Sorry this took forever. It's one of our SHORTER chapters! Only 37 pages, shock/horror.

My God . . .

Hahaha. Well, okay, review or . . . I dunno. But it will be bad.

Okay. I'm technically banned off the computer, so I'll upload this kinda sharpish, you know?

Love Lolly, (and Hayley.)

- 8 -

Jesse's eyes were bugged.

Which really, really sucked.

I mean, I already felt bad enough. I didn't necessarily need to know that I LOOKED bad, too. I was still leaning against the walls as I was walking, so I wasn't even supporting myself either.

'Oh, me?' I giggled weakly, 'I'm fine.'

Jesse's eyes narrowed, and very carefully, he came behind me, and slid one of my arms around his neck, and he slid one of HIS arms around my waist, juuuuuust missing the bit where Robin had kicked it. Thank God. I didn't want to have to explain that, too.

So, with me leaning into him, I was now making a slightly quicker way down the endless passageways of Fortunaschwein. Oh, goodie. Everybody just LOVES a maze that they can get lost in.

Not.

'Please, Susannah,' he said. Ever since last night, he'd been using a different tone of voice with me. Gentler, I suppose. I didn't know what that meant. It was actually making me very nervous. 'Tell me what happened.'

My other shoulder was killing me. The one that Robin had stepped on.

. . . That sounded weird, that way. Like my shoulder was a fresh swirl of doggie poopie, or something.

Whatever.

'Do you even have to ask?' I said with a pained, but wry smile, repeating what Robbie had said earlier to me.

'Hmm,' Jesse murmured. 'Misfortunates, I presume?'

Give that girl a prize.

. . . Hehehe . . . I called Jesse a girl –

'Yeah,' I winced. My stomach was still really tender. I was just glad that he was holding me from my right side, and was just missing it with his hand. The kick bruise, I mean.

Seriously, how RUDE was that? Way to kick a girl when she's down.

He didn't ask much more on the subject, because he obviously guessed that I wasn't really feeling like recounting.

Since Jesse couldn't actually materialize anywhere with me, this was going to be a slow trip. I mean, he could dematerialize all his troubles away while carrying OBJECTS, but not people, and most certainly not shifters. I dunno. Something to do with clashing auras. And shifters had more defensive auras that kept them firmly in the realm that they WANTED to be. Paul had told me about it a long time ago.

Back when I used to have shifter lessons.

Back when I would have kicked Robin Lawrence's ass, and used his butt cheeks to park my bike.

. . . Okay . . . that sounded gross.

So, Jesse and I began the long walk up to my fourth room floor. 'You should seriously consider moving your things to a room closer to the rest of the living,' he pointed out on the third floor stairway.

Maybe . . . I dunno. I liked the room I had now. It was not only very classy, but – hmm, I dunno.

Once there, Jesse was pretty much dragging me along. He sat me on the bed, and then carefully prodded the area around the graze on my head. 'It's not as bad as it looks,' he concluded after his poking session.

'Well, that's a relief,' I said sarcastically.

He smiled slightly. 'It will not take long to heal, Susannah. I'm sure that in no time, the skin will be smooth enough for you to continue applying your paints.'

'Hello? It's called liquid foundation,' I rolled my eyes, 'God, when were you born, 1820 or something?'

His smile widened a little more. 'Very funny, Susannah. Give me one moment, I will not be long in returning – '

I hesitated. I mean . . . what if Robin had heard what Bart had said, and was now pissed off at him, and was therefore pissed off at me, and there was a lot of pissiness flying around, and the moment Jesse scampered off, he made his big entrance, and kicked some more crap out of my near-crapless self?

'Um – ' I began, but Jesse assured me that he would literally only be about three seconds. 'I'm counting,' I warned.

He dematerialized in a haze of twinkling purple-blue.

Those three seconds took a long time. Not really, just it seemed like it, because there was a sudden heavy silence in my room. Like there was breathing . . .

Oh, that was me.

But he was back, then, with a Handy Dandy first aid kit.

'Four seconds,' I chided. 'You're late, de Silva.'

'My apologies, senorita.' He sat down beside me on my bed, and told me to lay my head back on the pillows so the blood wouldn't run any more than it had. I shut my eyes tiredly. Then he set to work on my forehead, dabbing ever so carefully at the blood with a bit of cloth. I only flinched the first few times, before I learnt to deal. He really was so gentle. And he totally knew what he was doing.

Without really thinking what I was saying, I said softly, 'You should have been a doctor or something, you know.'

I opened my eyes, and saw he had a grim little smile on his face. 'Funny you should say that,' he said. 'That was exactly what I would have liked to be. Well, had it not been for my duties on the ranch. Medicine has always fascinated me, and I've always shown great interest in mending the injuries of my family. There were always accidents on the ranch. And I – ' he stopped, and then said no more on the subject.

'Well, you would make a great doctor,' I assured him, keeping it in the present tense purposely, and closing my eyes once more.

Upon finishing, his fingers lingered on my forehead for a moment, before sliding down my cheek and then cupping my chin. He seemed so peaceful. His touch was still like a feather brushing indolently over my sensitive skin. My lips parted, and I tilted my face into his hand ever so slightly, and gave the tiniest sigh.

His hand moved away gradually, and yet again, I exposed my emerald greens. His eyes had the most tormented look in them. Just for a moment . . . one single moment of vulnerability, where his emotions were on display for my scrutiny. But that moment passed, and his eyes regained their dark, mysterious mistiness.

Damn.

'Rest,' he ordered me, 'You're tired.'

I'd actually gotten enough sleep last night. I mean, after all the crying. But I guess that had taken a lot out of me, as well as the fact that my head now sported a big fat head injury. And Paul always drained me of all energy that I had. It was exhausting just to think about him. So yeah, I was a little sleepy.

But, you know, I didn't NEED to sleep.

Hence, the beginning of 'I'm fi – '

'No,' Jesse put his foot down. Not literally, just, you know, he was being firm about it. In a nice way. 'Susannah, rest.'

With a grumble, I pushed back the covers, and slipped under them, flopping my head on the mattress.

And surprisingly, I fell asleep within the first five minutes, because I really WAS tired, as well as damned hungry, because I hadn't actually HAD any breakfast.

Thanks to a certain lawyer.

- 8 -

One thing I forgot to pack when I went back to California was an alarm clock. Not that I needed it much anyway, due to the fact just the warm rays of the sun were enough to awake me in the mornings. But since this wasn't the morning anymore, I was apparently being awoken from my much needed beauty sleep by another means.

Shaking.

Hmph. Given the choice, I would have continued sleeping forever. Or at least until the Fortunashwein mystery was solved and the rescheduled reunion takes place and I could go back to my life in Boston, leaving behind all the loose strings and broken things of the past. Once back in Boston I'd go back to my apartment, lock all my doors and windows, and go back to sleep.

