer and into the formal dining room. Reed challenged her, mentally and physically. He made her feel good, made her body feel alive.

The ghost could just drown in jealousy or disapproval until she choked on it. The sooner the better.

"Not again,” she groaned, beating the hilt of her knife against the table. “Why will humans never go away?"

"Because this is our world, not yours.” Sara stepped through the open doorway and felt her lips curl into a smile. She had power now, real power, power to do something good. To banish evil and save herself, save Reed...

Some tiny part of her that was anything but altruistic rejoiced for an entirely different reason. My father won't be able to ignore me after this. I can rub his nose in how wrong he was, how he shouldn't have left us ... how he shouldn't have left me.

"Of course he left you,” the woman spat. “Look at you. You're useless. You had to drain your lover's power just to find me."

"Sucks, doesn't it?” Sara took a step forward, letting the power gather around her. “Seeing other people feel such joy. Take such pleasure in each other."

"Rutting like animals,” she hissed. “It's beneath us."

"Jealous?"

"Never.” The denial came too quickly, and the woman's hand tightened around the handle of the knife. “Go away. Leave me."

"No.” Power surged in her and she lifted her hands, watched in fascination as they began to glow. “It's time for you to go."

The ghost screamed and ran through the table, her knife held high, heading straight for Sara. The move startled her, made it impossible to gather power quickly enough to repel her as she'd done upstairs. Sara wrenched her body out of the way at the last moment, but not soon enough. The knife dragged across her shoulder, sliced through her shirt and pressed against her skin.

Sara stumbled back with a curse and lifted her hands again.

She'd read dozens—hundreds—of pages of dry, technical descriptions of magical powers. She'd taught fledgling mediums to channel their gifts using her vast theoretical knowledge. None of it had prepared her for the sheer, giddy joy of having power rush through her. She laughed as she focused her energy—Reed's energy, their energy—on the ghost who spun around and raised her knife again. “You made a mistake. Your hurt someone I love. And that really, really pissed me off."

"Die,” the woman screamed. “If you won't leave, you'll die."

Maybe an experienced medium could have done something deft. Muttered in Latin, focused their attack more carefully. Sara had no experience, but she had a lot of power, so much she was overflowing with it. There was no need to worry about conserving it or channeling it.

She shifted her hand until it faced the ghost, and released that pent-up power in one dizzying burst

Considering how much energy it took, she expected something exciting or theatrical. Instead the magic coalesced when it hit the ghost, creating a blinding flash of light that brought tears to her eyes. When they cleared, she was alone.

She swayed, barely catching herself on the counter as the backlash hit her, the dizzy light-headedness from channeling so much power. The faint glow around her faded, leaving her in the dark kitchen. Even as she sank to the floor it was impossible to panic; her body still tingled and the house felt different. Safe. Peaceful.

Sara leaned back against the solid wooden counter and closed her eyes. She wallowed in the feeling of accomplishment as she listened to Reed's feet pounding down the stairs. His voice called her name, worried, and she finally gathered the energy to respond.

"In the kitchen!"

He ran in only moments later, Celestina right behind him. He dropped to the floor beside her and framed her face with his hands. “Are you all right?"

"She's gone.” Sara smiled and pressed her cheek to his hand. “She's gone. I got rid of her."

"Shit. You're bleeding.” He tore at her shirt and pressed his palm to the scratch. “Fuck."

"It's okay. I can't feel it.” She laughed and pitched forward into his arms. “Why didn't anyone tell me it feels this good? No wonder Erin keeps lighting my classroom on fire."

Celestina moved forward. “She was acting this way upstairs."

Reed snorted. “She's high. She's not used to that much power all at once."

"It feels good.” Reed's chest was beautifully bare, and Sara slid her fingers over the warm skin and marveled at the way the firm muscles felt just beneath it. “You feel good."

"Okay, sweetie. Priorities.” He caught her hands. “Where's your cell phone, Sara?"

