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  Roughly, she pulled her mouth from his, moving down over his chin, to his neck, licking and biting and sucking, raking her hands over his body, pinching, caressing, finally finding his belt buckle.

  What’s happening? Dumbly, he stared down at her as she fell to her knees and fumbled the buckle open and unzipped his pants. As her fingers slipped into the waistband of his shorts, she looked up at him and laughed.

  And the room filled with the echo of that laughter, a separate laugh, but the same, the same laugh he'd heard just before they had entered Body House.

  Theo fell silent, but all around them, the phantom laughter continued as she pulled his erection free, licked her lips, and gave him a vulpine smile. Her teeth glistened sharp and white.

  "No!" he cried and slapped her, hard, across the cheek.

  Stunned, she fell back, landing on her ass, her legs sprawling out from under her. The laughter faded, but not the scent. Theo watched without comprehension as he hurriedly zipped up.

  "Come on!" he gasped. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her to her feet as, around them, the cold air turned even colder, swirling like an invisible tornado within the room. The atmosphere seemed to charge and air pressure built in his ears, making him dizzy and nauseated, filling his head with a sound like a jet taking off. He dragged Theo to the door and yanked the obscene latch up and down. It felt like ice in his hands.

  The door wouldn't open. "Come on, God damn it! Open!" As he yelled, the pressure in his ears faded and the door flew open so suddenly that it crashed against his forehead. He barely felt it as he pulled Theo from the room and firmly shut the door.

  "What?" she asked breathlessly. "What was--"

  "Not now," he ordered. "Come on."

  He guided her down the stairs and across the second floor to Amber's room. He knocked and she opened the door, her smile transforming into a circle of surprise when she saw his face.

  "Is everything okay here, Amber?"

  "Sure, yeah. Dad, what happened?"

  Gingerly, he touched the bump growing on his forehead. "A run-in with a door."

  "No, you've got lipstick all over your face." She glared at Theo, who was gripping his arm.

  Damn, He hadn't even thought about that. "It's not what you think, kiddo. Listen, I'm going to see Theo out to her car, then I'll come back up and we'll talk. Don't wander around. Wait for me."

  Doubtfully, she nodded and shut the door.

  "I'm sorry," Theo said as they descended to the first floor.

  "I don't know what got into me."

  "Do you remember what happened?"

  "I'll tell you outside."

  He understood her hesitation to speak within the house, and a moment later, they stood leaning against her car. "So tell me what you remember, Theo. From the time we entered the room."

  "The paint can was tipped over. You were explaining that those cold spots couldn't hurt us and then that smell started. It was so strong, it made me feel ill."

  "What did it smell like to you?"

  "Jasmine, only stronger. And something else. It reminded me of a mausoleum I went in once, not too long after the '89 quake. I could smell flowers, and something else, too. It turned out to be a cracked vault. Something was leaking out of it and there were flies... " The memory made her wrinkle her nose.

  Okay. We both smelled the same thing. "Then what happened?"

  "I heard a woman laughing. It was like she was inside my head. I kissed you and--" She dropped her gaze and studied the ground "--and then I--David, I'm so embarrassed. I couldn't control myself."

  "You remember everything then?"

  She nodded. "I felt like I was watching while someone else borrowed my body. Can you forgive me?"

  "There's nothing to forgive. You were merely responding to influences. So was I."

  She smiled thinly.

  Watching her, he wondered what, if anything, would have happened in that room had he been alone. Very little, he suspected, without Theo present to stir things up. "How do you feel now?"

  "Absolutely exhausted," she admitted. "Why?"

  "Do you remember what I said about the cold spots feeding on your fear?"

  "Yes," she said without enthusiasm.

  "Your energy was tapped to help fuel the manifestation. I can show you how to ground yourself so that you won't be so affected, but until then, I don't think it would be a good idea for you to go anywhere near that room."

  "The entire third floor has a... a heavy feel to it," Theo said slowly. "Do you know what I mean?"