But what choice did I have when I was being SHAKEN? At first, I tried to ignore it, but the shaking just kept getting more and more urgent. I tossed the covers back in agitation, about to ask what the HELL was more important that some much-needed shut eye, when the offender caught my eye.

And with a roll of my eyes, my head plunged back underneath the covers.

I'd rather sleep and have a thousand more nightmares about Cole than wake up and face such a man-bitch as Paul Slater.

YEAH.

THAT was who was shaking me.

I didn't stay under the covers for long because that's when Paul literally RIPPED the covers back down determinedly.

'Hey!' I shouted in protest, 'What gives?'

'We need to talk,' Paul replied, the urgency evident not only in his tone, but in the seriousness of his expression.

Talk. TALK? What else could Paul Slater have to say to ME? I think he made his opinion of me – that I'm nothing more than a ghostie-entertainer (if you know what I mean) – PERFECTLY clear the night before. What now? Did he forget to mention some other pathetic thing?

And what about the whole cover-snatching thing? Totally uncalled for. I mean, I could have been NAKED under there for Christ's sake.

Not that I would sleep alone and naked in a room when three (Bartie doesn't count) vicious and not to mention horny ghosts were after me. I'm not a total dunce.

But still. He should consider that possibility. Oh, but we're talking about PAUL here. He's anything BUT considerate.

God, my shoulder was aching. And my stomach. And my HEAD.

'You didn't have to do that,' I groaned. 'I was perfectly awake. I just don't want to talk to you right now. Buh-bye now, Paulie.'

Paul didn't beat around the bush. This was obviously important to him. Completely ignoring me, he went on to say, 'Jesse told me about what happened.'

. . . I blinked.

And blinked again . . . once more just to make sure he truly realized that I was BLINKING, and then I'm sure I turned beet red.

Oh crap. Just what I needed. ANOTHER weakness unveiled as if Paul himself were ripping the covers off of it, too.

Paul stared at me, waiting for my response. I didn't respond, however. I just sat there, wishing I could have the covers back so I could crawl back inside and hide again. Only, in order to do that I'd actually have to take them away from Paul. I couldn't do that. I couldn't even stand to look at him, much less have any other sort of interaction besides my hostile remarks.

'So I guess you came to rub it in,' I snipped. 'How pathetic I am, I mean. I already know, so just back off, okay?'

Paul glared at me impatiently for a moment and then said, 'You are pathetic.'

Ouch. That was a low blow, even if it was partly set up by me. My confidence was already shot to hell anyway, but I think Paul's ammunition was strong enough to bring it there and back.

As much as I hate to say, my heart kind of stung. Lately, Paul hadn't been censoring his thoughts about me much. He just spouted them off freely. And I guess I deserved it. But OUCH.

'You ARE pathetic, Suze,' he repeated, this time with much more emphasis. 'I don't know what's happened to you over the past five years, but the Suze I knew back then was so different.'

I mumbled, 'I don't feel any different.'

I really didn't. I mean, despite the hair and the more common occurrence of bruises on my body, I was still the exact same Suze. No better. Worse, but no better.

'Trust me. The Suze I knew five years ago was confident. She never let anyone boss her around or tell her what to do –'

'That is, until she got employed.'

Paul threw down the wad of covers in his hand angrily and said, voice raised, 'And you know what? She'd never let herself get thrown around by some ghosts. Ever. What happened to her, Suze?'

I was surprised at Paul. He was actually yelling at me. Which didn't help matters much, because I already felt so low. I kept trying to think of something smart to say to rebuild my pedestal, but each and every time Paul would get his giant wrecking ball and smash it to pieces.

Giant wrecking ball. That might be a little TOO optimistic.

See? There I go again. I really couldn't help it, though.

I didn't know Paul was going to be so blunt about pointing it out to me. You know, about my patheticness. I couldn't give him a straight answer right away.

Paul looked at me with impatience and disgust. 'Look at yourself,' he demanded, still yelling, 'look at yourself and then tell me that you're different. You weren't afraid of ANYTHING, Suze. And now you're a COWARD. A coward and a pushover.'

Please still be asleep. Please still be asleep. Please let this be one of the bad dreams that plague me when I sleep.

Because, seriously. This was not a very nice thing to hear.

That I was a coward.

. . . It wasn't my fault.

Just . . . things had happened, and – I dunno, I had just stopped fighting after a while. It had all gotten too hard.

Life had.

And you know the worst thing?

I definitely knew he was right about this one.

That whore crack that he made had been rude, and demeaning. But I knew in my heart that I was not like that. I was not a tease, or a slut, I didn't dress like that or act like that. Maybe to PAUL I did. But . . . he didn't – okay, shouldn't – matter.

But with this?

He was right.

This is what I was now. This useless, scrawny human being with no direction, and no zest for life. And one with no motivation to fight for it when it was threatened.

. . . My life, I mean.

And as HUMILIATING as it is to say, I knew very well that my eyelids were about to spill. You know . . . the choking of the throat, the itching of the nose, the tensing of the body . . .

I couldn't cry in front of him.

It just stung so badly that he was saying it to my face. Pointing out the flaw that I thought NO ONE would be bold enough to point out.

' . . . I know,' I whispered.

Paul's expression softened as he gently sat on the edge of my bed. He placed his hand down on the center of the bed and leaned forward on it, gazing at me with his laser-sharp eyes.

'Then change it,' he said.

I looked down at his hand. It was still as tan as I remember from long ago. Who knew lawyer-types still had time to visit the club for a round of golf or tennis or croquet or whatever they play?

And not to mention, his hand still looked strong. You know, like they still held the iron-grasp potential. Especially since I saw the muscle that strong-looking hand was attatched to.

SOMEONE'S been eating their Wheaties.

But no matter how I thought his hands looked (how did I get on THAT subject?), I still didn't trust him. I wanted to tell him that changing isn't as easy as it looks. It takes will power and determination and all that other good stuff. Good stuff a coward like me just doesn't have

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. 'But how?' I asked flatly.

Paul's expression changed again, this time from soft to- I don't know- mischievous. He flashed his perfectly political smile and replied, 'I'm so glad you asked, Miss Simon.'

Uh oh. The way he said that, coupled with his used car salesman grin did not sound good. And it wasn't just because I got a chill when he called me "Miss Simon". The tone was dripping with a brewing antic.

'Your problem,' he began, all business-like, 'is that you have this remarkable amount of potential, but your inner inhibitions about your abilities put up a wall that stops you from living up to it. You've lost all confidence and, consequently, you are afraid of failure.'

HEY. I thought I was the psychology major here.

