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I closed my eyes, snuggled a little deeper into the warm bed, and listened to the crackling fire and Bartleby's soft snores. In a few hours, I would wake up in my own bed, in my own house, and everything would be just as it had always been.

Of course it would–I was one hundred percent sure of it. Well, maybe ninety-nine percent. At any rate, I needed to get some sleep.

I drifted off, almost sure I would wake up in my own bed tomorrow.

6

GARRIK

I had barely left the guest bedroom when I began to regret allowing that woman to stay. What in the devil had Cordelia been thinking, sending me such an argumentative, obstinate creature? And an untrained witch, at that! As though I hadn't suffered enough in the past hundred years, now I was expected to put my fate in the hands of a woman who didn't even know how to cast a spell!

I drifted down the grand staircase, which was something I often did when I was feeling restless. Not that I had anything else to do, of course. There were only so many things one could do when one was trapped in one's ancestral home, unable to leave the grounds or interact with any living creature.

I'd tried reading to pass the time, but even the vast library my grandfather had collected over the years had begun to lose its appeal. I knew practically every volume by heart now and there was no way to get any new ones. The last book I'd read that I hadn't already read a dozen times had been brought to me by Cordelia, and that had been over five years ago, before she passed into the Great Beyond.

Damn, but I missed that old woman! She'd been a meddlesome, opinionated creature who never hesitated to tell me when she thought I was wrong, but she'd also been my only real friend for many years. She had tried everything she could think of to break my curse, spending hours pouring over ancient books of magic and attempting spells which invariably failed.

I had often lost my temper with her, but she'd never held it against me. She'd simply told me to stop growling and behave myself, much as that infernal cat of hers had done earlier this evening.

Thinking of Cordelia made me think of the woman she'd sent me, and I felt my temper rising all over again. Celeste Kinderson—what kind of a name was that, anyway?

I supposed it was pretty enough, but the woman who bore it was absolutely maddening! She argued with everything I said, insulted my home, and had the audacity to tell me that my haunting techniques were ridiculous. As though she knew the first thing about being a ghost!

Still, I had to admit that she was a lovely creature. Though her mode of dress was certainly peculiar, she had the kind of generous curves I had always admired in a woman. I had never cared for the thin, fashionable ladies who had been so popular in my youth. No, give me a woman with a full bosom and rounded hips—someone a man could hold in his arms without feeling as though she might break in two if he squeezed her too tightly.

Not that I was going to be holding anyone in my arms anytime soon, I reminded myself sourly. I was a ghost, or the next thing to it. Though my body still existed in this house, it might as well have been buried six feet under for all the good it did me. A hundred years trapped between life and death had taught me that hoping for things I could never have was a fool's errand.

And yet…I raised my hand and looked down at it. My fingers were as pale and transparent as they had been for the past century, but I could still remember the sensation of Celeste's smaller hand clasped in mine. The warmth of her skin, the softness of her palm, the way her little fingers had curled around my much larger ones—it had been the most extraordinary feeling imaginable.

I had almost forgotten what it was like to touch another person…to feel the warmth of living flesh against my own. Even the slap she'd given me had been a revelation. My cheek had stung for several minutes afterward, and I had found myself wishing the sensation would never fade.

Damn it all, what was wrong with me? Was I really so desperate for physical contact that I was willing to beg a complete stranger to slap me across the face?

Apparently so, because I had done it, hadn’t I?

I drifted into the grand reception hall, where the dying fire in the enormous hearth cast long shadows across the furniture. This was the room where my dear Lucinda and I had spent so many happy evenings together. We had loved to entertain, and there had been a time when Blackthorn Manor was known for its wonderful parties.

Lucinda had been a marvelous hostess, always laughing and smiling and making certain that everyone had a good time. I had been content to stand beside her, greeting our guests and watching the way her eyes sparkled whenever she was enjoying herself.

She had been a lovely woman, my Lucinda. Not especially beautiful by the standards of the day, perhaps, but beautiful to me. She had been warm and kind and had never hesitated to tell me when she thought I was being an ass. Which, according to her, had been fairly often.

I smiled a little at the memory. I wondered what she would have thought of Celeste Kinderson. Probably she would have liked her. The two of them would have gotten along famously, I imagined, considering how much they both seemed to enjoy telling me what to do.

My smile faded as I remembered the day Lucinda died. It had been a terrible blow, losing her after so many happy years together. We had never been blessed with children, though we'd both wanted them, and after she was gone, the house had seemed terribly empty. I had thrown myself into my duties as Guardian of the Gateway, trying to fill the long, lonely hours with something useful.

And then, ten years later, that damned witch had come to my door.

I could still remember her face as clearly as though it had happened yesterday. She had been a pretty young thing with long golden hair and eyes red from weeping. She'd come begging me to open the Gateway so that her husband's soul could return to the land of the living.

I had felt sorry for her at first. How could I not? I knew what it was to lose someone you loved. But when I explained that opening the Gateway would allow all manner of dangerous spirits to cross the Veil, she'd refused to listen.

She had insisted that I was being cruel—that I had no heart and no understanding of what she was going through. When I'd told her that I'd lost my own wife, she'd accused me of being a cold, unfeeling monster who had probably never loved Lucinda at all!

That had made me angry enough to throw her out of the house, which I had done. Unfortunately, I'd underestimated the little witch's power. She'd returned on the night of All Hallow's Eve and attempted to force open the Gateway herself.

I had stopped her, of course. No one was going to endanger the entire town of Hidden Hollow while I was its Guardian! But before I could send her away, she'd cast that blasted curse on me, tearing my spirit from my body and leaving me trapped between the living world and the land of the dead.

I'd spent a hundred years wishing I could get my hands on her again. If I ever did, I'd have a few choice words to say to her, that was certain!