  "Yes," he said, hoping she would elaborate. He was beginning to think that Theo had the makings of a psychic and and, oh boy, are there a lot of ifs--if everything else worked out, her abilities could be very helpful in his research.

  "I've only been on the third floor a couple of times," she was saying. "I hated it."

  "As I recall, you waited downstairs the first time I looked at the house."

  She nodded. "It wasn't very professional of me, I know."

  She hesitated. "David?"

  "Yes?"

  "I have smelled that odor up there before. Another agent and I came to check the house before you arrived and, when we went up, we both smelled it I didn't recognize the scent earlier- without the rotting odor."

  "What happened that day?"

  "We left. For some reason, the smell frightened us. Nothing happened except, as I closed the door... " Her voice trailed off, her eyes fixed on the house.

  "Except?" David prompted.

  "I thought I heard the laughter." She studied her hands, then turned her gaze on him. "I'm sorry. I guess I should have told you about that earlier."

  "That's all right," he reassured her. "Did your associate hear it too?"

  "No, I don't think so." She paused, studying him. "I don't know what it is about that house. I don't understand why you want it. But I really believe that if there are spirits there, it's our duty to help them go into the light." She looked pained. "But I don't know if I'm strong enough. Perhaps if some of my friends from Beings of Light helped--"

  "Have you ever noticed the jasmine scent downstairs before?" David, interrupted quickly.

  "No. But one day, there was a horrible dead animal smell. I thought something had crawled inside and died, but Eric didn't find anything. The odor faded as suddenly as it rose."

  The smell of decomposition was a well-known facet of the haunting and, though there were several theories concerning its source, David favored one that maintained that the dozen or so people missing after the massacre had been trapped below. But there was no proof since the entrance to the room--assuming it had ever even existed--had never been found "Theo, how do Eric and the Willards feel about the house?"

  "Well, I wouldn't push it with them."

  "I understand."

  "David?"

  "Yes?"

  "I was possessed, wasn't I?"

  He'd wondered how long it would take her to ask that. “No. You weren't possessed. Influenced, perhaps, but not possessed."

  "What's the difference?" she asked skeptically.

  "Possession implies that an actual spirit or demon, something that thinks and has a will of its own, takes control of your body for its own uses." He smiled. "That just doesn't happen, except in novels."

  "You can't know that," Theo countered.

  He cleared his throat patiently. "Possession is a concept that allows people to anthropomorphize an influence, to give it a personality, and human desires and motivations that really belong to the person bestowing them. Usually, the force will merely exhaust the person who feeds it. Sometimes, though, especially if a person has strong psychic gifts, as I think you may have, it can actually influence the person."

  Theo appeared interested, so he continued. "A poltergeist appears to have direction, to interact with the living. Sometimes it might speak to people or cause accidents. At that point, it becomes a revenant, which is, basically, a very powerful, very directed, poltergeist." As he spoke, he studied her with the
sinking feeling that his definition of poltergeist and hers were miles apart. Her expression was one of sympathetic indulgence; she thought he was as full of shit as he thought she was.

  Abruptly, she took a Kleenex from her purse and pressed it into his hand. "Your daughter must think I'm as wicked as that Baudey woman. I'm so sorry." She extracted a compact, opened it, and gave that to him, too. A tiny light illuminated the mirror and he began wiping the red smudges from his face.

  "Don't worry, I'll explain it to her." He gave back her compact and helped her into her car.

  She started the engine, then smiled. "I almost forgot. Our church is co-sponsoring a costume party at the Moose Lodge in town. I hope you'll come. As my guest, perhaps? It'll give you a chance to meet at least half the town."

  "Costume party?" David asked quizzically.

  "It's called the Come As You Were Dance. Everyone dresses as someone they think they were in a previous life."

  “That sounded bizarre but interesting. When is it?"

  "August twenty-second. About six weeks from now."

  "Thank you for inviting me. If you can give me a few days to see how things are shaping up, I'll give you a definite answer. Amber may not want to stay alone in the house," he added.