And the whole confidence thing? Yeah, that was mostly HIS fault. Maybe if he laid off me a bit with the whole "SUZE IS A SLUTTY COWARD" thing, then maybe things would change. If I got out of this stinking school with its ghosts, and found a way to make Cole turn into pudding, THEN we'd be getting somewhere. Oh, and if I could just find a way to properly mediate a ghost without them attempting to either beat me up or get in my pants.

Paul just doesn't know what he's up against.

'Goodie. So what am I supposed to do?' I crossed my arms. I was now getting ever so slightly annoyed. I mean, when you think about it, he was right, but really, some of these things WERE his fault. And he had the nerve to be pointing them out, no problem.

He smiled. He looked like he'd got a load off his chest, actually. Apparently my patheticness had been pissing him off. Well, that's just GREAT to know.

'We'd better start up those shifting lessons again, don't you say?'

. . . That was the LAST thing I'd been expecting him to say.

After a moment of astonishment, I was like, ' . . .huh?'

He angled his face so he was looking down at me again. 'You know. Like old times. You, me, and the great power of shifting. Except I'm not going to bore you with any more theory, Suze. We're going to move right into the practice. If we don't . . . you're going to get yourself killed.'

'Thanks,' I said sarcastically. Biting words seemed the only way to cover how uncomfortable I was feeling.

He raised his eyebrows. 'You know what? Under normal circumstances, I'd give you the choice. Not that I did last time,' he added with a smirk, 'But this time, I'm making you do this. Because seriously, you'll end up dead in a matter of days if you don't start discovering the things that you're really capable of, and learn to defend yourself. I don't mean with fists. I mean, our way.'

'Cryptic, much?' I said. Then I sighed, and rolled back over. 'I'll think about it.'

No.

Done thinking. I would NOT torture myself THAT much. You know . . . giving Paul the opportunity to belittle me just a bit more than usual. That was like, ego-suicide or something.

'No, Suze,' he said angrily, and his hand came heavily on my shoulder, whipping me back to face him. Unfortunately, um, that happened to be the shoulder that Robin had twisted his foot on. So it was no mystery to me when a sharp yelp burst out of me. Paul stopped. 'Are you h – '

'I'm fine,' I said quickly. More evidence of how much I sucked –

'Let me see,' he said.

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No.'

'Show me.'

'No.'

'I'll tell them about Cole Kennedy,' he hissed at me.

I froze. That was LOW. He was BLACKMAILING me. This was like the Jesse thing, all over again. He had something on me, and was using it to his advantage. No matter where I was, Paul Slater was always three steps ahead of me.

By "them," he meant CeeCee and Adam. And probably Dani, too.

. . . They couldn't know.

I just stared at him in disgust for a moment, before I gave up. I very gingerly tugged down the neck of my sweater. It was a loose-ish neck, so it stretched over my shoulder and all. It was just my beige bra strap that was making me most paranoid.

However, I think that my shoulder was pretty distracting from any of my revealed undergarments.

On the top of my shoulder, you know, at the start of my armpit, was a swollen, very sickly dark purple mark that stained my skin. I swore. 'Whoa, no wonder my shoulder hurt.'

I looked up at Paul, and saw that his face was well on its way to contorting into an ugly look. 'What else did they do?' he asked in what he must have thought was a light tone.

'Um,' I said. Okay, this was embarrassing. 'My, er, head.'

'What happened?'

'The Misfortunates did it – '

'I meant, specifically.'

'Oh,' I said. I went a horrible shade of red, one that was about as attractive as my very stunning shoulder. I brought the neck of my sweater above my shoulder again, just blinking a lot. 'Er, well . . . Robin shoved me against a wall.'

Which was a version, of the truth, I guess. I mean, "Robin repeatedly smashed my skull against the door," sounded kind of heavy. Even if it WAS true.

It had been so damned scary . . .

Paul looked grim. 'Right,' he said. 'Is that all they did?'

'What is this?' I snapped, 'Spanish Inquisition?'

'That would be de Silva's territory,' he answered.

Oh yeah . . . hah, I guess it would.

Paul stood up. 'We'll do it now,' he said.

HUH?

'DO WHAT?' I squeaked in alarm.

His smirk went wry. 'Shifting lesson, Suze,' he informed me. At that moment he still looked a little mad. His hangover was probably still bothering him.

How could he ACT like that? With me, I mean. Like he HADN'T stolen half of my self-esteem the night before? Was this all a joke to him? Me? Was I something that only existed to him, so he could see all the different possible reactions he could get from one girl?

It was sick.

'Right,' I said, and climbed out of bed after long last. 'Whatever. I'll meet you downstairs or something, I just need to get something to eat, I didn't have breakfast – ' because of you ' –so – '

'I'll come,' he shrugged. 'Haven't eaten for about four hours.'

Oh, let us sing praises.

Not.

'Right,' I mumbled again, this time with less gusto. 'Okay . . . '

And ten minutes later, I was making pitiful salad sandwiches. You know, just tomatoes, lettuce, cheese and mayo. Oh, and pepper for Paul. Apparently, he loved pepper.

. . . Um, good for him.

Prior to sandwich making, I was just standing in the kitchen eating the fruit of my labour. Paul was there too, but we weren't exactly talking. It still felt . . . I dunno. Inappropriate, for me to even be in his presence. I mean, honestly. Why would he want someone like me there? Eating a sandwich, no less. I mean, sandwiches are, like, the most embarrassing food you could ever eat in front of someone because you have to open your mouth really wide to take a bite, and sometimes stuff falls out of the end. They're just messy.

'Hey Suze?' Paul asked suddenly, putting the salad sandwich down for a moment.

I looked up at him from my food and went, 'Hmm?' like I was casually interested, when in fact I couldn't help but wonder what he was going to drop on me this time. You know, shifting apocalypse, or something weird and wacky, like we could go back and forth in time or something. Haha, wouldn't that be WEIRD?

(A/N: Twilight never happened.)

Or maybe he was like, terminally ill. Maybe he had testicular cancer.

'You have mayo on your chin.'

I rest my case. About sandwiches being embarrassing, I mean.

I sicced my napkin on the glob on my chin immediately, hoping speedy cleanup would make up for my lack of grace in dining. God, could I make a bigger fool of myself?

I betcha he doesn't ever have to tell Dani she has mayo on her chin. Dani probably doesn't eat mayo or anything for that matter. I bet she never has to worry about food stains on her clothes. Her dry cleaning bill must be tiny.

'Right,' I said when I was mayo-less. He, of course, was eating with his impeccable Slater perfection. And of course, those Slaters can't POSSIBLY slip up. I mean . . . they were Slaters. Screw up the family reputation, why don't they?

Gah. They weren't even Slaters, though. The whole lot of them were Slaskis.

But who gave a flying poopie?

Since Paul had two sandwiches as opposed to my one, he was taking slightly longer. But then again, I was up to the second half of mine, and he was on his last half. So whatever.

