Oracle's Moon

10

Grace was busier than ever on Thursday and Friday. Aside from the usual activity involved in daily caretaking for Chloe and Max, getting ready for a group work day involved as much work as the work day itself did.

The morning after her talk with Khalil, she woke up before the kids did, with a course of action already settled in her mind. The ninety-day grace period for a new Oracle was a custom, not a law of physics or magic, or some kind of sacred covenant with a god. It wasn’t even a bargain, and like calling up the Power in the daylight, Grace couldn’t think of a single reason why she couldn’t change it.

Isalynn LeFevre, acting in her capacity as Head of the witches, had been the one to order the babysitting roster staffed by volunteer witches. A tall, striking, African American with an ageless beauty, Isalynn looked like she could have been thirty, but Grace guessed she was closer to her midfifties, for she was not only one of Kentucky’s longest-serving, most popular senators, she had also been Head of the witches’ demesne for over twelve years.

“After all,” Isalynn had said to Grace at Petra and Niko’s memorial service, “the Oracle is not only one of our demesne’s resources and strengths, but it is our heritage too, and it is our responsibility to support you.”

Before Grace had time to rethink things and back out of her decision, early on Thursday morning, before the children got up, she sent an e-mail to Isalynn LeFevre’s office.

Dear Senator LeFevre,

Due to unforeseen complications, I will be unable to take petitions as the Oracle for at least another month, and I ask that you put out a public notice to this effect. I will also post a sign at the end of my driveway. I’m sorry for any inconvenience this may cause to petitioners.

Also, while I am grateful for the roster your office put together, I will require babysitting references from each person on the list before resuming my duties.

Thank you for your continued support.

Best regards,

Grace Andreas

She sat in a clench for several minutes afterward, her awareness locked on the Power that rested so deeply inside. If she was wrong, it might still abandon her and go to Chloe. I claim you, and I will hold on to you, she said, as she called it up. You will stay with me. You’re mine.

As it had before, the dark sea welled up readily at her command, still immense, still dangerous, but no longer bucking against her control.

Okay. She relaxed slowly, and the Power settled back into place again. Another hurdle accomplished. She turned her attention to the children and breakfast.

She had expected an e-mail reply from one of LeFevre’s aides, but when the phone rang at twenty after eight, the caller turned out to be Isalynn herself. “Hello, Grace.” The senator had a strong, warm, confident voice. “I hope I’m not calling too early.”

“Good morning, ma’am,” Grace said. The Head of the witches’ demesne did not have any other honorific. “Or should I say Senator?”

“Please call me Isalynn,” said the senator. “I was concerned when I read your e-mail. How are you and the children doing?”

Grace took a deep breath. She had no idea how she was supposed to answer. She said, cautiously, “It’s been challenging.”

“I can imagine,” said Isalynn. “You have had a lot on your plate. My office will put out a public notice for you later today.”

“Thank you.”

“In the meantime, is there a problem with the roster? It was my understanding that all the names you were given had already been cleared.”

“Yes, there has been a problem,” Grace told her bluntly. “The last babysitter looked through my papers and got on my computer without my permission. Maybe there’s some kind of innocent explanation for that, but I’m not comfortable with what happened, and I don’t want her back in my house. Without any better information, I also don’t feel good about calling anybody else right now.”

“I see,” said Isalynn. The warmth in her voice dropped to an icy, clipped anger. “What an unfortunate thing to have happen. I apologize, Grace, and I promise you, I will look into this issue personally. Who was it that behaved so inappropriately?”

I am a vindictive bitch, Grace thought, and I’m going to hell for enjoying this. “Therese Stannard.”

“Thank you,” said the senator. “I will follow up with you soon. Is this why you feel unable to take petitions?”

“It’s one of the main reasons,” Grace confessed. “I’ve also experienced some shifts in the Oracle’s Power itself. I think I’d better take some more time to work with it before I expose other people to it.”

“Shifts in Power,” Isalynn said slowly. “Interesting. Did you know that I’ve consulted with the Oracle several times through the years? I petitioned your grandmother when I first thought of running for senator, and then again when I became Head of the witches’ demesne. I also petitioned your sister when she became Oracle five years ago.”

“I had no idea,” Grace said. Max had climbed to his feet while holding on to her leg, and she ran her fingers gently through the soft tuft of baby-fine hair at the top of his head. “But then you know we’re supposed to keep petitions confidential.”

