“You know why, David,” she said softly.
The allure she radiated was a fire in my blood despite her being covered with trench coat from her chin to her ankles. Demon magic, or was it pure Bethany? “You need to be…more specific.”
She drew a deep breath. “Ever since I met you ten years ago, when you were just out of the SEALS and paying a courtesy call on an old Guardian lady because your mother told you to, I’ve wished that I was a few decades younger.”
“You never said or did anything to suggest you felt that way.” My throat was tight as my desire to believe warred with the fear that she was still a succubus and wickedly adept at convincing a man of what he wanted to hear.
She smiled wryly. “It’s…unseemly to be a lecherous old woman yearning for a man young enough to be my grandson. I was grateful that we became good friends. How could we possibly be anything more? Then this demon showed up wearing my body.” Her voice hardened. “I thought she owed me something for that. Certainly she could not be allowed to stay in possession and kill innocent young men.”
If she was acting, it was a brilliant show she was putting on. Knowing I needed the courage to risk my emotions as she was doing, I said haltingly, “It’s also unseemly for a man to be lusting after a sweet little old lady. So I didn’t. But I’ve never met a woman whose mind and spirit fit mine as well as yours. If you’re really Bethany and not the cleverest damned demon in the universe.”
She’d been tense as the brick wall, but she eased into a smile. “I don’t think that succubi are particularly clever. This one was all selfish hunger.”
“Maybe she’s clever enough to know what I haven’t wanted to admit even to myself,” I said slowly.
“If you can’t be sure what I am by reading my energy, there’s only one solution, David.” She reached out a hand. “Touch me.”
If she was still the succubus, one touch would probably turn me into mental mush, and her next meal. But there was no other way to find out.
I’d always been a risk taker. I took her hand, and energy flared between us like wildfire. Not succubus steal-my-soul-and-consume-my-life energy, though. This was ten years of caring and affection transmuting into fierce, true love. The woman I pulled into my arms was my Bethany, no doubts and questions, forever and ever, amen.
Our kiss wasn’t the affectionate peck on the check that is exchanged between friends, but a hot, needy lover’s kiss. “Bethany,” I whispered when I could breathe again. “I never thought we could be together. Not this way.”
“Nor did I.” She laughed a little. “It’s such a cliché to fall in love with a man who’s tall, dark, and handsome. But as soon as you showed up on my doorstep, I was head over heels. Proof that age doesn’t bring wisdom.”
I smoothed back her silky hair, touching her as I’d never touched her before. “It’s also a cliché to fall in love with a hot blond babe. The hard part was knowing that babe was seventy years in the past.”
“Not anymore.” She rested her forehead against my cheek, her soft breath warming my throat. “I’ve always dreamed of a Guardian alchemical marriage. Two souls blended as one. I loved my first husband, but we didn’t have that. I thought I’d missed my chance.”
“Yet here we are.” I kissed her forehead. Her vibrant young body was a little taller than her old one had been. “I think we were meant to be together, but we got the timing wrong.”
“And the demon gave us a chance to reset that timing.” She slid an arm around my waist and gave me a shining smile. “Let’s go home, David. I’m in a hurry for us to have some privacy.”
So was I. Dear lord, so was I!
Toasted: A Christmas Story
Toasted was written for the Christmas Ghosts anthology published by Fiction River and edited by Kristine Grayson. Exhausted neurologist Simon Harlowe is taking a brief pre-Christmas holiday in New York City when he's woken by a desperate near-ghost who needs his help to rescue several imperiled children. As a Guardian healer, he can't say no when lives are at stake. He doesn't even want to…
“HELPPPPP!!!!!”
The silent scream rang in my head, waking me from a deep and much deserved sleep. With a groan, I rolled over and dragged a pillow over my head. I was off duty, dammit, and some other doctor could answer the page.
“HELPPPPP!!!!!”
The scream was back even louder, and I woke enough to realize that I wasn’t home in Boston, but lying in an obscenely comfortable bed in a boutique hotel off Fifth Avenue. Christmas in New York. Bright lights, big city, endless carols. I’d come down for a few days as a holiday present to myself.
But though I could leave the hospital, there was no holiday from ghosts. Usually they were a gentle presence, easy to greet and send off to the Light. This one was unusually annoying. And strong. I opened my eyes to see a softly glowing shape sitting on my chest, rather like a cat I’d had once. “HELPPPPP!!!!!”
The ghost was in terrible pain, I realized. Newly dead, still vibrating with death agonies, and desperate to communicate a last message. Instinctively I reached out with my inner senses to lessen the pain, a skill I developed before I learned to read and write.
When the pain had diminished to more bearable levels, I communicated with the ghost, speaking aloud to focus my reply. “I’ll help if I can. What’s wrong?”
I felt a sense of relief coming from the frantic entity. “Come with me, come with me, come with meeeeee!”
I didn’t hear actual words, of course, more like telepathic understanding. “First I need to know what’s needed. Settle down and let me study you.”
The energy jittered a little, then stilled. I called on inner senses as I analyzed the ghost. “You’re female and young and newly dead, yes?”