  "Oh, Amber can come too, of course." Theo put the Volvo in reverse. "She might like to go with some kids her own age."

  "I'm sure she would," David said, mildly annoyed, "if she knew any."

  Again, the winning smile. "I can help with that. Myra Cox- that's Ferd's daughter--is a good friend of mine and her daughter, Kelly, is exactly Amber's age. She's a nice girl and I'm sure she'd love to meet Amber and introduce her to the other kids. I can give her a call tomorrow."

  "That would be very nice, Theo. Thanks. And thanks again for the invitation. I'll let you know."

  "Great." She reached out and touched the back of his hand lightly. "I hope you'll say yes. See you later."

  "Good night."

  After her taillights faded into the night mist, he turned back toward the house and stared up at it, the dance forgotten. What have I gotten us into? It was a thought both thrilling and horrifying.

  Except for the tower, the entire house blazed with light. The upper story pediments were brilliant with rich color, and the French doors leading to the terrace were absolutely exquisite. Achingly so. His gaze drifted to the third floor dormer room he and Theo had fled, but nothing looked out of place.

  Then the light went out.

  Shit! He felt paralyzed for what seemed like hours, then suddenly he was running toward the house. "Amber!" he yelled. "Amber!" If she'd gone up there by herself--

  As he ran up the front steps, the door opened and his daughter stepped out, her jacket on, her purse slung over her shoulder. He slid to a stop just short of slamming into her.

  "What's the matter, Dad?" she asked dryly. "See a ghost?"

  "You weren't on the third floor just now, were you?" he asked, even as he realized it was a physical impossibility.

  "No--"

  "And just what do you think you're doing down here?" he demanded, his terror instantly and blessedly transforming itself into paternal anger. "I told you to stay in your room until I came for you!”

  "Don't have a cow, Dad." She shook her head slightly, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I saw the wicked witch drive away and I'm starving to death, so I grabbed my stuff and came down to meet you." She fished in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out his car keys. "Let's find food."

  His anger dissolved as quickly as it had arrived. "Just let me go wash up." He handed the keys back to her. "Here, you warm up the Bronco. I'll be right out."

  As he neared the stairs, he considered going up to the third floor to check the room again, but decided against it. He was reasonably sure no humans were hiding in the house, and that the light going out was merely another facet of the manifestation in the room, just as he'd told Theo. After all, that kind of garden-variety electrical phenomenon was about as mundane as it could get.

  He entered the enormous bathroom for the first time since it had been cleaned. It was a delight. New grouting made the tiling, malachite green swirls with lush rose accents, seem new, and the huge claw foot tub gleamed white in its niche. He walked over, wondering if it had been re-enameled, a job he hadn't requested.

  It hadn't. No one could scrub the bloodstains out of the old, porous enamel. These stains were newer, dating back to 1968, when a small band of hippies had died here--one had died in this very tub. "Definitely," he said aloud, "this needs new enamel."

  He turned to the pedestal sink that rose gracefully out of the tile, widening into a large, shell-shaped basin, which matched the mirror and frame above it. The fixtures, nude fairies, were classic art nouveau. He turned on the hot water and scrubbed away the last vestiges of Theo's lipstick, using a sliver of Lava the workmen had left behind.

  Looking at himself wasn't much fun tonight, he realized as he inspected his face. A purple-red welt was growing in a vertical slash in the center of his forehead, thanks to the smack on his head when the door flew open. Worse, it looked like Theo had left a hickey on his neck. He repositioned his collar so that it was almost hidden, then pulled his comb out and ran it through his thick caramel-colored hair. He needed a shave and there were bags under his eyes, but he'd do for now.

  As he exited the bathroom, Amber leaned on the horn.

  Briefly, he felt guilty for taking so long, but as he grabbed his coat from the wall rack in the foyer, he reminded himself how often he had to wait for her.

  He stepped out into the cool night air and locked the door behind him. As he walked toward the Bronco, he wondered if Amber would try to punish him for his seeming indiscretion with Theo. At least she was too hungry to sulk for now.

