"No one knows what happened to my father, they found him in the lake a few days afterwards. We never really got along, I think I reminded him too much of my mother." - Pansy, age 18, to her bodyguard Gerry after a little too much wine.

Several sleepless nights later, Pansy lay in her bed listening to a gentle stream of rain hit her stained glass window. It should have been relaxing. Instead she argued with Stella.

The Ghost in her head.

Did that make her crazy? Possibly. But crazy was alive and well.

It didn't help that she couldn't stop thinking about Neville. And … Gus. The two mixed together in a seamless stream of memories and emotions, some of which were hers and some of which were Stella's.

"Please, I need one night of sleep. Just one night, then you can go back to dreaming about your hubby."

She resolved to bargaining. Pleading. BEGGING.

I'm not the one dreamin', hon.

"I started having the dreams the same day I put on the bracelet. The same day you showed up in my head," she complained, tugging on the offensive metal around her wrist and wishing Mrs. Grant would return her letter. Pansy wanted to know exactly where the hell that woman had gotten the bracelet from. "And I've never had sex before, how could I dream… what I dream…"

Everybody has sex, hon. And it would be a damn shame if you keep putting it off.

"It's you and your husband. Clearly you two were hot and wild when you were alive."

You don't dream of me and Gus though, if you were, I'd have to take offense. You're dreamin' of that stud. I mean, he needs a bit of a brush up but mm-mmmm. I bet he's dyn-a-mite in bed.

"Stop," Pansy groaned.

I saw the way he looked at you when he asked to be a-lone. Only one thing a man thinks about when he asks to be alone with a woman.

"One. Night." Pansy begged. "Please, Stella? I need sleep."

As I need my husband. I've waited 50 years to see him again. You can sleep once we've reunited.

"What does THAT mean... 'reunited'? You want me to sleep with bloody Neville Longbottom just so you can… get… laid?! Don't answer."

She pushed off the sheet and sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair. Her eyes ached, which she didn't think was possible, but they did. She wasn't exhausted anymore. Too many days without sleep had pushed her passed exhaustion and fatigue and straight into a numb delirium. Plus, the voices in her head. Ha ha.

Insanity!

"Don't answer," she repeated, heading to her bathroom to take an unnecessarily long, hot shower.

One where she pampered herself with expensive body wash and deep conditioning hair tonic that made her feel like one of the Goddesses, if only for a few hours. She shaved all the unwanted hair from her body and soaked her feet with calming cream.

Then she trimmed her bangs and moisturized her face.

Hoping for an iota of relaxation, just enough to help her fall asleep and hopefully stay that way. She smelled like a garden when she left the bathroom and felt unequivocally clean. She slipped into a fresh set of pajamas, deep blue colored silk shorts that had little white bows on the sides and a matching tank top.

Sexy, sexy, Stella purred in her mind.

"Comfy, comfy," Pansy argued. "Going for relaxation here, Stel."

Oh no, was she becoming familiar with the crazy ghost in her head?

Through the dark hallway she went to her kitchen to make a cup of chamomile tea but at the open doorway she caught sight of a tall shadow.

"Wayne?" she called. "Is that you?"

The shadow turned and disappeared too quickly for her eyes to follow and from the front foyer she heard Wayne call back to her. "I'm at the front, Ms. Pansy."

Her heart jumped into her throat. "Wayne there's someone in the kitchen!"

Honey! Go get him!

"You want me to chase the stranger in my home?!" she shouted in a panic.

"No!" Wayne shouted from the other side of the house. "Go to your bedroom and lock the door!"

Which was their secret code for her to hide in the linen closet. Don't you dare! You're a witch, get your wand and defend your home from the intruder!

"Are you crazy?" she shouted, unable to bring down the volume of her voice. She ran for the closet at the end of the hallway. "Why do you think I hired bodyguards?"

You're pathetic! If it were me, I would knock that sucker out just like my mama taught me.

"You aren't me, I'm just a tiny witch with no real power."

If I had a wand, I would use it for three things, honey. Breakin' into banks, making people think I didn't break into that bank, and getting my husband's clothes clean off.

"How the hell is that supposed to help me right now?" Pansy stuffed herself into her linen closet and into the corner, surrounding herself in darkness. "And... really.. banks? What were you? Some kind of bandit?!"

I guess four things, Stella admitted. I'd use it to knock that sucker out and make him sing.

"Sing?"

Spill the dirt, honey. Interrogation style. Plus, you're just gonna leave your man alone like this? What if this intruder takes him down? He might could need some backup.

"Oh Goddesses, Wayne…" Pansy gulped. "But what could I possibly do to help?"

You got a fryin' pan?

Trembling, she opened the linen closet door and ventured out trying to remain as silent as she could. She made her way to the kitchen where she kept three iron skillets. A small, medium, and large. She grabbed the biggest one.

No, no. It's too heavy. Grab the small one, easier to maneuver.

"Wouldn't the big one deliver a heavier blow?" she asked quietly, though she was freaking out.

No, sweetheart, the small one will make it easier to hit him and it's hard enough to take 'em out. The bigger one will be harder to swing. Get the small one!

"Okay fine!" she dropped the big one in the sink and went for the smaller one as directed. By the ghost living in her head.

It was lighter. She used it for eggs. Now she planned to… what? Hit some shadow she saw for a half second when she hired a perfectly capable guard to protect her?

Hon, why don't you let me handle this one?

"Handle it how?"

Babydoll, you think some cultist is going to scare me? My father is way scarier than some goon and I avoided him for years.

"Father?" Surprise had her throwing open her mental door, and Stella slid right through, taking control of her body. In the mirror behind her herb rack, Pansy watched her eyes turn to a deep forest green and a slow, sultry smirk came across her lips. Trapped in her own body.

Oh no, Stella, please don't do this.

"Oh yes, honey." Stella, using her body, flipped the iron skillet around by the handle like she knew exactly what she was doing, and marched right out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the unknown darkness of Pansy's living room with a confident saunter.

Last time you did this, you kissed someone who hates my guts! In case you've forgotten… THERE'S A CULT AFTER MY HEAD.

"That Longbottom fellow does not hate your guts," Stella told her, her accent even thicker out loud. Pure American Southern, straight from the 1950s, vowels slow and dripping with honey. "10 bucks says he'd play a little back seat bingo with you given the slightest chance. Come out, come out wherever you are…"

Stella!

The shadow moved in front of them, a blurry white face in the darkness but he clearly held a wand. Stella dodged the red bolts with a grace that should have been impossible, tumbling over like a trained gymnast behind Pansy's couch. She did it again through the space between the coffee table and couch, coming in right behind the intruder.

He swung around, forgetting his wand and turning physical clearly thinking he had the size advantage.

He did.

But Stella had Pansy's skillet.

She brought the cast iron down hard on the back of his head. A satisfying thump signaled his fall. "And that is exactly how my mama taught me to take care of unwelcome guests!"