'I poisoned that bit,' I said randomly as he took a huge bite. The split second of hesitation I got was well worth it. Then he proceeded chewing, and grinned at my sarcastically.

Oh, if only he had a bit of lettuce in his teeth or something . . . gah.

I was just polishing off mine, when who should burst into the kitchen but Miss United Kingdom herself.

'Paulie!' she said, taking no notice of me leaning opposite him, 'I woke up, and you weren't there!'

'It's one in the afternoon, Dani,' he replied dryly. 'I got up five hours ago.'

Dani didn't look all that flash then. She had no make up on whatsoever, and . . . well, to be frank, looked kind of . . .

Um, shit.

She turned a little, and saw me. Well, not saw. I mean, she'd noticed me before. But now she planned to mention me in the conversation or something, so my presence had to be known for insults sake or something, probably.

'Why are you eating lunch with her?' she asked at him. 'Is that mayonnaise even fat free?'

'Nup,' I said. 'Full of fattiness.'

She looked appalled at Paul. 'Did she make it for you?'

Paul shrugged. 'Yeah.'

I stared at him. This was weird. What? Does Dani think that a girl making a sandwich for her boyfriend automatically means that he's having an affair with said girl?

. . . HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I didn't exactly want to say all that much more. Because it had suddenly dawned on me. In between Dani screaming out in pleasure during her and Paul's possible night of kinky sex, had he mentioned to her what he'd said to me at the club?

If so . . . God, that was humiliating.

And knowing PAUL, he probably had.

Although, Dani was showing no sign of knowing what her boyfriend thought of me, so maybe he'd kept his opinion to himself.

I mean, he didn't exactly go broadcasting the kiss we'd shared a long time ago. That would lead to suspicions on Dani's part. And God help us if she thought that Paul still harboured feelings for me, or something. Eww.

Dani smiled sardonically at me. 'Well,' she said. 'Someone obviously neglected her Maybelline this morning.'

LOOK WHO'S TALKING, FUGLY.

I gave her a weird look, as did Paul. Dani had obviously not caught sight of the scarlet mushroomy growth that was floating around her head.

'Well, we can't all look like a cover girl,' I said sweetly.

Her eyes went cold. 'So,' she said in a completely different tone. It sounded like it was forced casualness. 'What have you been doing for . . . five hours, Paul?' She shot me a brief glare, before eyeing Paul with a snake-like look.

Paul said, 'Just research. Cee thinks she's onto something in the library.' He kind of winced. It was obvious that CeeCee hadn't been treating him very nicely since last night. CeeCee's a smart girl. She probably knew that it had been because of Paul that I'd left. She probably just didn't know WHAT he'd said to me.

Thank God.

'What's she – ' I began, but Dani cut me off as if I hadn't been talking. 'OH,' she said. 'And . . . Sue was researching to?'

'Suze,' I said through gritted teeth.

Paul's face cracked into an evil grin. 'Nah,' he said, 'Suze was busy doing other things.'

Namely getting her ass kicked, his eyes said.

'Like?' Dani persisted. God. Why did she had to be so tall? Six feet of femme fatale. With OUT make up on. She was SCARY.

'Sleeping,' I said quickly. 'I was sleeping.'

'No, she means before that,' Paul assured me with a glint in his icy eyes. 'Poor Suze got assailed by our resident ghosts. Well . . . besides de Siva,' he added with a smirk.

I gave him a cold look. Thanks, Paul.

Dani looked pretty delighted. 'Oh, you poor thing,' she cooed. 'Maybe you should go sleep some more.'

'Nah, you've done enough sleeping for the both of us,' I said carelessly.

'Yeah, I told Suze that she'd better start working on her defenses,' Paul went on, digging me deeper into my pathetic hole, 'So we're gonna go learn some – '

That "we" obviously caught Dani's attention. 'You're going to what?' she asked sharply.

Paul hesitated. He knew he'd made a mistake. 'Uh, shifting lessons. I'm gonna teach her now to NOT get her ass kicked,' he said.

'Powers?' she asked curiously.

'Yes,' said Paul.

Her face went stony. 'You never teach me any powers,' she said bitterly.

'That's because you're just a mediator,' I told her. She shot me an acidic look. 'Shut up, Sue,' Dani snapped rudely. 'No one asked you.'

I blinked. 'Okaaaaaaaaaay,' I mumbled. I started putting like, the lettuce and tomatoes and stuff away.

Dani went on talking to PMS in a would-be calm tone. 'So,' she said, her voice quite high, but deep at the same time. Dunno how that works, but yeah. 'You're . . . doing what? Telling her how to do things?'

'No,' Paul said calmly. He obviously realized he was in the shit. 'I'm showing her.'

And you know what? He was screwed. Why couldn't I make him more screwed.

'Yeah,' I said, 'It'll be more hands on, compared to last time we did these lessons, right Paul?'

He threw me a shut-the-hell-up-she's-already-mad-at-me look, one for which my care factor was zilch.

Suffice it to say, Danielle Moore was not all comforted by that news. She gave Paul the strangest look. 'When you're teaching her . . .these powers,' she shrugged, sounding overly offhand, 'I think I'll join you. Just to, you know, watch. And offer advice to Sue. And emotional support. Heaven knows that it must be horrible to have been beaten by those nasty little eighteen year olds,' her speech finishing in a spiteful tone.

I pursed my lips. 'Of course you can come,' Paul smiled at her, shooting a nasty look at me.

Oh great. Bulimic Bitch of Britain and her butt monkey want to gang up on me.

Like the Misfortunates.

Only I think that Dani and Paul will be even more unpleasant.

'You want something to eat?' Paul asked Dani.

Dani, for the first time, broke eye-contact with him. Her gaze flickered – YES. FLICKERED – to mine, and then away. 'No,' she murmured, 'I'm not hungry.'

I kind of scoffed, but saw that Paul was actually giving her a very hard look.

Which got me wondering if there was, you know . . . something I was missing.

Whatever it was, Paul looked like he didn't want to push it since I was present.

'Fine,' he said stiffly.

- 8 -

Well, it's a truly wonderful feeling to know that you are SO simply pathetic, that the guy you mutually hate wishes to extend his all-powerful shifting knowledge so that you don't screw up again when ghost-busting. Really inspired some warm fuzzies, just knowing that I was apparently that helpless.

What actually WAS pretty funny was that it was quite obvious that Dani couldn't trust Paul for a second with another woman.

Seriously. Here's this model, going around and flaunting herself to everyone, 17+ with a Y chromosome, (dead or alive) and Paul just LOOKS at someone else (hatefully) and she thinks that he's going to leave her high and dry.

On second thought . . . I mean hypothetically, if that WASN'T Dani and Paul for a second, that is actually pretty sad.