  Chapter Five

  Red Cay Public Pier: 10:10 P.M.

  "There's no such thing as a blue-throated pacific night warbler," Amber said as soon as her father settled into the passenger seat. She wondered if he'd told her she could drive so that she couldn't be as mad at him for his behavior with that witch Pelinore, but she knew better than to ask.

  "What?" Her dad had been staring back at the house.

  "I made it up. There's no such thing as a blue-throated pacific--"

  "Oh, yeah, I figured that. So what are you hungry for, kiddo?"

  She glanced at the clock on the dash. "It's past ten. You think there's anything open around here? I mean, we haven't seen a McDonald's since Pismo Beach."

  "You're right." Groaning, he rubbed his chin. "There was a truck stop five miles down on the main highway."

  "Oh, joy."

  "Yeah, I know, Amber. Wait, I have an idea. Turn left at the next intersection and head downtown. If there's night fishing, a diner around the pier might be open."

  He was right. They found a place not just near the pier, but on the very end of it. A fishing boat was pulling out and a few night fisherman stood on either side of Doug's Diner, smoking and casting their lines. The foggy mist had cleared as soon as they left Byron's Finger and a three-quarter moon cast shadows of the fishermen against the wooden deck.

  "At least it's got atmosphere," her dad said as they took red plastic baskets of fish and chips to a small picnic bench and sat down.

  "Yeah, I wish it had a little less atmosphere." The stink of fish guts was ruining her appetite.

  She wanted to talk to him about Pelinore--no, she wanted to scream at him that the woman was a piranha getting ready to eat him alive. But she couldn't, because her dad looked so tired and because she was feeling guilty about not noticing the ugly bruise on his forehead earlier. All she'd seen was the lipstick.

  They sat and ate in peaceful silence until her dad went to squirt more catsup on his fries and the lid came off and drowned them. They looked at each other and laughed. "How're you holding up?" Her dad shoved a sodden French fry in his mouth. "Tired?"

  "I'm fine. Do you have a headache?"

  "A little." Gingerly, he to
uched the bump. "It looks worse than it is."

  She nodded. "Good. So, what do you think, Dad? Are you going to do talk shows and stuff now that you're here and they're making a movie and all?"

  "If someone asks me, sure. But I wouldn't count on it, kiddo."

  "They'll ask," she assured him. "You're not just any old writer, after all."

  His smile was tired. "You're a wonderful daughter. You know just what to say."

  "I know." She swiped one of his catsup-coated fries. "But you're different. Face it, Daddy, you're hot stuff. You're a male Jackie Collins."

  He snorted.

  "Well, you are. You look pretty good and you can talk, too." She pointed a fry at him. "Haven't you ever noticed the difference between you and most of your friends?"

  "Nope."

  She grinned evilly. "What about that guy who picks his nose at conventions?'

  "Oh, please, Amber!" He laughed in spite of himself. "He's not my friend. That S.O.B. tried to put a move on Melanie, right in front of me." He paused, looking like he was startled to hear himself say her name. "Besides, he writes science fiction." He added the last like it was a curse.

  Amber snickered. "He flirts with everybody and Melanie was just trying to get him as a client."

  "She did it, too."

  "Everybody but you, Dad."

  "Everybody but me," he said sadly.

  Amber was sorry she'd brought it up. She was pretty sure his refusal to throw over Georgina Gordon--the agent who'd been with him since the beginning- in favor of Melanie was what really broke them up. Plus, Melanie was a horrible flirt.

  "Dad?"

  "What?"

  "Most writers don't look so hot. Especially guys. That's why they aren't on TV much." She was determined to cheer him up if it killed her.

  "Oh."

  He still sounded depressed, so she pressed on. "A lot of your friends don't have much hair left and they practically all have big butts. But you still look pretty good, considering how ancient you are."

  "Thank you, I think." He smiled, and the skin around his eyes crinkled up the way she wanted. "I seem to recall you pestering Rick half to death a couple of years ago at the horror writers' convention. You thought he was hot stuff."