Suddenly the ghost stopped at the end of the bed and stared at Kylie. "I gave you the message, didn't I?"

Kylie sat up a bit. "You mentioned it, but what was it again?" Perhaps the message wasn't really a message, but a clue.

"Someone lives; someone dies." Her tone dropped to a whisper and sounded like something out of a scary movie. "That's what they said to tell you."

Socks, as if responding to the grim note in the spirit's voice, nestled closer.

"Do you by any chance know what that means?" Reaching under the covers, Kylie gently pushed the skunk's nose away from her ribs. Considering the little fellow was afraid of ghosts, fate had really screwed up by pairing them together.

"I..." The spirit rolled her eyes as if trying to think. "They didn't say."

"Who are 'they'?" Kylie was concerned by the mention of death, but considering she was dealing with an amnesiac ghost, she wasn't so sure how much stock she could put into the message.

Jane inched closer, moving down the side of the bed, her light green eyes filled with fear. "You know who it's from."

"No, I don't know."

The spirit bit down on her lip as if saying the name caused discomfort. Then she leaned down, bringing her slightly blue lips only a few inches from Kylie's face. "The death angels." Icy crystals floated from her lips and cascaded down onto Kylie's quilt.

Socks bolted from beneath the covers, onto the floor, and under the bed.

"The death angels?" Kylie wrapped her mind around the answer. "How do you know about them?" It suddenly dawned on her that she hadn't checked to see if the woman was a supernatural.

Staring at the spirit's forehead, Kylie tightened her brows. Nothing. Which had to mean something. Everyone had a brain pattern, didn't they? Even humans. Kylie had seen Daniel's brain pattern, and Holiday had said she'd scanned Nana for one, so Kylie knew ghosts didn't just lose them after death. So why didn't this spirit have a pattern?

Closing her eyes, Kylie squinted harder and refocused. Still nothing. The icy chill of the spirit seemed to grow colder, and it clawed at Kylie's uncovered flesh. Yanking the sheet up to her chin, she shifted back from the spirit and asked the question she hated when people asked it of her.

"What are you?"

Chapter Six

An hour later, Kylie paced half-moon circles in her tiny room, making almost the same path as the ghost-the ghost who'd vanished without even trying to answer Kylie's question. But the skittish spirit hadn't faded before Kylie noted the sheer panic on her face.

Not that Kylie didn't empathize with the ghost.

How many times had Kylie heard the same damn question? What are you? Or rather, What the hell are you? Frankly, she didn't like either version.

But did either question instill panic or fear?

Frustration, maybe, but fear? Okay, maybe in the beginning it had scared her, but only after she'd accepted there was a possibility she wasn't human. Should she assume the spirit suspected she wasn't human? Kylie recalled the look on the spirit's face. It was as if the question sent up a red flag or stirred up some forgotten memory. And not a good memory, either.

An eerie chill filled the air, announcing the return of the ghost, and Kylie hugged herself.

"I'm sorry," Kylie said. "I know you're confused. Believe me, I know how you feel. There's a hell of a lot I'm trying to figure out about myself, too." The cold ebbed away. So the ghost wasn't up to talking. Kylie empathized with her on that point as well.

She had almost run to Holiday with questions about the spirit's lack of a brain pattern. Then, because Kylie suspected Holiday would want to go into all the other issues they needed to discuss, she decided to postpone asking the questions. And by issues, Kylie meant her newly acquired gift of healing, knocking down concrete walls, and the possibility that she was a protector. The healing and the walls, she might be able to handle. The whole protector/Mother Teresa thing? Nope. That could go unhandled for a while longer.

And it wasn't as if she were procrastinating, as Holiday accused her of so often. She was prioritizing. Right now, her top priority was Derek and the on again/off again signals he put out. How could he want to be her shadow when two weeks ago he wouldn't even look at her? Had he experienced a change of heart? Did she want him to have experienced a change of heart?

She considered it. Remembered how close she'd felt to him when they'd snuck off and he'd kissed her senseless. She even missed how he'd made everything look like a fairy tale. What she wouldn't give to be in a fairy tale right now and not have to deal with all this mess.

But did that mean if he said he was sorry, she would forgive him? After she made a few more laps around her small room, she came to the conclusion that her heart was too damn confused to know what she wanted.

As if to drive the point deeper, she had an instant recall of how it had felt when Lucas kissed her. No fairy-tale visions, but she couldn't, wouldn't, deny that it had felt pretty awesome.

Damn!

She slung herself on the bed. She was so friggin' messed up. She gave her pillow one good punch and then screamed into the fluffy down.

One deep breath later, she popped back up. She had to do something. Even if it was the wrong thing. After slipping into her tennis shoes, she grabbed her brush. She gave her blond hair a few swipes, slipped on a clean white tank top, and bolted out of her bedroom.

Della popped up off the sofa. "Hey."