“Yes.” The anger in Isalynn’s voice had been replaced with warmth again. “Your sister had quite a different voice from your grandmother. I think each Oracle acts as a different lens for the Power. You will bring your own strengths and abilities to the experience.”

“Seems like it, anyway,” she muttered, scratching the back of her head. Grace hadn’t interacted much with Isalynn. Not only was Isalynn much older, but she was a true Power broker on the world stage, and they didn’t move in the same social circles. But Grace really liked her.

“I intend to petition you too, as soon as you are able,” Isalynn said. “In fact, since your three months were up, I was going to petition you next week.”

“I see,” she said, biting her lip. What if she didn’t take any more petitions? What if she could quit and still hold on to the Power? What would she do with her life then? She had the impulse to confide in the other woman but held back for now. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Isalynn told her. “Just keep in touch and let me know when you’re ready for consultations again. Since you’ve had Power shifts, it might be good for your next consultation to be with an experienced witch, anyway. I can provide that for you or get someone else to do it, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Grace said, startled at the thought. “I think that might be a really good idea.”

“In the meantime, I’ll look into the issue with the roster and get back to you.”

Grace hung up thoughtfully after the call ended. She and Max looked at each other. She said to him, “That conversation didn’t suck.”

“Fffft,” he said.

“I agree,” she told the baby as she picked him up. “You are a wise young man.”

He put his head on her shoulder and patted her.

Later that morning, she finally turned her attention to washing a load of her own clothes, which was when she rediscovered the envelope in her pocket from Don and Margie. With Khalil’s arrival and her unexpected clash with Therese, she had forgotten all about it. When she opened the envelope, she found five twenty dollar bills inside. She bit her lip as she considered the cash. Whatever else happened, whether she continued to act as the Oracle or stopped altogether, she would have to honor her promise to them.

That afternoon, she had another surprise phone call. The kids were down for their nap when the phone rang. She lunged to answer before it could wake them up. It was Jaydon Guthrie. He wanted to discuss the details for the Saturday work day. She had met Jaydon a few times, although she did not move in the same social circle as the Guthries either. Both Jaydon and his wife—Melinda or Melissa—had at-tended Petra and Niko’s memorial service, along with virtually all the dignitaries in the witches’ demesne and many from the other Elder demesnes as well. Most of what she knew about Jaydon, she had learned from Petra, who’d had more of an acquaintance with him through attending de-mesne functions. (Grace really wasn’t looking forward to those. She wore cutoffs, not cocktail suits or dresses.)

A tall, dark-haired, lean man in his late thirties or early forties, Jaydon was a criminal prosecution lawyer, with an inherited multimillion-dollar house in affluent Mockingbird Valley and a model-gorgeous blonde wife. He was also head of one of the oldest, most established covens in the demesne. He had run a few times unsuccessfully against Isalynn LeFevre for Head of the witches’ demesne, but Isalynn proved to be an impossible candidate to beat.

Jaydon came from a moneyed family and was Harvard educated, while Isalynn attended the University of Kentucky College of Law. A Powerful witch in her own right, Isalynn had learned her craft growing up in a poor small town in southern Kentucky. She had a strong grassroots appeal coupled with a sophisticated legal mind, and she balanced all the layers of her dual legislative roles with seeming effortlessness.

The last rumors Grace had heard from Petra were that Jaydon had given up for the time being on trying to beat Isalynn in the witches’ demesne elections, and he might be running for District Attorney in Jefferson County during the next election, while Isalynn’s supporters were urging her to consider the next gubernatorial race.

A few weeks after Isalynn had set up the babysitting roster for Grace, Jaydon initiated the quarterly work-day volunteer effort on her behalf. When Grace heard of it, she first thought Jaydon’s long-standing rivalry with Isalynn was still going strong. Then she felt embarrassed, because it seemed mean-spirited of her, especially when both plans were meant for her benefit. And the Guthries were well-known for championing community service. Jaydon’s wife worked actively to fund-raise for the local Humane Society and sat on the Board of Trustees for the Jefferson County Library System.

Still, Grace hadn’t expected to hear from Jaydon personally. He confirmed that eighteen witches from several covens had signed up for Saturday. A full coven had thirteen members, so like Isalynn’s babysitting roster, Jaydon had achieved cross-coven support. Eighteen people would be a great turnout for a volunteer work day.

