Greece. Ah, it was the epitome of culture - home of the Olympics, of the fierce Spartans and philosophical Athenians, of the Trojan wars and the legend of Odysseus. And can you say hot Greek gods in winged sandals, barely-cover-all togas gracing their tanned and toned bodies, leaf-like crowns adorning their curly-haired heads? I mean, who wouldn't be somewhat thrilled at the prospect of visiting such a primordial civilization as this?

Let's think - me.

I mean, yeah, the mythological gods bit would be a fairly thrilling prospect, but other than that, what d'you think Greece – or more specifically, Athens – is filled with?

Yep, you got it – dead guys. And not just any dead guys. Oh sure, there'll be the occasional partially modern ghost in need of my – and, of course, now, Jesse's – mediating techniques, but honestly. We're staying in one of the world's oldest civilizations. A place that was basically subject to war and catastrophe as much as it's famous for art and philosophy.

So saying I was less than thrilled than my family, and Jesse, would be a bit of an understatement.

Though, I think Jesse was probably far more excited than any of us. Why, I have no idea. Well, actually, I guess I have some idea. You see, Jesse was born in the early 1800's in Northern California, when the biggest advancements they had in American life were farming and (possibly) railroads. Not that Jesse had been much of a traveler. From what he's told me – and from what I've found out in the history books Doc dug up way back when I'd first moved to Carmel – Jesse was more of an only son, take over the family farm kind of guy.

Like he had a choice.

So, as you can see, he didn't exactly get out much. Although, for the one hundred and fifty-or-so years he'd been dead, he basically followed modern advancements like a teenybopper follows the newest punk-rock band. Though possibly with much more vigor and dedication.

And although you can pretty much materialize anywhere you want to when you're dead, as demonstrated by my father's previously sporadic visits between New York and Carmel, Jesse seemed more comfortable hanging around the Ackerman house for most of his afterlife.

Not that it had always been the Ackerman house, of course. No, way back when (around 1850 or so) it had been kind of a boardinghouse for travelers. Jesse, of course, had rented a room and had been killed in the middle of the night by his ex-girlfriend's boyfriend, Felix Diego. Well, actually, now that Paul Slater and I have altered the course of history (not that they've gone and changed the history books, or anything) Jesse was thought to have died in a mysterious fire that took place in the O'Neil's barn, just out back of the boardinghouse.

Of course, only Paul, Jesse, and I knew that it was really Felix Diego's remains they'd found in a heaping, burning pile after the flames had gone out. Although I felt sick to my stomach at the prospect of that slime ball Diego, or rather, his slime ball bag of bones, being buried in Jesse's place, it was a bit of a relief knowing that Jesse's family would live (and eventually die) with the knowledge that Jesse hadn't run away from his bride to be, the previous common knowledge, and instead had died on his way to break it off with her.

Yeah. Much more comforting.

So, you see, Jesse was pretty darn excited to be getting out of Carmel, en route to Athens, Greece. And its not like it took mucho begging to bring him along, anyway. Well, my mother occasionally reels off her 'isn't he a bit too old for you, Susie?' spiel, but I just smile, shake my head, and thank the gods, if there are any, that she doesn't know how old he really is.

But, honestly, the Ackermans (with the exception of Brad, probably) and my mom were pretty amiable about Jesse's coming along on our first family, winter vacation thing. Although, Andy's kind of scary parenting had kicked in on the way to the airport.

The conversation, with Andy at the wheel and Jesse and I in the farthest seats, me concealing my crimson cheeks behind a veil of loose, black hair, went like this:

Andy: So, Jesse, is it? Where are you from?

Jesse: Carmel, sir.

Andy: Right. You live with your family?

Jesse: No, sir. My family died quite a while ago.

Andy: Oh… I'm very sorry to hear that.

Jesse: No, it's all right, sir. I was very young when it happened. (Technically he was the exact opposite, so that wasn't really true, but it was what Jesse, Father Dominic and I had worked out.)

Andy: I see. Well, how did you meet our Susannah here? (Nice change of subject, Andy, real smooth… wait, OUR Susannah? I really needed to have a talk with these Ackermans, taking possession of my mother and I all of the sudden.)

Jesse: Last summer while we were both working at the Pebble Beach Hotel and Golf Resort.

Andy: Oh, Suze didn't tell us she'd made many friends there. (Cute, huh? Andy chooses to be so naïve as to ignore the fact Jesse and I are definitely more than friends.)

Me: (I though it about time to stick up for myself.) I don't tell you guys anything about work.

Andy: That's true… alright, well –

Thankfully that painfully boring and tedious conversation was brought to an end when my mother pointed out we'd arrived at the airport. The airport in Monterey, to be more specific. Carmel-by-the-Sea was just too small of a joint to house such a big tourist attraction (and private school) as the Mission and a local airport.

Luckily the Northern California towns are so squished together – I don't even want to think about where that conversation was heading.

Back in January, when I'd finally joined my mom and the rest of the Ackermans, my best friend – and only friend – Gina had passed on a certain knowledge to me. Having brothers was a good thing. Riiiiiight, I'd thought, rather than said aloud, as it would be the last time I'd see her for a while, and I felt it best to end on an I'll-miss-you sort of note rather than a sarcastic one.

I'd landed hours later and found, to my surprise, that it actually was pretty advantageous having three step-brothers – my luggage wasn't going to carry itself! Not, of course, that I'm too self-righteous to lug around my own bags stuffed full of my own designer clothes and shoes. Nuh uh. I go around kicking ghost butt most of the time – my muscles are pretty well toned enough to carry a few hundred pounds or so.

But hey, if they were willing to do it for me, I wasn't going to complain.

These same thoughts reeled through my mind for the second time in my step-brother-filled life as Andy leaned across his light brown leather front seat and tweaked a little black button, popping open the trunk. Dopey, Sleepy, and Doc all veered toward the back of the car and began unloading all of the bags. My mom and I had the winning numbers, of course, with three altogether. We'd decided we needed a fourth for all of the stuff we'd likely be bringing back, but Andy had insisted we wouldn't be bringing back more than we could cram in our suitcases.

Yeah. Right.

Jesse, too, had shuffled back there, his hunky figure now adorned in a much more normal - though not nearly as chest flattering – attire of a gray hooded sweatshirt with a red NoCal logo on the front, courtesy of Sleepy, and a pair of dark, form fitting jeans.

I couldn't exactly complain, what with the wonderful view his posterior provided whilst he reached toward the hood of the car to dislodge the extra suitcases we'd stacked after realized there wasn't any more room.

Nope, no complaining here.

"Susie? Can you help me with these carry-ons, honey?" my mother wanted to know. With a somewhat disappointedly idle shrug, and one last longing glance at my boyfriend's well shaped tush, I ambled over to the front seat and struggled to extricate the few small bags my mother and I had so lovingly stuffed with healthy snacks, magazines, and trashy romance novels.

So, with the Ackermans and Jesse loaded down with our luggage, and my mother and I carting our numerous carry-ons and gossiping over the latest People magazine issue, we made our way through the airport, my unease about Greece and its ancient, historic qualities subdued.

Temporarily, of course.