"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.
Chapter Four
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 na**d, 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 na**d 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 f**k is going on?"
"Reed? Is ... is that you?"
"What have you been smoking, Sara?” He looked up at his bound hands. “Okay, seriously. What?"