No seriously. It is.

But since it is Dani . . .

HA-HA.

You know, the Simpsons Nelson laugh.

HAHA. POINT AND LAUGH.

I still couldn't believe that Dani had called me fat last night. I mean, I kept in shape quite nicely, I thought. I exercised pretty much daily. Even here, I went for a run around lunchtime, past the little cemetery that was behind the school. Running was always uneventful, so I don't exactly broadcast it. But I DO that.

Maybe it was my lack of kickboxing.

But nah, I still looked good and stuff. I mean, as good as a whore CAN look.

So what was her problem? I mean, it was HER that was too thin. I mean, Paul probably only liked her because she featured on a magazine cover. Seriously. Can you just picture in your minds, in an article in Cosmo, seeing the words, "Bingo! Danielle Moore shines in her stunning halter-neck by Celine, hanging off the arm of hottie boyfriend Paul Slater,' partnered by a random shot of the two of them saying good lucks at Dani's latest skankfest?

Because seriously, I can. It's quite disgusting.

Paul is the type of guy who'd smirk smugly at the thought of being called a hottie. It would make him grin in a way that would say, "Yeah, I know . . . "

Also disgusting.

True, but – shut up.

So. Back to, you know, what actually was happening, not my stupid random musings.

We were in a classroom.

Yes. We were.

Fascinating, isn't it?

It must have been a classroom like – I dunno, a Literature classroom. There were all sorts of posters on the walls, you know, like Shakespearean play paintings, and . . . just lots of literature-y stuff.

Like a lot of the other classrooms (not all) all of the desks were pushed right to the back. That was where Dani went and sat. I plopped my butt on the floor under the blackboard, and I looked up at Paul expectantly. 'So,' I muttered, 'Any fascinating theorems from your notorious Dr. Slaski? Or did Pops take all your stuff away?'

Paul just smiled at me, you know, not in a friendly way, just . . . smiled. 'Stand up,' he said to me. I tossed Dani a look over my shoulder as I stood up. With apprehensive eyes, I said a very eloquent, 'Um.'

'What you got to know, Suze,' he said, standing tall and looking every bit the hot, arrogant, rich, condescending asshole that he was in his navy blue shirt and jeans, 'Is that, ultimately, whatever ghosts can do, shifters can do about twice as much.'

I'm sorry to say that I snorted.

'Yeah,' I said wryly, 'Right.'

His smile just got a little more mysterious. 'You think I'm joking,' he said. 'Well, poltergeist activity's very powerful, right? It can cause actual houses to fall apart, if the ghost's angry enough.'

'So?'

'Well, how do you think you made the chapel collapse back at JSMA?' he questioned.

I frowned, as I remembered what I done to Paul's ex minions . . . I'd made a multi-century old chapel just . . .fall on them. Despite the fact that they were ghosts, I knew that they'd been affected by it, and were no longer on the realm of the living. I didn't know how, but somehow . . . I'd forced them into their next plane of existence.

'Exactly,' said Paul, seeing my expression.

'Can I do that?' Dani asked.

'No,' Paul said vaguely. 'So Suze, is there anything else you know you can do as a shifter?'

'Besides making buildings fall on your ex-minions?'

His smile faltered. Oooh, sorry. Touchy subject. 'Besides that.'

'Well,' I thought, 'As a shifter, I can . . . shift.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'I mean, anything that you've discovered you can do, since the last lesson we had.'

'Exactly how many lessons did the two of you have?' Dani asked, but I just ignored her.

'Nothing,' I said embarrassedly.

Paul looked kind of stunned. 'You haven't picked up ANYTHING since then?' he asked in disgust.

I crossed my arms and leant against the blackboard, and looked around. 'Well . . . when I'm pissed off, I can make things move. Namely, blow up. You saw it yourself, that night – '

Don't ask.

He nodded in recognition. 'I remember,' he said dismissively. 'That's it?'

I rolled my eyes.

'Okay,' he said, with a long whistle. 'Well, you're screwed, aren't you?'

'How long would you say your lessons went for?' Dani asked, yet again to be ignored.

'Shut up,' I snapped at Paul. 'If you're not going to teach me anything, I may as well just – '

'Yes, Paul, she obviously isn't really committed to – '

'Shut up, the pair of you!' he growled. Dani sucked in sharply, and then narrowed her eyes at me. Paul turned to look right at me. 'Suze, if you don't wanna learn this stuff, then get the hell out.'

I swear to God, I almost walked out of there. EVERYTHING was telling me to leave. Dani, Paul, previous night, my sore shoulder, my head, my bruised stomach, my past, my pain, my whorish-ness . . .

I glared at Paul stiffly, but didn't move a muscle.

'Good,' he said. His hair was starting to go curly, like it had been when he was eighteen. It was, of course, shorter and more professionally shaped now, but he needed a haircut, and the longer bits of hair were indeed curling. Like they did when his hair was wet, like after I got yanked under water by the Misforties at Fortunaschwein's lake. After we'd gotten out of the water, Paul's hair had been curly there too.

Which, you know, would have been cute if I hadn't hated him so much.

But I did.

So therefore, it was so not cute.

'I've been dropping hints on you the entire time we've been here,' Paul began talking again. I don't know why, but the way he said that made me shiver. That was when I, you know, realized he was talking about shifting.

'Oh?'

'What do you think?' he scoffed.

I looked up in contemplation. 'Materializing?' I suggested lamely.

'Paul's excellent at that,' Dani felt it was necessary to add.

I think that Paul was starting to regret allowing her to come along. She wasn't exactly going unnoticed. Even though she was being ignored.

Because we were still very aware that she was there.

It was annoying.

At least, for me.

For Paul, it was probably, oh, um, inconvenient.

'Materializing,' he echoed. And then, he gave me a wicked smirk, before evaporating completely in a haze of dark blue. I frowned, and scanned around –

'Boo,' he said in my ear from behind me.

Shut up. Of course I jumped. That had been what Robin had said to me, prior to beating me shitless. In a manner of speaking, anyway.

Dani had laughed a little too loudly, I think.

I half jerked away from him – Paul, not Dani, who is (I think) a woman – and glared. 'I can't do that,' I said.

I really couldn't. Even when I had been most scared in my life, I'd always been completely inept of materialization. I didn't know why. But it seemed to come naturally to Paul, and not to me.

Shifting was a piece of piss. Materializing just . . . I dunno. I couldn't do it. I'd never done it before.

'You can and you will,' he said. 'If you don't learn, then you're putting yourself in a lot of danger.

I'll say. I remembered how hard I'd tried to dematerialize when I was trapped under Cole's bed that night . . . how badly I'd wanted to go home, and how incapable I'd been of doing so. So much so that I'd been completely paralyzed with fear.

My skin prickled at the thought, and I shivered.