“I’m sorry Melissa and I will not be able to make it,” he said. “We have another function we need to attend, a fund-raising luncheon for the library that Melissa’s been working on. She has three guest authors flying in for readings and book signings. I’m afraid she volunteered us to act as hosts for the authors before consulting me.”

A little taken aback, Grace said, “I understand.” She didn’t understand, not really. Neither Jaydon nor his wife had attended the first work day either, and Grace frankly hadn’t expected them. Mowing, whacking weeds, moving furniture and repairing fences didn’t exactly sound like their schtick. “Thank you anyway.”

“Brandon will be attending.” Brandon was one of the witches in Jaydon’s coven, and he had supervised the last work day. “He can help with who does what.”

“That’s great,” she said. “I thought I would buy sandwich things and make a salad for lunch. Get some fruit, something for dessert, and have iced tea and coffee for everybody. I might cook a casserole or some spaghetti, as well.”

Jaydon said, “It’s supposed to be ninety-six again on Saturday. People are going to be hot, busy and sweaty, and you’re going to have your hands full as it is. There’s no need to heat up your kitchen further or tire yourself out by trying to cook something for everybody. Sandwiches, a salad and plenty of cold drinks will do nicely.”

That sounded sensible to her, and she was more than happy to cross one more thing off her to-do list.

On Friday afternoon, when she had finally finished getting everything ready for Saturday, she found herself in the half bath, humming and putting on makeup. Mentally she called herself a few choice words while she did it. “Crackbrained idiot” headed the list. Khalil had, after all, kissed her when she had been a total mess. Twice.

She paused, mascara wand poised in midair. That was a good thing, wasn’t it?

Anyway, it was too warm to put on much makeup. She settled for a light dusting of blush, a tinted lip gloss and a few brushstrokes of mascara. And she might have fluffed her hair a bit. And put on a light print summer skirt, along with a spring green tank top.

Was the skirt too much? She thought it was; she just couldn’t help herself.

After all, “we’ll see” meant taking a good long look at…possibilities. Right?

No. The skirt was too much. Too hopeful. She wasn’t hopeful; she was cautious. She had told Khalil no more kissing or…or whatever for a reason. She took off the skirt and yanked on shorts. Then she washed her face. By the time Khalil appeared, the house was clean, the children fed and bathed, and she was freshly scrubbed and scowling. She and Chloe were busy stacking the day’s toys into the toy box, while Max hung onto the box’s edge and peered at the contents with interest.

Khalil’s presence eased into the living room before his physical form appeared. Intense, male, sensual, he curled around her with lazy intent. The tiny hairs along the back of her neck and arms rose. Goose bumps broke out over her skin. She stood frozen in the middle of the living room floor, while Chloe, once again oblivious, trotted around the room and chattered.

Invisible arms came around Grace. Her mouth fell open, and her thoughts stuttered. Large, unseen hands stroked up her arms, along her shoulders, and trailed up the back of her neck. Long, strong fingers slid into her hair. He tilted her head back, and hot lips caressed her lightly. Then his tongue eased into her mouth. He kissed her deeply, and his energy tightened around her, heating with lazy arousal.

She stared at the ceiling blindly. This had a stealthy wickedness beyond anything she could have imagined. Her whole body trembled.

“Why are you doing that, Gracie?” Chloe asked.

Slowly, unhurriedly, the pressure on her mouth eased, and his touch slid away. Grace managed to close her mouth and swallow hard.

“Huh?” Chloe asked. Small fingers poked Grace in the stomach. Chloe stood in front of her, peering up at the ceiling in curiosity. “Why are you looking up like that?”

“No reason,” Grace wheezed. He totally destroyed her capacity to think, and she couldn’t seem to get her breathing under control. A low chuckle sounded in her head.

“Rachel has clouds in her bedroom. Can we have clouds too?”

Grace tried to concentrate. Aside from how much it might cost to buy blue and white paint, she didn’t know how to paint clouds. Even if she taught herself how, the project would take hours of standing on a stepladder.

“Honey, I don’t think so,” she said. She watched Chloe’s face fall, and her heart twisted. There were so many things she couldn’t afford to do for them. A thought occurred to her. “Tell you what. We’ll get some glow-in-the-dark stars. I saw a package the other day at the toy store when we bought coloring books. Would you like to look at stars when you go to bed?”

“Yes!” said Chloe happily.

