“But that’s not all they were, Suze,” Paul said, reaching back into the acrylic box and bringing out a sheaf of papers, also brown with age. “According to Slaski, who wrote this thesis about it, back in ancient Egypt there were your run-of the-mill mediums, or, if you prefer, mediators. But then there were also shifters. And that,” Paul said, looking at me very intently from across the bed, and not very far across the bed, either, as we were leaning only about a foot apart, the pages of Dr. Slaski’s thesis between us, “is what you and I are, Suze. Shifters.”

Again, I felt the chill. It raced up and down my spine, made the hairs on my arms stand up. I don’t know what it was—the word shifters, or the way Paul said it. But it had an effect on me…quite an effect on me. Like sticking my finger in a light socket.

I shook my head. “No,” I said in a panicky voice. “Not me. I’m just a mediator. I mean, if I were a shifter, I wouldn’t have had to exorcise myself that time—”

“You didn’t have to,” Paul interrupted, his voice, compared to the high-pitched squeak mine had become, deep and calm. “You could have gotten yourself there—and back—on your own, just by visualizing the place. You could do it right now, if you wanted to.”

I blinked at him. Paul’s eyes, I noticed, above the crinkled pages of Dr. Slaski’s thesis, were very bright. They almost seemed to gleam like cat’s eyes. I could not tell if he was telling the truth or simply trying to mess with my head. Knowing Paul, either would not have surprised me. He seemed to get pleasure out of blurting things out, then seeing how people—all right, me—reacted.

“No way,” was how I responded to his suggestion that I was anything but what I’d always thought I was. Even though the whole reason I was even in his bedroom was because deep down, I knew I was not.

“Try it,” Paul urged. “Picture it in your head. You know what the place looks like now.”

Did I ever. Thanks to him, I’d been trapped there for the longest fifteen minutes of my life. I was still trapped there, every single night, in my dreams. Even now, I could hear my heartbeat drumming in my ears as I tore down that long dark corridor, fog swirling and then parting around my legs. Did Paul really think that, even for a second, I ever wanted to visit that place again?

“No,” I said. “No, thanks—”

Paul’s smile turned wry.

“Don’t tell me Suze Simon is actually afraid of something.” His eyes seemed to glow more brightly than ever. “You always act as if you were immune to fear the way some people are immune to chicken pox.”

“I’m not afraid.” I lied with feigned indignation. “I just don’t feel like—what is it called again? Oh, yeah, shifting—right now. Maybe later. Right now I want to ask you about that other thing you mentioned. The thing where somebody can take over somebody else’s body. Soul transference.”

Paul’s smile broadened. “I thought that one might get your attention.”

I knew what he was referring to—or thought I did, anyway. I could feel my face heating up. I ignored my burning cheeks, however, and said, with what I hoped sounded like cool indifference, “It sounds interesting, is all. Is it really possible?” I plucked at the crumpled pages of the thesis that lay between us. “Does Dr. Slaski mention it at all?”

“Maybe,” Paul said, laying a hand down over the typewritten sheets so that I could not lift them.

“Paul,” I said, tugging on the sheets. “I’m just curious. I mean, have you ever done it? Does it actually work? Could Craig really take over his brother’s body?”

But Paul wouldn’t let go of Dr. Slaski’s papers.

“It’s not because of Craig that you’re asking, though, is it?” His blue-eyed gaze bore into me. There wasn’t the slightest hint of a smile on his face anymore. “Suze, when are you going to get it?”

That was when I finally noticed how close his face was to mine. Just inches away, really. I started instinctively to pull away, but the fingers that had been holding down Dr. Slaski’s papers suddenly lifted and seized my wrist. I looked down at Paul’s hand. His tanned skin was very dark against mine.

“Jesse’s dead,” Paul said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to act like you are, too.”

“I don’t,” I protested. “I—”

But I didn’t get to finish my little speech, because right in the middle of it, Paul leaned over and kissed me.

chapter

nine

I won’t lie to you. It was a good kiss. I felt it all the way down to my poor, blistered toes.

Which is not to say I kissed him back. I most definitely did not….

Well, okay. Not that much, anyway.

It was just that, you know, Paul was such a good kisser. And I hadn’t been kissed in a very long time. It felt nice to know that someone, at least, wanted me. Even if that someone happened to be a person I despised. Or at least someone I was pretty sure I despised.

The truth was, it was sort of hard to remember whether or not I despised Paul. Not while he was kissing me so thoroughly. I mean, it isn’t every day—unfortunately—that hot guys go around grabbing and kissing me. In fact, it had really only happened a handful of times before.

And when Paul Slater did it…well, let’s just say that the last thing I was expecting was to like it. I mean, this was the same guy who’d tried to kill me not so long ago….

Only now he was saying that this wasn’t true, that I’d never been in any danger.

Except that I knew this was a lie. I was in plenty of danger—not of being killed but of completely losing my head for a guy who was bad for me in every way and even worse for the guy I loved. Because that’s exactly how Paul Slater’s kiss made me feel. Like I’d do anything—anything—to be kissed by him some more.

Which was just plain wrong. Because I wasn’t in love with Paul Slater. Granted, the guy I was in love with was

A. dead, and

B. apparently not real interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me.

But that didn’t mean it was permissible for me to fling myself at the very next hottie who happened to come along. I mean, a girl has to have some principles….