I think that Paul picked up on the vibes that I was sending out. Or at least that it had something to do with Cole, and violence. 'Hmm,' he said. 'You know what I mean, then.'

Yeah, only that time, I wasn't in danger because of the dead.

I brushed my hair off my face, and licked my lips. 'No, I really can't do it,' I insisted. 'I've like, tried heaps and heaps of times and even when I'm really worried that if I don't materialize I will be totally screwed and even then I haven't been able to do and all I can manage to do is look kind of constipated or something and even though I'm visualizing the place that I want to be at I can't actually get there because I totally suck at all things materialize-y – '

'She talks fast, doesn't she?' Dani commented lightly. I turned to glare, and saw that she'd laid herself across the joint up desks, so she was on her back, her legs bent at the knees, with the left tossed sexily over the right. Her arm was above her head, and um . . . I think that she was actually sticking her chest out.

Ewww. Too much posing for Gucci photo shoots.

With women like Danielle Moore here, it was a wonder that a girl like me got called the whore.

No, really. You have no idea how slutty she looked right then.

Paul, however, didn't think it was such a bad thing. He was smiling at her lightly. I doubt that he'd even heard what I'd said. And NOT because of my speed of talking.

Hmph.

'Paul?' I checked, to see if he was still with us, or if he was half-way through eye-raping his girlfriend.

He twisted his head back to me, and scowled at me. WHY? DID I INTERRUPT YOU MENTALLY UNDRESSING YOUR MODEL?

'You're just not trying hard enough,' he shrugged at me.

I think that under the circumstances of being possibly beaten up by a drunken twenty three year old man, I would be trying VERY hard to dematerialize. 'I am so,' I said hotly.

'Go now,' he instructed, and smirked. 'You remember how to do it?'

'Yes,' was my stubborn reply.

I closed my eyes nervously. I mean, I didn't feel all that comfortable doing so. I was totally expecting them both to yell "NOW!" and then push me into some booby trap, where they would laugh at me and poke me and – um, possibly delight in cannibalism.

. . . Okay, well, maybe just making funny faces at me while I wasn't looking.

OR RUDE FINGERS.

Whatever. With the blackness I saw behind my eyelids, I imagined Paul from the back. As in – no, NOT his butt – so I could dematerialize behind him.

I tried . . . triiiiiied . . .

No go.

I opened my eyes. 'See?' I snapped. 'Told you.'

Paul let out an exasperated sigh. 'Okay, let's try something simpler,' he suggested.

'Like what?' I asked, feeling pretty dumb as Danielle was witnessing my failure. I swear I heard some soft cackling coming from somewhere.

'We could try to develop your basic telekinetic skills.'

' . . . in English?'

'Telekinesis. You know, moving stuff with your mind,' Paul replied with another sigh.

'Okay.'

Score . . . this was going to be fun. I mean, not learning from Paul, but actually acquiring the ability. Now I can just chuck stuff at people when I'm annoyed with them, without even lifting a finger. I could totally see myself pelting Mr. Lowe, my old boss, with those little containers of half-and-half cream. You know, if I wasn't fired.

'We'll start off with something really small,' Paul said as he positioned himself behind the teacher's desk.

'You savings account doesn't count,' Dani sneered from her luxuriously relaxed position. I sent her a nasty glare. She looked like one of those Egyptian princesses they portray, laying down in the shade with hot muscular men fanning and feeding grapes to them right off the vine. Only, you know, the only guy in the room was Paul and he wasn't necessarily feeding her bite-sized fruit, but his eyes did wander distractedly over there a few times.

And, okay, Paul did look hot. I mean, he didn't look so bad since he was slowly but surely getting over his hangover. Somewhere between the time I was getting my ass kicked by the Misforts and the time I was awaken by Paul not too long ago, he'd found time to change out of his pajama pants and into something a little more stylish. Granted, it wasn't his normal nine-to-five wear complete with tie, but he still looked polished with a dark navy-blue pique stretch Lacoste polo and dark denim jeans. And since he didn't put any product in his hair, not only did his natural blonde highlights come out, but also his hair actually looked touchably soft. Like it would feel like cotton candy or something.

And what was with his cologne? I could smell it faintly every time he moved somewhere. It was a clean, masculine smell, but I couldn't quite pin its fragrance.

However, you know, due to the fact that I had been totally debased by this guy, his hotness was shadowed by how much I truly hated him.

Paul plucked an old dusty pencil from the teacher's, brushed it off a bit, and placed it in the palm of his hand. 'Try this,' he said. 'Just breathe deeply and focus on the pencil. Now, imagine a line . . . a line of energy lifting the pencil up.'

I sniggered. Sorry.

I just got a mental picture of Paul, line dancing.

No idea how . . .

But HAHAHAHAHA.

'Concentrate, or I won't bother,' Paul warned yet again.

I sighed.

'She couldn't make it float any more than she could lose weight,' Dani said under her breath.

I whipped my head back to her, saw one of the Shakespearean posters that was above her, and I completely blew up.

. . . the poster, that is.

It burst into flames. You know, like spontaneous combustion. Only, I kind of doubted it was all that spontaneous.

Dani screamed and rolled gracelessly off of the desk, as the fire burnt the poster, and turned it to ash right before my eyes.

'YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!' she screeched at me, 'YOU COULD HAVE GOT ME!'

That was the general idea.

'Actually,' I said, stunned, 'It was an accident. I didn't – I didn't know I could do – '

Dani discovered a black smudge that had gotten on her top, and she shrieked again. In utter fury, she tore out of the room, possibly for the bathroom or someplace to remove the mark.

And then, it was just me and Paul.

Reluctantly, I turned around to face him.

"BLAH, BLAH. YOU SUCK, SUZE. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT. DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU COULD HAVE MELTED THE PLASTIC COATING ON MY GIRLFRIEND'S SKIN?"

Can't you see it now? Dani melting down like a Barbie, I mean.

"I'M MEEEEEEELTING! OH, WHAT A WORLD, WHAT A WORLD . . . "

'I seriously didn't mean to – '

'That was pretty good, actually,' he said. Paul looked pretty impressed.

. . . Huh?

'I almost killed your –' skanky ' – girlfriend,' I said flatly.

He rolled his eyes. 'Fire that weak wouldn't have reached her. It went out straight away. You panicked, and didn't keep it going. And plus, you aimed at something flammable, the most basic thing. But still, you did it,' he shrugged.

'Only because I was pissed off,' I mumbled.

'Well, as a beginner, that's where you can draw your power from,' he told me.

'Pissed-offedness?'

'No,' he said. 'Emotion.'

' . . . Oh.'

Okay. This was weird.

'Um,' I went on.

He was obviously enjoying this. You know, knowing things that I didn't. Having more power over me.

Just to add to the rest.

