by Meg Benjamin
She braced her hands on his thighs, running her thumbs along the tender skin where thigh and body joined while she raised her head to look at him. His eyes were half-closed as he reached toward her.
She blew out a breath. “Not yet.” She was just getting the hang of this. And practice definitely made perfect. Plus she had a few more ideas she wanted to try.
He closed his eyes more tightly as she moved to straddle him, lowering herself slowly over his erection.
He groaned, staring up at her. “You’re killing me here, sweetheart.”
“Hope not. I have plans,” she gasped, pushing herself up, then letting her body slide down again, grasping him with her inner muscles. She wasn’t exactly sure she was doing it right, never having done this before either, but it felt so good she was inclined to believe she at least wasn’t wrong. She looked down at him again, his dark eyes luminous in the moonlight.
The rhythm was like a slow ride, heat and desire spiraling through her body from their joining. She rested her hands on his chest, gazing down, willing him to keep his eyes open, keep the connection as she moved. Sweet, so sweet.
He reached up to grasp her waist, then rolled her gently onto her back, reversing their positions. “My turn.” His voice shook slightly, and she would have grinned if she’d been capable of doing anything just then.
I did that. I made him tremble.
He drove into her hard, holding her hips steady beneath him, while she wrapped her legs around his waist, reveling in the fullness and heat. Her eyes drifted shut.
“No,” he grated. “Keep looking at me.”
She stared up at him again, her legs wrapping tighter as their bodies came together. His face was taut, his teeth clenched. “Need you,” he muttered. “Need you now.”
A ribbon of pleasure circled through her, rising, spreading, her body trembling with it. Triumph.
“Now,” he whispered again. “Now, Emma.”
And she shattered, her body arching against his, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She heard someone cry out, maybe her, maybe him, then felt him plunge deep inside as he broke above her. After a moment, he dropped to his forearms, resting his forehead against her shoulder.
“Ah, Emma,” he murmured.
“I know.” She stroked his hair, running her fingers down the back of his neck. “I know.”
He rolled to his side, taking her with him, still connected. Her eyelids drifted closed again and she relaxed against him. Cozy, warm, sated.
“Don’t dream,” he whispered.
She shook her head. “No. Don’t you either.” She heard his chuckle as she slid down further into sleep.
***
Ray stood just inside the entrance to the living room. Well, so much for don’t dream. The place seemed dimmer than usual. Colder too, as if a breeze were blowing through the living room windows that he knew were closed tight.
Crap. He’d really hoped he could have an uninterrupted night’s sleep, particularly considering the workout he’d had with Emma. Didn’t exhaustion count for anything around here?
“Ah, you’re here.” The voice came from somewhere on the other side of the room.
He peered through the darkness. No fog this time, but he could have used a flashlight. Someone was sitting near the fireplace, but he couldn’t really see who it was. On the other hand, he was fairly sure it wasn’t his great-grandmother.
He blinked. The darkness in the room seemed to be diminishing. After a moment, he realized he had it backward. The light in the corner where the person was sitting was getting brighter. In fact, the person himself was getting brighter, glowing a faint greenish yellow around the edges.
His pulse sped up and his hands closed into fists. It figured that Rosie’s house was haunted too, and that he’d be able to see the ghosts himself, given the whole Riordan “gift” thing. But the fact that the situation made sense didn’t make him feel any better about it. He stumbled forward and collapsed onto the couch. “Could I turn on a lamp?” he croaked.
The person shrugged. “If you must.” The odd greenish glow seemed to diminish slightly.
Ray switched on the lamp next to the couch.
A man sat in the leather armchair next to the hearth. In the lamplight, he looked like a man, not something supernatural, even though he was still a little blurry around the edges. He also looked like he’d just come from a debutante party, circa 1952. The black tuxedo he wore was immaculate, complete with a satin stripe down the pant leg. The pleated shirt gleamed white and the patent leather of his shoes caught some of the shine. His hair was slicked back from his face with what looked like several cups of hair oil. A cigarette holder was clamped between his teeth, and a thin ribbon of smoke wreathed his head.
Ray’s shoulders clenched again. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”
The man removed his cigarette holder, tamping ashes into an ashtray that had suddenly appeared beside him. “My name is Skag. I’m an . . . associate of your sister’s. Actually, I’m a relative, albeit exceeding distant. I’ve worked with the Riordans for generations. And what I want with you is to provide you with my assistance.”
He had an English accent that was vaguely familiar, although Ray didn’t know from where. He took a breath. “Are you a ghost?”
Skag narrowed his eyes, contemplating the ceiling. “I suppose you could call me that. It’s as good as any other label.”
Well, hell. Ray wasn’t sure he liked an articulate ghost any better than a cryptic one. “What label would you prefer?”
“Technically, I’m a daemon,” Skag said cheerfully. “Please note the extra vowel. It makes all the difference. Daemons are helper spirits. But since I did live at one time, calling me a ghost isn’t inaccurate.”
Ray closed his eyes for a moment, feeling dizzy. “I’m guessing daemon and demon are not the same thing.”
Skag nodded. “Correct. A demon would behave quite differently.”
