From what he had read, what he was about to attempt required no telepathic ability whatsoever, simply a connection to the dead. There were risks, but he was prepared.

Staring at the candles, he tried to clear his mind. At first he failed, dwelling on Eleisha's suddenly manifesting psychic ability, wondering how this came to be, wondering if the same thing could happen to Philip, whom he'd terrified and driven into solitude. What would Philip do if he ever gained power over Julian?

Even worse than Eleisha.

But Julian forced himself into a state of numb emptiness as he focused on the candles, on Mary Jordane's name, on the image of her face, on achieving a connection.

"Mary Jordane," he said aloud, and then he closed his eyes, picturing the middle plane of existence, the in-between place where lost souls wandered.

"Mary Jordane," he repeated more loudly. "I ask you to come to me. Hear my voice."

Julian never made requests. He gave orders. This practice of asking her to hear him felt alien.

At first, nothing happened, but he continued focusing on the image of her face, and he called her name over and over. The temperature in the room began to drop. He had built no fire, so it was cold already, but Julian could feel the difference. He didn't need to look at the thermometer.

Then he sensed a presence-nothing concrete, just a feeling. He opened his eyes, staring at the three candles, keeping everything from his mind except for the image of Mary Jordane, but he did not ask her to manifest yet.

"Are you there?" he asked without looking up. He needed to maintain his focus.

No one answered.

"Are you Mary Jordane?"

"Ask me to show myself and you'll see," said a female voice, sounding as if she was standing in the room.

He raised both hands. "Not yet."

Several of the texts had warned him that malevolent ghosts could masquerade as the person being called-seeking entry into the world of the living. He did not fear ghosts, but he wished to be certain he'd found Mary.

"How did you die?" he asked. "Let me feel how you died."

Nothing happened and the moments kept ticking.

Then he began to feel ill, nauseous and dizzy. The sensation was made worse by the fact that he had not felt such things for two hundred years. The floor rushed up, and he narrowly avoided hitting the nearest candle. He was sick, floating on wave after wave of nausea, and then he grew tired.

"Stop," he said hoarsely. "Stop now!"

His head cleared. He had found Mary.

"Show yourself!" he ordered. "I call on you."

The air in front him, just across the edge of the carpet, wavered and began to fill with color. A few seconds later, a transparent girl was staring back at him in surprise.

She looked younger than sixteen, skinny with a hint of budding breasts, wearing a purple T-shirt and a black mesh overshirt, torn jeans, and Doc Martens boots.

"I can see you," she gasped, as if she could still breathe. "How did you do that?" Her accent was common, like typical American trash. He was repulsed by the sight of her. He would not employ one such as her to scrub the floor of his kitchens.

She turned around in awe, taking in the study. "I'm here. I can see everything."

Now that he had succeeded in summoning this spirit, he was somewhat at a loss. The last thing he wanted to do was speak with her. He did not even care to speak with underlings here at the manor and preferred to pass down his orders in writing.

Mary stopped, looking at the shelves and candles and the antique table. "Wait… Where am I?"

"You are in Wales," he managed to answer.

"Wales? Where is that?"

Good God.

"They told me," she babbled on. "They told me if you called me to appear, I could cross over to this side. I never thought…" She faltered, taking in the sight of him.

"Who told you?"

"The others. They were jealous when you called my name."

But her words were spoken somewhat absently as she moved closer to him, studying him. He cared little for his own appearance anymore. He was a large man with a bone structure that almost made him look heavy. His dark hair hung at uneven angles around a solid chin. His feet were bare tonight. He wore black slacks and a loose shirt that hadn't been laundered in weeks.

"I don't know you," she said, sounding like a pensive, confused child. "The others… they thought maybe my mother hired someone to find me. Someone to help me cross over. And that's why I didn't know your voice. I didn't think I'd ever get back."

As she said this, he knew what to do.

"I require your services," he said.

"My what?"

"You're from the Seattle area. I need you to find out if someone is still there, and tell me where she is, what she does, where she goes."

Mary's demeanor changed, and she looked him up and down dismissively. "I don't think so. I'm going home."

Finding this conversation more and more difficult, he said, "Yes, I will let you go home eventually. But you must do as I say first."

Her transparent features twisted, making her nose stud rise slightly. "Screw that. I don't even know you."

He wasn't certain his gift would work on a ghost, but he let the aura of fear flow outward, filling the room. "I summoned you here," he said coldly. "And I can send you back with a word. Would you like to go back?"

Deep satisfaction washed through him at the sudden anxiety on her face.

But she surprised him by asking, "Is Wales a long way from Seattle?"

"Yes."

"Then how do I get there?"

He blew out the candles and stood up. "You're inside a stone manor, a large dwelling. Wish yourself outside, somewhere on the grounds."

She looked at him disbelief. Then she glanced away and her expression grew intense. She vanished.

He waited a few moments before attempting the most crucial part. If he could not succeed in his next attempt, the entire summoning was a failure.

"Mary Jordane!" he called loudly.

She instantly appeared before him. Her mouth fell open. "What the…?"

The sense of relief was sweet. She was his slave.

"Were you standing outside the manor?" he asked.

"Yeah." Her eyes were wide.

"I called you. I can call you to my side from anywhere at any time. And I can send you back to the lost souls, to the in-between plane, and leave you there forever. Do you understand?"

She didn't answer, but her eyes were locked into his. The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in.

"But if you serve me," he went on, "if you do as I ask, when my task for you is finished, I will release you and let you remain in this world. You can haunt your family, your old school, anyplace you please, and remain here among the living. Is that what you want?"

Slowly, she nodded. "Just how am I supposed to find someone I've never met in Seattle?"

Was she attempting to stand up to him? He knew that others might admire her spirit. He did not.

"Because ghosts like yourself are drawn to dead," he answered. "Eleisha is undead, a vampire."

"Like you?"

"Yes."

At least the girl wasn't completely stupid, and she appeared to be catching on more quickly than he initially expected. She must have sensed he wasn't alive almost as soon as she materialized.

"You simply have to focus upon a landmark in Seattle that you already know," he said. "From there, I think you'll be able to sense her."

"Someplace like the Seattle Center?"

"Yes."

"Okay… I know where that is. And if I do what you say, you won't send me back? When I'm done, I can just go home?"

If it were possible, he would have smiled. She might be trash, but she would serve him.

Three nights later, Eleisha stood between Wade and Philip in northwest Portland as they all gazed upward.