From the shade that brought little relief, she gazed out over the shimmering landscape marred by the broad trenches her team had etched during days of hard labor. Screw it. I’ll give it just a few more tries, she swore. Eliza wiped her brow and brought her scarf back over her mouth before stepping into the blazing heat. Her leg muscles protested in agony as she bent to pick up her shovel and stepped into the trench. For the hundredth time, she visualized the manuscript and the map that pointed to this very spot at the northeast end of the temple. With the little strength she had left, she lifted sand from the trench, small bit by bit. The compulsion to drive on, to dig down, stirred her soul and strengthened her resolve. Something had led her to this point, and if she had to die trying, she would finish the job. “Yes.” Stunned at the deep raspy male voice on the wind, she turned in all directions to see who had joined her. She was alone. So, the heat had taken a serious toll. She was hallucinating. That’s a new one. I don’t think I like it. “Keep digging.” “Damn, even my imaginary voices are bossy.” Two more shovelfuls, she swore. The clank of metal against metal sent a shock up her arms, and she fell back to the sand with a squeal of triumphant joy. Crawling to her knees, she brushed at the sand with her gloved hands until she felt the object. She pulled off her gloves and brushed away more sand to reveal an ornately carved ring, the size of a large doorknocker. Even with her vision clouded by the sunlight and whipping sand, Eliza knew the workmanship wasn’t ancient Egyptian, but more recent. Her heart raced with her mind. That makes sense, she thought. The ring would probably date to the time of the manuscript—a few hundred years AD. She dug her heels into the sand and pulled at the ring. It didn’t budge. She brushed away more sand frantically, not understanding why the small object was stuck. “Pull, yes, pull!” “Shut up, jerk,” she chastised her hallucination. “I’m doing my best.” With one deep intake of breath, she laced both hands in the ring and leveraged her legs until they burned with exertion. Then she pulled with every remaining ounce of strength. The ring popped out of the sand, and with it, a lid to a golden box. As she leaned to look into the box, which was quickly filling with sand, a blast of spicy cool air pushed her back to the ground. Frankincense, she thought numbly, trying to regain her composure. It must be a box of spices. How disappointing. A shadow blocked the sun as Eliza crawled to her knees, and she stared up, shielding her eyes at the unmistakable male outline before her. He towered over her, and while she couldn’t make out his features, it was clear he was not one of her crew. His long black hair brushed his massive shoulders. He was naked except for a thin cotton wrap flowing around his waist. Wordlessly, he held out a hand as if to help her to her feet. She scrambled backwards, fearful of his size, stunned by his sudden appearance. “Where did you come from?” Her words were barely audible in the wind, her mouth parched and throat raspy. But he heard her. “Eliza, my servant.” His voice rolled on the wind, the voice of her hallucination. “Excuse me? Who the hell are you and what the hell do you mean by calling me your servant?” She pushed herself to her feet and took in his features from a yard away. Her legs nearly failed her. He was exotic, beautiful, with a presence that made her stomach churn in excitement and fear. A golden tattoo circled one arm in an ornate script. His chest was bare, bronze, and massive. He reached out impatiently with his hand again, in silent command for her to take it. “No way, mister. I’m not alone here, you know.” “Eliza. Attend to me.” What was the accent? Not modern Arabic. Oh, hell, had she stumbled on some sleeper cell of bad guys out in the desert? Was he going to take her to his training installation as a hostage, or sell her into slavery? She scrambled out of the trench in the direction of her team’s camp, but he was on her in an instant. With a hand on each shoulder, he forced her to face him. Eliza struggled, terrified now, clearly at his mercy. He locked his deep gaze on hers for a moment before pulling her to his body, clutching her in an iron embrace. The heady aroma of frankincense and the contact with his bare skin made her lightheaded. “Who are you?” she whispered. “I am your master, Kasdeya. But I am also your servant. You are my Keeper,” he leaned in and whispered into her ear. His breath sent chills to her scorched body. “I have waited too long for you.” In terror, she looked up into his black eyes, seeing her own reflection for a moment. Not Eliza, filthy dirty archaeologist in khakis and boots, but Eliza in a gown of thin gold, with a torc of light circling her neck. As he pressed his lips to hers, her world, the heat and her fear misted across the sand, shimmering like an oasis. He scooped her into his arms and pushed her head to his shoulder firmly. “All will now be well.” It wasn’t a reassurance—it was a call for silence, for acquiescence. Deep inside, a call to question