As Grace and Chloe talked, Khalil materialized in front of Max, who was still hanging on to the toy box. Khalil wore undyed linen again. The gentle beige color emphasized his pale, elegant features and the raven sleek sheen of his black hair. He gave Grace a sparkling, wicked glance over one wide shoulder.

Grace’s pulse started a helter-skelter race, hurtling through her veins. Max crowed, his little mouth making a rounded “O” in surprise. He started to squeal in delight.

The baby let go of the toy box and took two tottering steps toward Khalil before he fell on his diapered bottom. He scuttled over to Khalil as fast as he could on hands and knees.

“Oh, my God,” Grace said. “Oh, my God! Did you see that?”

Three very different sets of eyes turned to regard her with mild surprise. Khalil had already knelt to pat Max’s small back in greeting. At Grace’s exclamation, he frowned fiercely and looked around, as if searching for hidden dangers.

Grace hurried over and plucked Max out from under Khalil’s hand. “What a smart, big boy you are!” she exclaimed. She swung the baby high, and he shrieked with laughter. “You’re so clever!”

Khalil rose to his feet. Both he and Chloe still looked mystified. “What happened?”

“He walked! He let go of the toy box and took his first two steps toward you!”

A bright, keen smile broke across Khalil’s face. “I saw it, but I did not realize those were his first steps. He is young for this?”

“He’s nine and a half months,” Grace told him. Grace beamed up at Max as she held him high. “That’s a bit young to start walking, but we were all early walkers—I don’t know about Niko, but Petra, Chloe, and I started when we were around nine or ten months old. It’ll take Max a while to really get going.”

Never one to miss out on a good party, Chloe started hopping around the room. “Yay, yay, yay!”

Just as suddenly as the euphoria hit, Grace’s face twisted. She snatched the baby close, hugging him tight as her eyes swam with tears.

Suddenly Khalil was right beside her, his expression sharp. What is it?

Grace said, Petra and Niko aren’t here to see him.

Khalil’s gaze darkened with sympathy. He put an arm around her and drew both her and the baby close. Grace turned her face into his wide shoulder. She told herself she hid her face because she didn’t want to disturb the children, but she might have leaned on his straight, strong figure a little bit.

Khalil’s arm tightened on her. He distracted Max by talking to him while Grace pulled herself together.

Clearly ready for the next good thing that involved her, Chloe started shouting as she ran around the room. “It’s story time! It’s story time!”

Grace straightened and pulled away from Khalil’s hold. After one searching glance, Khalil let her go. He smoothly took Max away from her. “Get your books,” he said to Chloe.

She stopped running laps. “Would you help me read as a horsie?”

“No,” Khalil said.

“A doggie or a cat?”

“No,” he said again.

Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see why not,” she said, turning truculent.

Uh-oh, thought Grace as she wiped her eyes. Chloe and Khalil assessed each other like two gunfighters in a Western movie. Grace could almost see the dirt street they stood on, with the white steeple of a church in the background. The classic theme music from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly whistled in her head. She could have sworn a tumbleweed blew by. There was going to be a shootout at the O.K. Corral, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

But Khalil proved to be more than a match for their contest of wills. He turned away from Chloe with a casual shrug. He said, “It is quite all right if you’re not interested in me helping you to read this evening. I can always read to Max.”

Outrage dropped Chloe’s mouth open. The tiny gunslinger drew her gun and started firing. “No! That’s not fair! He’s just a baby!”

“Suit yourself,” said Khalil calmly. He sat in the armchair and settled Max on one side of his lap. He raised his eyebrows at Chloe. “Are you bringing your books or not?”

Chloe clenched her fists. She appeared to be conducting a mighty internal battle that lasted all of three seconds under the cool challenge in Khalil’s gaze. Then she broke down and ran for her books.

It was perfect, thought Grace. He took Chloe out with one, well-timed shot.

Laughter threatened to take Grace over as she watched Chloe fold herself into the other side of Khalil’s lap. Khalil made no further comment. He merely chose a book from the pile, opened it to the first page and began to read.

Grace wandered into her office/bedroom and sat at her desk. Her amusement faded.

Shocked arousal. Surprise and euphoria. A surge of grief and then laughter, and all of that occurred within—she checked the time on her computer—a fifteen-minute span of time. No wonder she felt punch-drunk.

She had found a few job postings throughout the week that she ought to apply for. Clicking on the electronic folder that contained her employment documents, she opened a draft of a cover letter, but trying to concentrate on the details proved to be a waste of time. In the end, she sat quietly in the shadowed room, hands in her lap as she looked out at the evening twilight and listened to Khalil’s perfect voice as he read to the children.