Why did he want to talk about cell phones when there was so much beautiful skin to be touched? Touched and tasted. She parted her lips and trailed her tongue around his nipple. “Beautiful."

He shuddered, but his hands searched her pockets. “Phone, phone...” He dragged it out and checked the display, then cursed. “Dead. Everything's probably dead."

Sara faintly heard Celestina's soft sigh. “Oh, heavens. I suppose I owe you a favor. You did banish my murderer."

It made her laugh. “You have a cell phone, Celestina?"

The ghost huffed. “No. But I can recharge yours. I just won't have enough energy left to stay manifested."

Reed prodded at the wound on her shoulder. “We can't stay here the rest of the night. She might need stitches."

"No, I'm—Ow!” She flinched back, the warm, fuzzy feeling starting to fade. “That hurts, Reed!"

"Hey, look who's coming down,” he murmured, peering down into her eyes. “Yeah. Welcome back from Never Never Land."

I liked it better in Never Never Land. Her shoulder throbbed, and her light-headedness had started to shift into bone-deep exhaustion. “I don't feel so good."

"Hold up the phone,” Celestina cut in. “Let us dispense with the pleasantries. It was interesting to meet you, I enjoyed your enjoyment of each other immensely, and thank you for rescuing me from eternal torment. Et cetera, et cetera ... Tell them to send me a young, handsome single medium next time, if you would be so kind."

Reed snorted as he held up the phone. “Dirty bitch."

"Very much so.” Celestina shifted her gaze to Sara's, and she smiled as she held her hand over the phone. “You're a lucky young woman, Miss Sara Patel."

"I know.” She watched as Celestina's form wavered slightly, then began to fade. “Thank you, Celestina. I ... I wish you some peace."

"Better to wish me naughty dreams.” With one last saucy wink, the ghost disappeared.

Reed gathered her in his arms and rose. “Do you have Kendrick's home number in your cell?"

"Yeah...” She fumbled a little as she opened it and squinted at the display. “God. Please tell me you don't always feel like this after you do magic. I feel like I haven't slept in a week."

"Hardly.” He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “You build up a tolerance. And I don't usually spend my time banishing evil, just so you know."

She found the Dean's number and jabbed the button with her thumb before holding it to her ear. The soft glow of the view screen cast eerie shadows as Reed moved slowly toward the kitchen door.

Dr. Kendrick answered on the third ring. “Hello? Sara?"

"Hi. Uh.... we need a car. We need—” Concentrating was impossible. She tilted her head back against Reed's shoulder and closed her eyes. “What did we need?"

He snatched the phone from her. “We need to get out of here right now. Yeah, well, there's more haunting this place than Celestina Montera. Or was, anyway. And Sara's been hurt.” He paused. “Yes. Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” He closed the phone with a snap. “He said to call 911 if we needed, or to wait for him."

"I don't need 911. I just need to sleep.” She tucked her face against his neck. “And you need a shirt before Dr. Kendrick shows up."

"Screw it. I've got lots of T-shirts at home."

"Can I—” She hesitated, but she was too tired to be shy. Too tired to be scared. “Can I come home with you?"

His face softened, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah. After we make sure you don't need the hospital. You can stay the night."

She smiled around a yawn. “Man, it's hard work being the knight in shining armor. Do I have to stay awake?"

He chuckled as he checked the front door and then sat down, settling his back against it. “No, baby. You can sleep."

She barely heard the words. Curled in his arms, she pressed her ear to his chest and listened to the soft, steady beat of his heart. Her emotions roiled, but she was too tired to calm them. Joy and fear and rage and pain, desire and need, even a tiny bit of petty triumph. Too much for one girl to handle, especially one who'd just banished an evil ghost with the power of hot, hot sex.

Still, even as she drifted off to sleep, one thought chased her down into the darkness. I told the ghost I loved Reed.

