I'd done the right thing telling Tad.

Except I did sort of wonder what was going to happen if Tad really did go ask his uncle Marcus what I'd meant about where his money came from. Marcus would probably think it was some obscure

reference to Tad's father's mental illness.

I hoped.

Because if he figured out that I suspected the truth – you know, that whole thing about his killing anyone who stood in the way of Beaumont Industries gobbling up as much of the available property in northern California that it possibly could – I had a feeling he wasn't going to take too kindly to it.

But how scared would a big-time player like Marcus Beaumont be of a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl? I mean, really. He had no idea about the whole mediator thing, how I'd actually spoken to one of his

victims and confirmed the whole thing.

Well, more or less.

Still, in spite of all that, I did finally get to sleep. I was dreaming that Kelly Prescott had heard about Tad and me being at the Coffee Clutch together, and that she was threatening to veto the decision not to have a spring dance in revenge when a soft thud woke me. I raised my head and squinted in the direction of the window seat.

Spike was back. And he had company.

Jesse, I saw, was sitting next to Spike. To my utter amazement the cat was letting him pet him. That stupid cat who had tried to bite me every time I'd come near him was letting a ghost – his natural enemy – pet him.

And what's more, Spike seemed to like it. He was purring so loud I could hear him all the way across the room.

"Whoa," I said, leaning up on my elbows. "That is one for Ripley's Believe It or Not."

Jesse grinned at me. "I think he likes me," he said.

"Don't get too attached. He can't stay here, you know."

I could have sworn Jesse looked crestfallen. "Why not?"

"Because Dopey's allergic, for one thing," I said. "And because I didn't even ask anyone if it was okay for me to have a cat"

"It is your house now, as well as your brothers'," Jesse said with a shrug.

"Stepbrothers," I corrected him. I thought about what he said, then added, "And I guess I still feel like more of a guest here than an actual occupant."

"Give yourself a century or so." He grinned some more. "And you'll get over it."

"Very funny," I said. "Besides, that cat hates me."

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you," Jesse said.

"Yes, he does. Every time I come near him, he tries to bite me."

"He just doesn't know you," Jesse said. "I will introduce you." He picked up the cat and pointed him in my direction. "Cat," he said. "This is Susannah. Susannah, meet the cat."

"Spike," I said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Spike. That cat's name is Spike."

Jesse put the cat down and looked at him in horror. "That is a terrible name for a cat."

"Yeah," I said. Then I added – strictly conversationally, if you know what I mean – "So I hear you met Father Dominic."

Jesse raised his gaze and let it rest expressionlessly on me. "Why didn't you tell him about me,

Susannah?"

I swallowed. What do they do, teach guys that reproachful look at birth, or something? I mean, they all seem to have it down so pat. Except Dopey, that is.

"Look," I said. "I wanted to. Only I knew he was going to freak out. I mean, he's a priest. I didn't figure he'd be too thrilled to hear that I've got a guy – even a dead guy – living in my bedroom." I tried to sound as concerned as I felt. "So, um, I take it you two didn't hit it off?"

"Between your father and the priest," Jesse said, wryly, "I would take your father any time."

"Well," I said. "Don't worry about it. Tomorrow I'll just tell Father Dom about all the times you saved my life, and then he'll just have to deal."

He clearly didn't believe it was going to be that simple if the scowl that appeared on his face was any indication. The sad thing was, he was right. Father D wasn't going to be mollified that easily, and we both knew it.

"Look." I threw back the covers and got up out of bed, padding over to the window seat in my boxers and T-shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Jesse. I should have told him sooner and introduced the two of you properly. It's my fault."

"It isn't your fault," Jesse said.

"Yes, it is." I sat down next to him, making sure Jesse was between myself and the cat. "I mean, you may be dead, but I haven't got any right to treat you as if you were. That's just plain rude. Maybe what we can do is, you and me and Father Dom can all sit down and have lunch together or something, and then he can see what a nice guy you really are."

Jesse looked at me like I was a mental case. "Susannah," he said. "I don't eat, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

Spike butted Jesse in the arm, and he lifted his hand and began scratching the cat's ears. I felt so bad for Jesse – I mean, think about it: he had been hanging around in that house for a hundred and fifty years before I'd gotten there, with no one to talk to, no one at all – that I suddenly blurted out, "Jesse, if there was any way I could make you not dead, I'd do it."

He smiled, but at the cat, not at me. "Would you?"

"In a minute," I said, and then went on, with complete recklessness, "Except that if you weren't dead, you probably wouldn't want to hang out with me."

That made him look at me. He said, "Of course I would."

"No," I said, examining one of my bare knees in the moonlight. "You wouldn't. If you weren't dead, you'd be in college or something, and you'd want to hang around with college girls, and not boring high school girls like me."

Jesse said, "You aren't boring."

"Oh, yes, I am," I assured him. "You've just been dead so long, you don't know it."

"Susannah," he said. "I know it, all right?"

I shrugged. "You don't have to try to make me feel better. It's okay. I've come to accept it. There are

some things you just can't change."

"Like being dead," Jesse said, quietly.