Then he fell silent. He said to her telepathically, The children are asleep.

Okay. Thank you. She stirred.

Do not trouble yourself, he told her. I am capable of putting them in their beds.

The springs in the armchair squeaked, then his footsteps sounded as he carried the children to their room.

She should move or do something, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of what she should do.

She could feel when Khalil’s attention turned her way. This time he did not enter the room as a formless presence. He walked down the hall toward her. She listened to his footsteps as he approached. There, he rounded the corner to the living room. Now he stepped into the office. He was just fifteen feet away, then ten. Then five. She pushed her bangs off her forehead. Her fingers were shaking.

His presence enveloped her even as he turned her office chair so that she faced him. He glanced over her shoulder at the cover letter document open on her computer screen. He paused and frowned. His gaze darted to the stack of red-inked bills at one corner of the desk. She felt the impulse to squirm and squashed it. She had already told him times were hard, and she was not ashamed of or embarrassed by anything on her desk.

He knelt on one knee in front of her, which brought them face-to-face again. Leaning one elbow on the arm of her chair, he braced his other hand on the edge of the desk and looked deeply into her eyes. His ivory features were somber, those crystalline eyes grave.

“I would very much regret,” he said quietly, “if somehow I managed to make your day harder again today.”

Surprise took her over. Did he think he was somehow responsible for how close she came to tears earlier? She smiled at him. “You didn’t make my day harder today, Khalil,” she said. “You made my day better. It was really wonderful to see Max take his first steps today. It was even sweeter to see how excited he was to see you. Both Max and Chloe enjoy your visits so much. I just wish—I wish Petra and Niko…” Her throat stopped up. She made an inadequate gesture with one hand.

He studied her. His proximity was unsettling, but she didn’t want him to move away. After a moment, he said, “Lethe was Phaedra’s mother—Phaedra is my daughter. Lethe was a first-generation Djinn who was born when the world was born. I am a second-generation Djinn, so I am old and Powerful, but I was not as Powerful as Lethe. We were both from House Marid. I discovered that she had broken her oath to someone who was Powerless to call her to account. I exposed her lack of honor and had her driven from our House, and so she became a pariah. In retaliation, Lethe captured and tortured Phaedra.”

Grace tensed as she listened. Khalil spoke quietly and simply. Somehow it underscored the unfolding horror in his tale. “How could she do that, torture her own child?”

“I do not know,” Khalil said. “To me it is an insane thing. But when Djinn turn bad, we are very bad.”

“Humans are too,” Grace whispered.

He continued. “I was not strong enough to fight Lethe on my own, so I gathered as many Powerful allies as I could. Carling was one of them. This happened a long time ago, when pharaohs still ruled Egypt.” His gaze was stern and distant as he focused on that ancient battle. “I finally paid the last of my debt to Carling when I brought her and Rune here the other night.”

“That’s why you were with them,” Grace said.

“Yes,” he replied.

“And you stayed that night because there could have been danger,” she said, finally linking it all together in her head. “You stayed because of the children.”

He gave her a small smile. “Yes.”

The lump was back in Grace’s throat. She couldn’t have known any of it, of course, and Khalil had been arrogant and abrasive. It was fruitless and stupid to feel regret about how they had clashed that night. She asked, “What happened next?”

“We went to war against Lethe.” His expression turned savage. “Our last battle tore down a mountain range and destroyed a crossover passageway. The last was unintentional. It is the one thing I regret. Whoever or whatever lived in that Other land is now cut off from the rest of Earth forever.”

She put a hand on his arm. It seemed like a useless gesture, when everything had happened so long ago, probably as useless as her hug had been, but she couldn’t help herself. “You said your daughter survived?”

He looked down at her hand as if it were a strange phenomenon he didn’t understand. Then he covered it with his own. “She did,” he said. “We trapped Lethe and destroyed her, and we freed Phaedra, but she was damaged. Now she is the pariah. She will not make associations with any Djinn House, and she attacks if I—if any of us—come too close. So far we have had no evidence that she has caused harm to others.” When he spoke next, it was so quietly she had to lean closer and strain to hear his words. “I very much hope I never have to hunt her down and destroy her too.”

“I’m so sorry,” Grace said as gently as she could.