Oh, well. She won't get a chance to tell anyone, considering where she's going....

"Like I said already,” Reed whispered, “I have no comment."

He hung up the phone and stared at the wall jack for a moment before bending to yank the cord free. Sara was still trying to sleep, but the phone hadn't stopped ringing since five in the morning.

Harrison looked up from her spot on the couch. “You might want to turn her phone off, too."

"Good idea.” He snatched it off the coffee table. “Freakin’ vultures. Can't even wait twenty-four hours."

"Reed?” Sara stood in the doorway, sleepy and disheveled and looking really, really good dressed only in one of his shirts. “Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine."

His sister snorted. “You're a damn liar. Why don't you tell her you two are famous?"

He shot her an annoyed look. “Thanks, Harri. Now I don't have to."

Sara frowned and looked from Reed to the place where Harri sat, but her gaze passed over his sister. “I—who are you talking to?"

"My—” A mixture of relief and loss washed over him. “You can't see or hear her."

Sara's frown deepened, then shifted. She didn't look upset so much as perplexed, and she had that look in her eyes that he recognized all too easily. Sara on the trail of an academic puzzle. “Whatever happened last night when I tried to read your aura must have faded."

"Maybe the media will leave you alone, then.” He handed her the cell phone. “I turned it off because of all the calls."

"All of the—” She took a breath and let it out as she stared down at the phone. “Word got out, huh?"

"Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder and tried to smile. “I have to say ... I thought I'd be a lot happier about being a celebrity."

Sara tossed the phone to the couch and moved closer. One arm slid around his waist, and she pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. “The phone's off and no one can find us. Let's go back to bed."

Reed glanced at Harrison, who raised an eyebrow and smirked. “She's awful interested in getting you naked again, isn't she?"

He groaned. “Oh God, please go away."

She shrugged and yawned. “Told you that you liked her."

He dragged Sara back down the hallway. “Bed sounds like a great idea..."

"Even if I'm thinking about trying to steal your power again, just to see if I can?"

Reed slapped her ass. “Not until I figure out whether it was that or the bonk on the head that gave me this double vision."

She turned and fingered the top button on the shirt she was wearing, her lips curled into a teasing smile. “Not even in the name of scientific discovery? Though I suppose it wouldn't be a very practical ability if I had to have sex with you right before using it. That could be awkward."

"Especially at professional gatherings,” he agreed. “I want my shirt back."

She undid the first button and pouted. “I saved your ass last night, and you won't even let me borrow a shirt? Some kind of gratitude.” The second button popped open, revealing the smooth curve of a breast.

His mouth started to water, but he kept his expression mild. “I have a rule about clothed women in my apartment."

"Thank God I never came to your study groups.” The third button tugged free, and the shirt slipped off of her right shoulder. He hadn't had time to enjoy looking at her the night before, but now he could admire the pale skin and the adorable freckles that dotted her collarbone and shoulder.

He clucked his tongue. “I'll have you know, my study groups are awesome.” He reached out and yanked playfully at the hem of the shirt, pulling it lower. It slid down to bare her right breast, revealing one tight, pink nipple.

Sara shivered and rocked forward a little. “But how much do you actually learn?"

"A little.” He leaned down and rubbed his stubbled cheek over her breast. “With you naked in my apartment? Probably not a damned thing."

"Reed—” Her breathless voice and the way it shook just a little shot heat through him, but she slipped her fingers into his hair and tugged his head back. “We—there are things we should talk about. Or at least the most important one."

He straightened and averted his eyes. “What's that, Sara?"

Soft hands framed his face and forced him to look at her. “I never, ever hated you, Reed. I've been jealous of you and I've resented you ... and sometimes I treated you like crap because I wanted to hate you."

He'd guessed as much, so he wasn't surprised by her words. He was surprised by the rush of warmth that flooded him. There was just one thing he didn't understand. “Why?"