'Well, you strike me as the emotional type,' he said sarcastically. Which was not to say that he didn't mean what he'd said. I mean . . . you know. He was trying to taunt me again. Gah. I hate him. Then, he did actually go serious. Gah. Still hate him. 'When I say emotion, Suze, I mean . . . emotion can fuel power. Anger . . . pain . . . '

Oh, I was so gonna kick ass.

I didn't know anyone who felt more of those two things than me.

Was that why he –

. . . Nah. God, too complicated. I mean, he wouldn't do that just for the purpose of some lesson. That was cruel.

Paul WAS cruel, though.

. . . No. He called me that because he truly thinks me as that. NOT because he was trying to provoke me into being angry, so I'd achieve something now?

No. Too many things would have had to fall into place for him to have asked me to do these lessons. He would have had to know that the Misfortunates were going to have a go at me.

THE SLATER CONSPIRACY! AAAAAAAAAH!

Definitely not. I was a whore to him. He did not call me that for . . . performance enhancement or something.

. . . Ewww. Eww, Suze.

I blinked, and looked away. 'Right. Okay . . . so – um . . . what do I do?'

He turned away from me, and my eyes, WITH A MIND OF THEIR OWN, dragged themselves from his feet, up his legs, past his butt, up his back, across his shoulders, along his neck, through his hair, down his arms, and to his hands.

Whoa. Paul has big hands.

No, really, he does.

Nice and big. Good for strangling people.

When he turned back to me, his icy eyes looked like they'd planned something. He moved to the other side of the classroom, grabbed one of the wooden chairs that was stacked, and then he put it in the center of the room.

'Okay,' he said, rubbing his very large hands together. 'Burn it.'

I laughed. 'Oh. Right. And how the hell do I do that?'

'Easy. Focus on it . . . and will it to burn.'

I focused on it. And willed it to burn.

. . . come on . . . come on, burn . . . COME ON . . . BURN FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!

'It didn't burn,' I informed him.

'I know it didn't burn,' he informed me. 'Because you didn't care.'

'Oh, I'm supposed to care now, am I?' I snapped. 'Paul, stop messing around. Just tell me how to do it first off, not wait for me to mess around first.'

'Tell you how to do it? Mess around first? Why Suze, it sounds as if you are referring to foreplay,' he gave me a wicked smirk.

Shifting foreplay. Oh, GOODIE.

I gave him my most unattractive look, and he chuckled, before crossing his arms coolly. 'Get mad,' was all he said.

'What?'

'You heard me. That's all you need to do. Focus . . . get mad . . . and will the wood to burn.'

Um, how about no? What did the chair ever do to me, huh?

I raised my eyebrows. This felt very Harry Potter-ish for some reason. Ugh. Okay, mad, mad, mad. When have I been mad?

What has made me REALLY pissed off?

I mean, r –

'Simon, shut it. No excuses, this time.'

'I can't have you risking the image of Starbucks, and as manager I feel I have a duty to nip this in the bud.'

'This is your two-weeks notice . . . But I want you gone by tomorrow.'

Shunted off . . . by that stupid bastard . . . that asshole, who thought that he was better than me . . . oh, just FIRE the poor, penniless, loser why don't you? Make my life that LITTLE bit harder? Thanks a BUNCH MR. LOWE–

And with that, the chair burst into flames.

Holy crap.

I blinked several times in succession, as the fire started dying down –

'Keep it lit,' Paul snapped at me. 'Don't let it go out. Stay mad.'

'You're a whore, Suze . . . you're Jesse's whore . . . '

It burnt brighter.

'You stupid BITCH. Don't you DARE leave. You're PATHETIC, Susie . . . you're a dirty, worthless loser, and I'm the only one that could ever want someone like you – '

The fire started spreading across the panels of wood on the floor. Orange, hot, murderous, consequential of my fury.

'I'll kill you, you mediator! You mean nothing to anyone! If I killed you, no one would even care that you left this sad earth . . . And you know I'm right, don't you? DON'T YOU?'

Brighter, angrier . . . it began spreading across the floor even more. Towards where I stood –

'Um, Suze?'

'I'm ashamed of you, Susannah. I hung around for so long, watching you, making sure you were all right, watching out for you – '

'I DON'T NEED YOU, DAD! JUST GET OUT OF MY LIFE!'

The fire went mad. It had almost devoured the back half of the room. And I couldn't do anything to stop it. I was lost. I was lost, in anger, and pain.

'Suze, stop it!'

Hopelessly, desperately lost . . .

'I guess you won't leave our school without a fight, Susie . . . You want a fight? You just got one.'

The licking flames started coming at me, charring the wood in that flammable Literature room very quickly. I couldn't get out of the place that Paul had forced me to enter. I couldn't. I was banging and screaming and kicking, trying to get out. But I was stuck, locked in . . . and I couldn't move, and rage and agony were seeking to burn me alive –

That's when Paul jumped at me, knocking the both of us flat against the floor.

The jolt scared me, and the fire in the room evaporated just like that.

The cool thing was . . . Paul couldn't technically yell at me, right? I mean, it had SO been his fault that I'd done that. He'd underestimated how much pain and anger I was drawing my powers from. His bad, not mine.

Sure, I almost just got the both of us killed.

Meh. Occupational hazard.

So there I was, lying face-first on the floor, Paul lying on my back, in a room that was now smokin'.

Thanks to my seriously fucked up life.

I was breathing hard, and I was shaking. Why? Why was I breathing hard? SHAKING? What did I just do? What had I almost DONE? Why hadn't I been able to stop?

Paul spun me around so I was facing him. I had nothing to say. I mean, I had LOTS to say, but nothing that would COME OUT OF MY MOUTH, DAMN IT.

'I didn't – I didn't realize,' he said in what sounded like a very SLIGHTLY apologetic tone. 'Suze – you were supposed to draw power from pain. Not be consumed by it.'

I just stared up at him.

I think that he was starting to really appreciate who I was now. How deeply I'd fallen.

. . . Or, um, staring with wide-eyes at my stomach.

Without hesitation, he pushed up my shirt and cursed loudly as he uncovered the hideous blue-black bruise on my stomach, given to me earlier compliments of Robin Lawrence.

'You didn't tell me about this one,' Paul said lightly after his initial shock.

'Oh, this one? I hardly knew it was there,' I lied, looking away awkwardly.

Damn. There was nothing left of that chair except for a small pile of ashes. Even the ground looked a little scorched. Maybe I got a little too-

'AHH-OW,' I cried as Paul lightly touched my stomach.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he asked, continuing to poke at it more.

WHAT WAS HE, A SADOMASOCHIST?

'GET OFF,' I shrieked at him, more in pain than in anger. But I will admit, I was pretty darn close to torching his cotton-candy hair because what he was doing hurt so much. It was like he didn't care if he was causing me physical pain.