“As I said, this happened a long time ago,” he said. “You are so spirited I forget sometimes how recently you suffered your own loss.”

“We all lost,” Grace said. “Me, Chloe and Max, Petra and Niko.”

“Yes,” Khalil said. “But you have to shoulder the burden for all the rest.” He raised her hand to kiss her fingers. “I will come again tomorrow, with your consent.”

She smiled. “That would be terrifi—no wait, that won’t work. I won’t have the children tomorrow. Remember, I mentioned Saturday was a work day? Katherine is taking Chloe and Max tomorrow. They’re spending the night at her house.”

He frowned at her. He was silent for so long, she fell silent too and began to wonder what she might have said.

“Grace,” said Khalil, and her name had never been spoken so purely before in her life. He gave it an unearthly, haunting beauty. Just listening to it made her want to be better, more worthy of being called something so wonderful. If he ever sang, she thought, the song would be so unbearably gorgeous, it would soar over spires of stone and steel, and pierce the hearts of humans and other creatures, and he could rule the world.

If he ever sang to her, she would go anywhere with him, anywhere at all.

He had paused. “Why do you look so stricken?”

“Never mind,” she whispered. “Go on.”

“I no longer come just to see the children, you know,” he said. “When do your people leave tomorrow?”

“I—I don’t know, around five, maybe, or six,” she stammered.

“You will call me when they leave,” he said. His gaze was intent.

The thought of them alone in the house caused a slow, sensuous heat to spread over her body. He knew it, damn him, and the smile that spread over his ivory features was just as slow and sensuous, and unbelievably wicked.

She was sliding dangerously fast down a slippery slope, if she went from “no kissing” and “we’ll see” to him coming over when the children were gone. She cast around in her mind for something, anything, to stop her headlong plunge.

She blurted out, “Do Djinn date?”

He blinked. “That is not something to which I have given much thought,” he said. “Perhaps some Djinn might date some…creatures…some…times. Dating has not previously been a habit of mine.”

She nodded, too rapidly, and forced herself to stop. “I just wondered.”

“Humans like to date,” Khalil said thoughtfully. Then he turned decisive. “That is what we will do tomorrow. We will go on a date.”

Suddenly she was dying. She didn’t know from what exactly: repressed laughter or mortification or perhaps a combination of both. She managed to articulate, “You don’t dictate a date.”

“I do not see why not,” said Khalil, his energy caressing hers with lazy amusement. He tapped her nose. “Humans require air. Breathe now.”

She did, and a snicker escaped. “If you order a date to happen, it’s no longer a date. It becomes, I don’t know, a meeting or kidnapping or something.”

“What is the proper procedure?” he asked. “For a date.”

His low tone was sultry. It brought to mind all kinds of heated images for the concept of procedures and dates. Now he was definitely teasing her. She said firmly, “If you are interested in spending time with someone, you ask them. You don’t tell them.”

“Will you go on a date with me?” he asked promptly.

She did want to see him, and it shouldn’t be alone, in the house. It just shouldn’t. “Sure,” she said. “What will we do?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “You are the dating expert. I am sure you will figure it out.”

She, a dating expert? She shook her head. This conversation was surreal. “I’ll come up with something,” she told him. What on earth would it be? “It won’t be fancy. You might want to dress casual.”

He nodded. “Call me when you are ready.” He vanished.

A date. She stared at the empty place where he had been a moment before as his presence faded. “I am never going to see Damascus, am I?” she whispered to herself. “Not in this lifetime.”

Then his presence returned, and he curled around her caressingly.

“I forgot to say good-bye,” he murmured in her ear.

Instinctively she held up her hands, fingers questing through the air, but his physical form did not reappear.

Not quite.

Instead invisible fingers trailed down her face, stroked her throat, traced the edge of her T-shirt’s neckline. She couldn’t see him, touch him. She felt hungry, bewildered and blind.

So she reached for him the only way she could, psychically, and felt herself align with his presence again. Power to Power, spirit to spirit. Feminine to masculine.

Astonishment and heat roared out of him. She felt it as a sheet of flame washing through her. Her breasts felt hypersensitive, nipples distended, and sexual hunger speared between her legs, sharper and harder than anything she’d ever known. Her head fell back against the office chair.

His energy rippled with something like a physical shudder. He hissed, “Good night.”

Then he was truly gone, and all she could do was whisper, “Holy fuck.”

And all she could think was: we really do have to get out of the house tomorrow.