"Because...” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I was fifteen the last time my father came to visit me. I didn't even see him again until he showed up here on campus, looking for you. Sometimes I'd look at you, and I'd just see all the reasons I was never good enough."

Reed's heart ached for her, and he slipped his arms around her waist. “I'm sorry, baby. Does it bother you that much?"

Her laugh sounded pained. “He abandoned me. He's ignored me for over a decade. And when he finds out what happened last night ... he's going to come see me. I should tell him to fuck off.” She opened her eyes, and they were filled with tears. “And I don't even know if I can, because for so long I did all this work, all the studying ... everything to be the best just so he'd be interested in me."

He pulled her closer and stroked her hair. “We'll both tell him to fuck off, okay? You can be brilliant and teach for Kendrick, and I'll get a job somewhere in the department. Mopping floors, maybe. And you can forget he even exists."

"No.” Her voice was oddly stern. “No, I'm stupid about the job stuff, Reed. There are places where you could do great things. Just ... not for him. Please, please not for him."

He framed her face with his hands and stroked her cheeks. “I don't want to turn into something you hate, Sara."

"Not possible.” Her smile was self-conscious, but it was real. “Believe me. I've tried."

"Good,” he whispered. “I mean, not good that you tried. Good that you couldn't."

"No, I failed so spectacularly that I accomplished the opposite.” She rocked up onto her toes and brushed her lips against his ear. “Are you going to run if I admit I might love you a little bit?"

His heart beat a painful, staccato rhythm. “Baby, I've been a little bit in love with you since the first time you looked down your snooty little nose at me."

Her cheeks flushed. “I did not do that."

He laughed and kissed her, lingering over the full softness of her lips. “You did, too."

She bit his lower lip and then backed up a step and lifted her hands back to the shirt hanging from her shoulder. “I suppose you still want this back."

Reed smiled and shook his head. “You can keep it. You can keep everything. Now, get back in the bed."

"With a shirt on?” She made a disapproving noise and her fingers freed the last two buttons. The shirt slipped from her shoulders and to the floor, leaving her naked, standing in his bedroom, and staring at him with a heady mix of nervousness and need.

"Well, there goes that fantasy.” Reed grinned as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind him. “Maybe another time."

Sara had never seen anything quite so sexy as Reed grinning at her wearing nothing but flannel pants. Though maybe if he took them off...

She backed toward the bed and delighted in the way he followed, his appreciative gaze sliding over her like a warm caress. “I can put the shirt back on if you want,” she offered when she felt the edge of the bed against her legs.

He was on her in a flash, bending over her. “Like I said ... another time.” He nipped her collarbone. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?"

"N-no.” She closed her eyes and slipped her fingers into his short hair. “You should tell me now."

His cheek rasped over the sensitive skin of her neck. “Should I tell you what I wanted to do the other day when you were all wet?"

It was a stupid question, as far as she was concerned. “Yes. I highly approve of that kind of talking."

He chuckled and drew his tongue from her throat down the middle of her chest as he pushed her back on the bed. “I wanted to peel all those wet layers off of you and stretch you out over your desk. For starters, anyway."

She gasped and guided his lips to the right with fingers curled in his hair. “I would be lying if I said I haven't thought about it once or twice."

"Just once or twice?” He teased her taut nipple with his tongue. “The desk fantasy was one of my favorites. Never thought about dousing you with a bucket of water first, though."

Sara tried to concentrate on his words, but the wet heat of his tongue was far too entrancing. She moaned her approval when he licked across her nipple again, a moan that turned to a low gasp when he drew it between his lips. “Reed—God—"

"Should have thought of it,” he whispered, skipping his mouth up past her jaw to capture her lips again. He kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, as he pressed his body down against hers.

She could kiss him for hours. He was so damn good at it, giving her just enough to make her heart pound, then pulling back a tiny bit and forcing her to chase him. She whimpered in protest every time he retreated and moaned in pleasure when he deepened the kiss again.

