For a moment he slipped into my mind, and I felt myself go soft against him at the recognition of his need. I hadn't forgotten the torment I'd felt both in the dream about him and in the inn, but I had assumed it was greatly exaggerated in my mind. Now I knew it wasn't; Christian was a deep well of desperate need, the need for the purity of love to salvage his soul, to pull him from the abyss of anguish and despair that filled him. I closed him out of my mind more as a self-preservation tactic than anything else, and rallied my strength to resist the lure of his lips just as his mouth closed on mine.

This time there was no softness in him. He was all dominance, quickly overpowering any resistance I had until I had no choice but to allow him into my mouth. He was consuming me, overwhelming me, and I knew in a desperate part of my mind that if I didn't do something, he would take everything I had and leave me empty, drained, a shell of what I had been. Struggling was not an option, nor was I sure I could. Even as I feared his control, pleasure burned bright in every touch of his lips and tongue. Instinct saved me, instinct and the desire I felt that he would not allow me to deny. I melted against him, tempering his hard body with my softness, feeding his power with my own. Miraculously the kiss changed from dominance to something erotic, a joining of our desires that quickly went beyond a mere touching of mouths. Without even thinking, I took his pain into my body and returned it with warmth.

He tore his mouth from mine, suddenly releasing me.

I swayed against him for a minute, then regained control of my body. "All right," I said, turning away so I wouldn't have to see the triumph in his eyes. "You've made your point. You're the world's champion kisser. Fine. I'll have a plaque made up in the morning. Now will you just leave me be? I have work to do."

I gathered the necessities and eased myself down on the floor. The cat was curled up underneath the armchair, sleeping. Christian remained silent as I traced a circle with chalk. I finally gave in and glanced at him. He stood watching me, the expected look of triumph strangely absent from his eyes. Instead he looked almost… vulnerable. I quickly returned my gaze to the circle. An arrogant, dominant Christian I could deal with. One that looked as shaken as I felt by our kiss was a beast of a different color. I ached, I positively ached to comfort him, to take him into my arms and kiss that look of sorrow and pain from his face, but I knew well how a man of his domineering mien would react to such a gesture—he would take my heartfelt offer and twist it into a way to control me. Never again, I vowed, and traced the wards of protection on my left hand and over my right eye.

"What are you doing?"

His voice skimmed my skin like a sultry breeze. I reinforced the circle, worried that his presence had distracted me enough to leave the circle open (and thus useless). "I'm a Summoner; hence, I'm Summoning."

"Why?"

Evidently he had recovered from our kiss. I hadn't. I was still quivering inside, but not so much that I couldn't slide him an annoyed look. "It's what Summoners do. If I'm boring you, feel free to leave."

He leaned back against the wall again. "My questions was not why do you Summon, but why are you doing it now? I thought you tried earlier and only raised the cat?"

I thought about saying something about persistence and not giving up, then figured he'd turn that against me by crowing over the effect he had on me. Instead I opened up the dead man's ash and tried to clear my mind. "I'll continue to try to Summon the human ghost until I have to go home."

Before he could speak I said the words of Summoning, opening the door in my mind to all possibilities, sprinkling the ash liberally over the circle. As before it floated all over, some in the circle, other bits drawn by my warmth to float around my face.

"That looks rather messy. Isn't there a more efficient way to Summon a spirit?"

"Comments from the undead are entirely optional," I told him as I waved away the ash, peering into the circle. Just as it had all four times at the inn, the circle wasn't doing anything. "Dratted"—I pinched the bridge of my nose—"ash. Gets everywhere. Oh, no, I think I'm going to… to…"

I sneezed. When I opened my eyes Christian was standing next to me, staring intently at the circle. Within its confines the air gathered itself, slowly turning opaque, until the form of a short, hefty woman in a bathrobe, with a headful of fat sausage curls, emerged from the mist.

I stared up at the ghost, the hairs on my arms standing on end as I realized that I'd done it; I'd Summoned my first human ghost! All by myself! Woobah!

A tanned hand (how did a vampire get a tan? Were there undead tanning salons?) appeared in front of my face. I took it and allowed him to pull me to my feet.

I looked at Christian. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and looked back at the ghost. I looked at her, too. She was dressed in what looked suspiciously like my comfy green bathrobe, and a neck-to-ankles flannel nightgown. She must have been sleeping when the hotel was bombed.

I grounded the spirit and opened the circle. "Urn… hello. I take it you're the lady who died in the fire."

She stretched and patted her hair. "Well, I don't remember a fire, but I was staying in this room. Esme is my name, Esme Cartwright. And you are?"

"My name is Allie. Allegra," I corrected, sliding a glance toward Christian. "This is Christian Dante."

"It is the utmost pleasure to meet you, madam," he said, bowing in the deliciously foreign way he had.

"Oh, my, a Dark One!" She tittered at Christian and made what I'd have called (if she hadn't been dead more than fifty years) eyes at him. Then she turned back to me with a perky smile. "You have excellent taste my dear. He's quite easy on the eyes."

"Oh, he's not mine," I protested.

Christian wrapped one of his steely arms around me and hauled me up to his side. "We are trying to work out the exact nature of our relationship."

"No, we're not," I said, elbowing his side until he released me. "There is no relationship and nothing to work out."

"Oh, a lovers' spat!" Esme said happily, clapping her hands. I glared at her. "I have several young friends, and all of them say I give the best advice. You must turn to me in your time of need, child."

It was a battle to keep from rolling my eyes, but I won. Eventually. "Thank you, Mrs. Cartwright. I'll keep your offer in mind."

"Esme, dear," she gently corrected me. "First names are so much more convivial, don't you think? And now you must tell me what I'm doing here, for the last thing I knew I'd just decided to take a long sleep after that horrible episode with the newlyweds who took umbrage when I popped in to offer them a bit of helpful advice."

At last! The moment I'd been training for, the moment that I'd mentally rehearsed for long, long hours. I cleared my throat and ignored Christian's disturbing nearness as best as possible. "I have called you forth to further mankind's knowledge of the life that is found after death. With your permission, I will take a few readings, ask you a few questions, and then it will be my pleasure to Release you and send you on to your next destination. If you feel you have any tasks left you would like accomplished before you move on, I will be happy to undertake them to the best of my abilities. Be aware, however, that you passed over more than fifty years ago, so the likelihood of my being able to contact loved ones is very slight."

It was a lovely speech, it truly was, delivered from the heart, but Esme didn't seem to hear much of it. The cat, evidently disturbed by the Summoning, emerged from under the chair. She took one look at it, then rushed over and scooped it up in her arms, squealing and kissing it and spinning around as she clasped the poor thing to her ample breast. "Woogums! Mummy's widdle Woogums!"