“And you’re haunting my dreams because?”
Skag leaned back in the chair, blowing a cloud of smoke upward. “Do you really think this is a dream?”
Ray stared at him for a long moment. Then he brought his fingers together to pinch the skin on the back of his hand, grimacing at the sting.
“Painful way to demonstrate consciousness, but I suppose it’s effective.” Skag shrugged. “You’re very much awake, although you may not remember coming downstairs after I called you. That was closer to sleepwalking. Still, now that you’re awake and present, we can proceed.”
“You called me? While I was sleeping next to Emma?” At least his fear was being replaced with irritation.
“I needed to talk to you. And since you’re a Riordan, contacting your subconscious is fairly easy. Can we get on with this please?” Skag clamped his cigarette holder between his teeth again.
Ray held up his hand. “You said you’d provide assistance. With what, and what does that assistance involve?”
The ghost, or whatever he was, grimaced, tapping ashes into his ashtray. “Your sister seemed to feel you needed some help. She prevailed upon me to provide it. Given that we work together, it seemed best to oblige her. She can be quite determined.”
“Rosie?” Ray narrowed his eyes. “Are you one of the Old Ones she talked about? The ghosts who stay around and screw with humans?”
Skag shrugged. “I suppose I fall into that category. At least as far as being someone who’s stayed on earth for a very long time. I’m on the side of our family, however, rather than ‘screwing with’ anyone mortal. Daemon, as I said.”
Ray’s lips edged up in a sudden grin. “You’re her spirit guide, aren’t you?”
Skag grimaced again. “Technically, I’m your sister’s guide. In reality, she doesn’t take guidance well. Riordan women usually don’t.”
“That’s our Rosie.” Ray leaned back in his chair, stretch
ing his legs in front of him. He felt much more relaxed. “So what kind of assistance can you provide for me and Emma?”
“That would depend on what you’re dealing with. Rose said you had a recalcitrant spirit in a haunted house. Correct?”
Ray nodded. “It’s been hanging around the place ever since this phony medium held a séance there. The séance was bogus, but it raised a ghost anyway.”
Skag’s eyebrows elevated. “Did you take part in this séance?”
Ray sighed. “I was there.”
Skag shrugged. “Then that’s why the ghost appeared. Your presence called it up, however inadvertently.”
Ray gritted his teeth. “Which doesn’t tell me how to get rid of it.”
“All in good time. Describe this ghost.”
He blew out a breath. “It’s female. Maybe connected to a suicide in the house back in the twenties—a woman killed herself when her lover told her to get out.”
“How do you know it’s female?”
His jaw flexed. “She tried to give me a blow job one night.”
Skag tapped his ashes into the hearth. “Interesting. What else?”
“What else? You mean besides the sex thing?”
The ghost nodded. “What does she look like? What does she do when she isn’t attempting sexual congress?”
“Around the house she’s invisible—the only way I know she’s there is when she throws something or slams a door. I saw her in a dream when I was sleeping over there. But I didn’t see her face.” He flexed his shoulders to relieve the sudden tension.
“In a dream?” Skag narrowed his eyes. “Was that when she tried to seduce you?”
“I wouldn’t call it seduction. She wasn’t giving me a lot of choice. Until Great-grandma helped me push her off.”
Skag dropped his cigarette holder into the ashtray. “Siobhan? Siobhan was there?”
Ray nodded. “She told me how to shove the ghost away, then told me I was in danger and I needed to listen to the sensitive.”
“The sensitive.” Skag elevated an eyebrow again as he retrieved his cigarette holder. “That would be Ms. Shea?”
“Looks like it. She appeared to Emma too—Great-grandma did, that is.”
Skag shook his head slowly, frowning. “Extraordinary.”
“Why?”
“To my knowledge, Siobhan has never appeared to any member of your family before. Or to anyone else as far as that goes.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that’s an indication of the seriousness of the threat. Let’s get back to this ghost. She wanted to have sex?”
Ray blew out a breath. “Yeah. Really wanted. As in she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“I see.” Skag blew another cloud of smoke as he stared upward. “Actually, I don’t. Are you saying she assaulted you?”
“She had my cock in her mouth and she didn’t back off until Great-grandma showed up.” Ray’s jaw tightened.
“And this wasn’t something you’d initiated?”
Ray shook his head, his jaw aching.
“That suggests several possibilities, most of them unpleasant.” Skag stared at the ceiling. “Tell me more about the suicide that took place in the house.”
“It happened in the late twenties, 1927 I think. The guy who lived in the house had set up his mistress there.”
“Names?”
Ray paused, rubbing his temples as he tried to remember what Emma had said. “Grunewald. Livingston Grunewald was the guy. The mistress was named Amina . . . Becker, I think.”
Skag frowned. “Not anyone I’m familiar with. Although the Grunewald name rings a few bells for some reason. Go on.”
“There’s not much more to it. He set her up in that house. His father, who owned the place, found out about it. He told Livingston to get rid of her. Livingston told Amina to get out. Amina hung herself and left Livingston a love note.”
Skag ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. “And you think this ghost is Amina Becker?”