Sara had no idea what happened to Reed's pants, but he was naked when he eased her legs apart and nudged his hips against hers. His long, deft fingers tangled in her hair, tilting it back. He smiled down at her, then bit her chin. “I love you a little bit, too, baby."

"I love you more than a little bit.” She wrapped her legs over his and pushed up, urging him to slide into her. “Maybe even a lot."

"Good.” He wrapped his hand around her hip and groaned a little as he pushed into her in a long, slow thrust. “A lot is good."

Her hands trembled against his shoulders as she struggled for breath. “We should have been doing this a long time ago.” She lifted her legs higher, hooking them over his hips. “A long time ago."

Reed moaned in agreement and thrust his cock deeper. “We can make up for lost time now."

"No dumping water over my head—” The words cut off in a moan as he withdrew a tiny bit and thrust back in. “If—if you want me wet—” Another thrust, this one a little deeper. “Fuck, Reed."

"I'll get you in the shower,” he concluded, quickening his pace. “Or do this...” He levered himself up and reached between them to stroke her clit.

Pleasure drove her head back into the quilt, and she struggled against a low cry. She slid her hands to his shoulders and dragged her fingernails lightly down the muscles that flexed with every movement. “More. More, baby."

He bit her shoulder gently and panted against her neck. He slowed his withdrawal from her, but drove back into her even faster.

It felt good, it felt amazing, but the physical sensations were nothing compared to the pleasure of being in Reed's arms, of feeling him shake with need as he drove her closer to the edge. So much time wasted trying to hate him. So much time she could have spent feeling this bliss, feeling this joy....

"I love you,” she whispered, the words somehow far more terrifying without joking qualifiers. She tightened her fingers on his shoulders and said it again, tensed against his response. “I love you."

His answer was breathless and low in her ear. “I love you, too, Sara."

Relief washed over her, relief and a thrilling, dizzy pleasure that she realized a second later was actually climax. Her voice caught in her throat as her back arched and her legs tightened around his hips instinctively.

He made an approving noise and chanted her name, dropping light kisses over her neck. His voice broke and he gasped, his teeth sinking into her skin. The easy pace he'd maintained shortened into quick, hard thrusts that sent another ripple of pleasure through her, and then he froze. A shudder wracked him, and he collapsed onto her.

Sara wrapped her shaking arms around his body, letting out a soft noise of protest when he started to shift away. Six feet of lean muscle pressed her down into the bed, but it was Reed. Aggravating, brilliant, wonderful Reed. And he loves me.

Her breathing slowed and she loosened her grip a little, moving to slide her fingers absently down his back. “You know, just because you're hot and you love me doesn't mean I'm going to stop kicking your ass at everything at school."

He raised his head and blinked at her. “I would be sorely disappointed if you did. That's hot."

"Damn straight it is.” She lifted her head to kiss him, a kiss full of love and promise and just the slightest bit of heat. Then she bit his lower lip. “Don't forget, Professor Mercier, you still have to teach me how to tie people to a bed correctly."

"My teaching philosophy, Professor Patel,” he answered in a low, smoky voice, “has always been one of practical application and experience.” He laughed and winked. “In other words ... I'd buy some scarves, if I were you. Preferably silk."

"I've got a perfect excuse, seeing as my favorite scarf caught on fire.” As she dragged his mouth back to hers, it occurred to her that she should thank Erin for that.

Later. Much later.

How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty urban fantasy. Toss in a dash of whimsy and a lot of caffeine, and enjoy with a side of chocolate by the light of the full moon.

By day, Bree and Donna are mild-mannered ladies who reside in the Deep South. At night, when their husbands and children are asleep, they combine forces to unleash the product of their fevered imaginations upon the page. To learn more about this romance writing, crime fighting duo, visit their webpage at www.moirarogers.com. (Disclaimer: crime fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)