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I made an angry sound and drifted away from the fireplace. Thinking about the past wasn't doing me any good. It only reminded me of everything I'd lost and everything I could never have again.

Except…perhaps that wasn't entirely true.

Once again, my thoughts returned to the curvy little witch sleeping upstairs in my guest bedroom. Celeste had been able to touch me—something no other living person had managed in over a century. Even Cordelia, with all her considerable magical abilities, hadn't been able to do that. But Celeste had done it without even trying, and that made me wonder something.

She could touch me, yes. But did that mean I could touch her?

It was an interesting question and one I hadn't considered until now. When she had held out her hand to me, I had taken it and felt her warm, soft skin against my own. But what if I had been the one to initiate the contact? Would my hand simply pass through her, as it did with every other living creature? Or would her strange magic allow me to touch her whenever I wished?

There was only one way to find out, of course.

I immediately dismissed the idea. It was late and Celeste had gone to bed. I had no business disturbing her, especially after assuring her that I was a gentleman who would never take advantage of a lady. Going into her bedroom uninvited would be a gross violation of her privacy, and I had no intention of doing any such thing.

And yet, the question continued to bother me.

What if she could free me from this miserable half-existence? What if her magic was the key to restoring my spirit to my body? Surely, I ought to know as much about her abilities as possible if we were going to attempt to break the curse. It would be foolish not to investigate every possibility, wouldn't it?

Besides, I ought to make certain that she was comfortable. After all, she was a guest in my home, whether I liked it or not. Perhaps the fire in her room had gone out, or perhaps she was cold. She had been dressed in those ridiculous thin garments, after all, and she had no proper nightclothes with her. What if she required another blanket?

Yes, that was it. I was simply going to check on my guest and make certain she had everything she needed.

Having convinced myself of this, I drifted back up the grand staircase and along the second-floor corridor to the guest bedroom. I stopped outside the double doors and listened carefully.

At first, I heard nothing. Then I caught the faint sound of steady breathing coming from within. Apparently, Celeste was already asleep. That was good, wasn't it? It meant she was comfortable and had no need of my assistance.

Well, then, there was no reason for me to go inside.

I remained where I was for a moment longer, debating with myself. Really, I ought to leave her alone. She'd made it quite clear that she didn't appreciate my company, and I doubted she would be pleased to discover me hovering over her bed in the middle of the night.

But then I thought of how her hand had felt in mine, and before I quite knew what I was doing, I was drifting through the heavy wooden doors and into her bedroom.

The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers, casting a soft, rosy light over the room. Bartleby was curled up in the middle of the enormous bed, snoring softly with his paws tucked beneath his chin. The little beast looked perfectly content, which was more than I could say for myself. I wondered how he could sleep so soundly when there were so many important things to be considered.

And then I saw Celeste.

She was lying on her side, facing the dying fire, with one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her long brown hair was spread across the pillow, the silver streak over her brow gleaming in the soft light. The heavy covers had been pulled up to her shoulder, though I could see the bright orange garment she had been wearing earlier peeking out above them.

She looked so peaceful in sleep that I hardly recognized her as the same argumentative woman who had spent the evening snapping at me and questioning my authority. Her pretty features were relaxed, and her full lips were slightly parted as she breathed softly.

Good heavens, but she was lovely.

I had thought her attractive earlier, of course, but there was something about seeing her like this that made my chest ache in a way I hadn't experienced for a very long time. She looked warm and soft and entirely too tempting, and for one mad moment I wished I could climb into the bed beside her and gather her into my arms.

Which was ridiculous, of course. I was a ghost and she was a witch I had only just met. Furthermore, she was a guest in my home, and I had absolutely no business entertaining such thoughts about her.

But I couldn't seem to stop myself from drifting closer.

I came to a halt beside the bed and looked down at her. Her cheek was flushed a delicate pink from the warmth of the fire, and a few strands of dark hair had fallen across her face. I wondered what she would look like if she opened her eyes just then and smiled up at me instead of glaring and telling me to stop being such a grouch. Probably she would be even more beautiful.

Damn it all, I was being a fool! I ought to turn around and leave immediately, before I did something I would regret.

But instead, I found myself reaching down towards her.

Just one touch, I told myself. I only wanted to see if it was possible. After all, if her magic worked both ways, that was something we needed to know, wasn't it? Of course I had to be careful—the touch of the dead—or half dead in my case—to the living, could cause unsettling dreams. But I told myself I wouldn’t touch her much—I would just make certain the magic worked both ways.

Very carefully, I extended one finger and brushed the back of it against her soft cheek.

And I felt her…sweet merciful Ancients, I actually felt her!