him, to scream or fight, gave way to his scent, to the stupor he cast on her. I want this. What’s wrong with me? Why do I want this? “Yes.” He hissed in pleasure at her submission. The real Eliza would be angry, fighting furiously to flee, she thought. But this Eliza barely cared what happened, except that Kas…Kas-somebody carried her to shade and brushed the back of his hand against her burned cheek, cooling her whole being. “Why do you need so much healing, little one? Why has my Keeper ignored her needs? That will end now. Do you understand?” “Sure, whatever you say. I’ll get a check-up and manicure as soon as I get home. Can I have some water first? I’m so damned thirsty…” “No cursing!” His breath brushed Eliza’s ear, and she realized that he now spoke aloud, and sounded a bit less pleased. “Well, I can’t live to take care of myself if I die of thirst. Priorities, you know?” “Why are you arguing with me? You should not be able to resist me.” Eliza tried to move her head from his shoulder, but he pushed her firmly against his skin. The fog clouding her senses lifted enough to let in a bit of fear, and the clear sense that something was extremely strange. They had reached the temple interior, only minutes earlier covered in sand and granite rubble. Eliza cried out at the splendid, intriguing refuge in the desert, now a temple to luxury, with silk curtains blowing in a cool breeze, exquisitely crafted carpets strewn with colorful pillows and throws, and gold and silver decanters and cups and bowls, overflowing with fruits, wine, water and exotic flower petals. He’s a genie, and I opened his bottle! He growled in annoyance. “Genie indeed. This is mortifying. Why have you broken our bond, cast aside your longing to be with me? How is it possible?” “Look, I’m obviously having some kind of hallucination, so don’t blame yourself for how it’s going. Put your mortification aside and drop me.” “As you wish.” He unceremoniously plopped her onto a mound of cushions and sat cross-legged by her side, chin propped in one palm. He studied her intently, alternating expressions of anger and confusion switching on and off his gorgeous face. Eliza backed up like a crab, never letting him out of her sight. She reached behind to a low table and grabbed a cup of cool water, and then a second. “We were to wed today.” His words rushed out, as if he were testing his own sense now. “You aren’t very bright, are you? And I have no one to blame, because you’re my hallucination. You’re damned good-looking, though.” “Cursing again.” “Sorry.” “By now we should be in the throes of grand passion, coupling in the ecstasy I’ve yearned for these many decades. Suckling on your wonderful nipples, clawing at one another as I pound my seed to your womb…and so forth and so on.” “So forth and so on?” Eliza sat against a pillar, wondering why it seemed to sway with the beat of her heart. So forth and so on. She broke into a sweat. “The rest, of course.” “Of course. You might remind me, in detail, about what “so forth and so on” involves, as I’ve had a bit of a shock today.”

“Sidra, it’s me. SLIman.” She froze in her tracks, her blood turning icy. No, impossible. He had said he was forty, a little heavy and balding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sidra heard the quiver in her own voice. “Please allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Donovan Barlowe. We made an appointment last night to meet here to discuss our shared interests and experiences.” Turning back toward him, Sidra reached for the back of the booth to steady herself as she slowly sat, clutching her purse to her chest with trembling hands. We’ve written to each other every night. I told him so much. All the time this man, this god, listened, consoled and counseled me? He nodded as if he had heard her thoughts. “Please call me Van. Before you ask, you have some explaining to do yourself. I really didn’t think a disabled grandmother would want to meet in a SoHo bar at midnight. Not such a sophisticated cover, SLIgirl.” “I suppose not. It’s only that…” “A girl can’t be too careful. Especially one who looks like…you.” Van ran his gaze slowly down her body again and settled on her eyes, shaking his head slightly. “Like what? What do I look like?” Sidra cursed silently for asking, for hungering to know what he thought of her. “There you go again,” she heard her mother’s voice. “Ah, you’re on a fishing expedition, then? Surely you’re used to stopping traffic with that face and body? Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are, love. Very pleasantly surprised.” I hardly think so. Sidra sipped at the martini and concentrated on the beads of moisture running down the sides of the glass. Look at anything but him. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t say a word. “Of course, you’ve been on the site, in the chatroom, seen the nonsense the others write. Half of them are nuts, don’t have the power at all.” “The power?” Van extended his hand, and Sidra shook it as forcefully as she could. “I’m happy to finally meet you in person, Sidra. It’s probably best if we discuss things at my place.” “At your place? You’re out of your mind. I agreed to meet to talk about problems I thought we shared, not to hook up for a quickie. How many women fall for this, Mr. Barlowe?” Sidra wondered if it were possible Van stalked women on the Internet to lure them into meeting him. Why would a guy who looked like him need to do that? For kicks? Then he really was a deviant. “We do share those problems, as you call them. I prefer to think of our powers as gifts. Of course, one person’s gift may be another’s curse.” “It’s clear you prey on vulnerable women searching for help with their…issues. I find that revolting. I’m not vulnerable, and you’ll have to find another sucker.” Van reached across the table and cupped both her hands in his. A jolt of energy shot up her arms and she flinched, but he clutched more tightly, leaned close to her, and lowered his voice to a sensuous whisper. “When you leave, what will be different? Where will you go? Who will help you?” His voice wound into her chest and squeezed until she was breathless. “I don’t need your help,” she muttered. “There are more of them all the time, aren’t there? You see them more clearly with each appearance. You’re frightened, and it’s not easy to frighten you. It’s your choice, Sidra, but I can help you.” Sidra closed her eyes to steady herself. The electricity from his hands made her feel slightly faint and the flutter of butterflies in her stomach turned to a wave of nausea as she thought of them—the spirits. More of them all the time, yes. At home, on the street, in the park, even in daylight now. The shapes, the horrifying, threatening, grey phantoms. Sidra fought back tears as she met his eyes. He looked so sympathetic, so concerned. Perhaps she could trust him? She had been ready to trust an aging researcher, but not someone young, sexy and confident. He ran his thumb along her wrist before letting go of her hands. Don’t fall for this Sidra. It’s not safe. He’s not safe. “Yes I am.” Her eyes shot open in disbelief to find him smirking, full lips pulled to one side in amusement. How could he have read her mind?

“Professor Smith, come here.” Grayson patted the spot next to him on the loveseat. “Please.” “Damn.” “Right. We both know that wasn’t a dog at your window. Nor an ex-girlfriend of mine. I think I’ve put you in danger. And since I’d like to continue dating you…or start dating you…I’d like you to live a while longer.” “I think you’re a little confused and unnecessarily worried.” Tari sighed and plopped next to Grayson. “You’d like to date me? I thought this was about my DNA.” “I’m not much of a worrier, and I’m rarely confused, but I must say you seem to have pushed my boundaries on both.” Tari dared to look into his beautiful hazel eyes, which softened a bit when she did. “You know about the bet on campus? The female professors think you’ll be voted sexiest man alive before you win a Nobel Prize. Isn’t that funny? You’re not laughing.” “Is that supposed to be flattering? I guess it is. What’s your bet?” “About even. Go ahead, what do you want to know? Oh, never mind, I’ll tell you. Her name is Samantha. I call her Sam.” “Who?” “The…thing.” Tari thumbed towards the window. “The thing that sent you running in here. Sam has been with me for as long as I can remember. You know how many children have imaginary friends? They say it’s a sign of intelligence, really. In my case…” Are you sure? This means the end. Another move, another job. And no Grayson. You’ll just drift into the night, and he’ll never find you. What a shame, look at him. “It’s yours? I thought it was mine.” Now he really looked upset. “It had…well, you know, teeth.” “I saw that. She takes on different looks, depending on what…she…” Icy fingers crawled up Tari’s back and gave her gooseflesh. No. Ridiculous. “Go on.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “Samantha warns me when she thinks I might be in danger. Sometimes she’ll take the form of the danger.” “I’m not dangerous. Not to you.” He waved away the notion impatiently. “Not to anyone, at least not anymore. I haven’t…done that…in a long time.” “Done what? Who are you?” Grayson sniffed out a little laugh and laced his fingers in a strand of Tari’s hair, pulled it to his nose, and rubbed between his fingers. “You’re lovely, really beautiful. It would have been splendid, you know? I’m a fool. I understand now, why I was so insanely excited. It gets lonely sometimes.” He laughed again. “Wow, very manly of me on a first and last date. Talking about my poor psychological state.” “What gets lonely?” It does, I know. Oh. My. God. “What you are? What are you?” “You tell me.” They locked gazes, and the earth shifted a bit. Lost deep in his eyes, ready to lean in and kiss him before he tore all hope apart, Tari jumped when he spoke. “Say it. Say it out loud.” He winked. “Oh, come on, Grayson. Really? That’s the best you can do? I haven’t seen that movie since I was fifteen. I had the mug, the poster, the sheets, T-shirt, necklace…you name it. But—and this is very important—I’m not fifteen anymore.” “I’m relieved, because that would mean I’ve been stalking a minor.”