“She’s the best possibility we’ve turned up so far. Nothing else unusual has happened there in the last hundred years so far as we can tell.”
Skag sighed. “Unfortunately, I doubt I can contact any of the participants. It happened too long ago for the spirits to still be here in their original form—I can’t talk to them.”
Ray stared at him. “You talk to other ghosts?”
“Of course. Contrary to popular opinion, we’re not a solitary lot. Actually, I should amend that statement—I can talk to some ghosts, those newly dead for the most part. But if your ghost is Amina Becker, she’s been dead for more than eighty years. I can’t reach her unless she wishes to speak to me. And given the way you’ve described her, I doubt that she does. She seems to have more . . . active interests.”
“Does that mean she’s stuck around longer than she should have and that she’s one of the Old Ones?”
Skag paused as a new cigarette appeared in his holder. “Perhaps.”
“And you can’t talk to other Old Ones?”
“Not ones like the ghost you’re dealing with. Not without considerable danger to myself and you.” He exhaled another cloud of smoke. “They’re not usually interested in talking anyway. Many are interested in doing things that are a great deal less sociable than that.”
“The bad ones Rosie talked about,” Ray said slowly. “The demons.”
“Precisely. I told you that extra vowel in daemon was important.” Skag leaned back in his leather chair. “Our family has something of a history with demons.”
“A history?” Ray sat up as a trickle of dread snaked across his shoulder blades. “What kind of history?”
Skag’s smile became faintly unpleasant. “The Riordans have had remarkable luck in eradicating demons in the past. You own brother and sister are examples. The demons themselves find this ability somewhat . . . threatening. They’ve been know to engage in preemptive strikes against your family members in order to protect themselves.”
Ray blinked. “You mean this ghost is trying to kill me?” That hadn’t exactly been the vibe he’d gotten, but maybe there was a possibility of being screwed to death.
“This ghost . . . this demon . . . is trying to consume you,” Skag said patiently. “That’s what demons do. She’s trying to drain the life force from you so that she herself will become more powerful. It’s a very straightforward exchange.”
Ray’s throat felt tight. “What about Emma. Does it want her too?”
“Probably. It wants any life force it can get. Particularly from a person who possesses some type of supernatural gift, as your friend Ms. Shea apparently does. Anyone like that whose path it crosses will be in danger.”
Terrific. At least that explained why the ghost had groped both of them at the séance. “Is there any way I can protect the two of us? I need to go on working over there. So does Emma.”
“What sort of ghostly activities take place in the house during the day?”
Ray closed his eyes, going through his mental checklist. “Doors slamming. Stuff getting tossed around. The occasional cool breeze. Emma calls it ‘poltergeist’ stuff.”
“In that case, I doubt that you’re in much danger there during the day. If she could mount an attack on you then, she would have done it by now. The night, however, is a very different story. I assume this laughable séance took place at night.”
Ray nodded. “Just after sundown.”
Skag gave him another of those unpleasant smiles. “That’s apparently when the spirit is most powerful. I would find other places to be after sundown, if I were you.”
“Yeah, I got that. I’ll do my best to get out of there before then. And I’ll make sure Emma isn’t around either.”
“There are ways to make some of the rooms safer,” Skag said slowly. “Although they won’t work for the whole house.”
“Rosie already told me how to ward the rooms with iron. I’ve done that with a couple of them.”
“That at least gives you a sanctuary if there’s a threat.” Skag tapped his cigarette again. “What else do you know about this ghost? The more information I have to begin with, the easier it will be for me to discover details.”
Ray sighed. “Okay, we’ve got one other thing, although I don’t know what it means exactly. Great-grandma Siobhan told Emma to look for a keepsake. She called it a love token. She said the girl went to the wrong kind of medium and got it. I think the girl is Amina, but I don’t know what the rest of it means or why it’s important that we find this thing.”
Skag tapped his fingers together, frowning slightly. “A love token? She didn’t say anything more about it than that?”
Ray shook his head. “She told Emma to look for a keepsake that was a love token, and Emma seemed to remember her dream very clearly.”
Skag grimaced. “Too bad it wasn’t a love potion. That would have been easier to look for, although perhaps a bit less likely to have survived.”
“Sorry. Love token is all we got. What about this wrong medium thing?”
“The wrong medium comment could mean several things, but let us assume she meant someone claiming to be a psychic who wasn’t one. Or who was a psychic of the less reputable type. If this mistress, Amina, decided to go to a psychic to find out the future, she might have been sold a good luck charm of some sort by a charlatan. Something supposed to bind her lover to her. And that good luck charm, in turn, may now have some power to bind the ghost to the house.”
Ray shook his head in frustration. “I’ve already considered that. But where would I look? I mean, the house has gone through several owners since the Grunewalds. The last owner lived there for thirty years. It’s not like Grunewald left a bunch of stuff in the attic.”
“Is there an attic? That might be interesting.”
“The attic’s a crawl space. No basement. Just a storeroom, but the stuff in there comes from the previous owner, not the Grunewalds.”
“Who was the previous owner?”
“His name was Hampton. Allard Hampton.”