'Suze-'

'I SAID GET THE HELL OFF.'

I rolled him off of me with strength I never knew I had and stood up, pushing my sweater back down.

Paul got up, stood behind me, and asked me again, 'Why didn't you tell me?' This time, he sounded really angry.

My hair swished at my elbows as I turned around to face him again, my face flushed in fury.

HE had no reason to be angry at me. If anything, I had every right to be mad at HIM. He blackmailed me once again into doing shifting lessons again, he pried into MY business, poked my bruises, and he still had the NERVE to be furious at ME.

Why didn't I tell him, he asks? That's simple . . .

'I figured you wouldn't care about some stupid whore,' I hissed bluntly.

And with that, I exited the classroom without looking back.

He called after me, but I let him be. He could burn . . . burn like hell just as I scorched that chair earlier, and I wouldn't give a shit.

Paul had no concept of pain. To him, it was just a tool he used for power. That's how everything was for him, just another way to get to the top.

Get mad, he told me. Like throwing those emotions back into the picture wouldn't do anything. He said it like it was completely harmless, like it wouldn't affect me. But it DID.

Just like poking my stomach brought back the pain from Robin kicking me there.

What kind of pain had HE gone through? Obviously nothing of great-magnitude, or else he would know just how hard getting mad would be for me. What fueled his fire, so to speak?

God. I didn't care. I really didn't.

I was FURIOUS at him. Seriously. I had been BLACKMAILED. And that's all there was to it.

Why was it that he always had something on me? Last time it was Jesse. And now it was Cole.

It wasn't long before I turned up at the library, where Adam and CeeCee were lounging. Well, you know, they were on one of the comfier looking couches, with Adam in the back of it, and CeeCee leaning back into him, reading. Well, she was. Adam looked prone to snoring any second now. But still, it was kind of sweet seeing them all cozy like that.

'Hey,' CeeCee said brightly at me upon my entrance.

'Hmm,' I grunted at her, and flopped into one of the plush green chairs, and gave a huge, hard-done-by sigh.

She detected frustration, and closed her book that she was reading. 'Okay, what?'

Adam must have been half asleep, because he hadn't moved. 'Nothing,' I said shortly. 'What you up to?'

'No, seriously, what? You look like you just found out you only have four hours to live. Oh, and we heard about the ghost attack, didn't we Adam?'

He didn't respond. Well, he kind of did. But I don't think that, 'Yeah . . . marshmallow . . . ' had anything to do with what Cee said.

Mmm . . . marshmallows . . .

Yeah.

She rolled her eyes, and looked back at me, still looking quite relaxed. 'What happened?'

'I pissed them off, I paid for it,' I said simply.

'Is that why you're all grouchy?' she asked.

'Um . . . yeah.'

Good cover, Susie.

'Right,' she said slowly. Her white hair fell in her eye, and she brushed it out irritably. 'So. I wanted to tell you something. You know, before Paul. Frankly, I am starting to see why you don't exactly like him.'

'Aaah, child, thank you for returning from the Dark Side,' I said graciously.

She mumbled in agreement. 'He had no reason to treat you like that, last night. Even me and Adam noticed what he was doing. When he danced with me, though, all he talked about was you.'

I raised my eyebrows, my stomach flitting in panic. 'Oh?'

. . . Did he mention Cole?

'Yeah,' she said. 'Just subtly saying stuff.'

'What stuff?' I asked quickly.

'It doesn't matter,' she said in a tone that made it sound all you-don't-wanna-know, or something. 'But I gave him a good telling off.' She laughed. 'He's just a jerk-off. Him and Dani deserve each other.'

'Where is she, anyway?'

She sniffed in disdain. 'Off exploring with Jesse, apparently. She went to go on her own – I think annoyed that you seem to find our ghosts all the time – and Jesse insisted on going with her, apparently.'

'You said apparently twice,' I observed.

'Yeah, well, I can't exactly see the guy. So I'm just taking it for granted that this stuff happened,' she muttered dryly.

'Okay, whatever. So what did you wanna tell me?'

She perked up, and rose up from her little loveseat. 'Glad you asked. Come here,' she motioned, as she sat in front of her laptop. Well, she didn't open it, but a little book next to it.

I obeyed, and crouched next to her. However, this served to be painful, due to my stomach being all pretty coloured, so I sat next to her, the way I was probably supposed to do in the first place.

Hmph. I just like to be different.

'Okay,' she said, and gave me a look that said, THIS-IS-SO-DAMNED-FASCINATING! 'Read this. I can't believe none of us noticed THIS before.'

She shoved the book under my nose, beaming whitely. I scanned down the page at where her pale finger was directing.

"Deputy Headmistress: Mrs Karen La Rosa
Headmaster: Richard Head."

'What?' I asked.

She glared at me. 'RICHARD HEAD,' she half-shouted. 'Our EMPLOYER.'

Oh.

. . . OH!

I was shocked. I really was. MR DICKEDY-DICK-DOO WAS A PRINCIPAL? BUT PRINCIPALS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE NICE AND TALL AND SIXTY-FIVE AND PRIESTLY.

Well, okay, but NOT Mr Head.

I stared at CeeCee, my mouth open. 'How the HELL did that man become principal?' I demanded.

'I dunno,' she said, 'Probably screwed someone in the education department. Whatever. The point, Suze, is that . . . well, Mr Head definitely knows a lot more than he's letting on. I mean, yeah. He would have known these Misfortunate guys. And why the hell doesn't he want us to know that he was the principal?'

'Because we'd laugh at a guy called Mr Head being the headmaster?' I suggested.

She scowled. 'I'm serious. So yeah. That was a rhetorical question, by the way. So I did some background research on Mr Head. However, I didn't come up with much. Only that he's lived here his whole life with his family, his mother died from cancer or something, his dad was a banker, and that Dick's joined the family business now that his school isn't up and running anymore,' she said in disappointment. 'That's not much to go one. But I don't think that the guy's capable of more than being really, really rude.'

'Yeah, he's a total stiff,' I agreed. 'Haha. Maybe he told the Misfortunates that they weren't graduating, and they all committed suicide, rather than being stuck here with him for another year.'

She didn't look too humoured. She looked like she was still thinking. After a moment, she shrugged. 'I dunno. It just seemed like a big deal when I found it. I guess it wasn't that important. But maybe we should go ask him again about the ghosts, and you know, if he knew them.'

'Maybe one of them's his lovechild,' I gasped dramatically.

She laughed. 'Okay, okay. Whatever.'

'No . . . not avacadoes,' said Adam sleepily, as he turned over and flopped on his stomach on the couch.

That was when Jack came into the library. He took one look at me, and dashed over, grabbing my hands. 'Suze! I'm so sorry about before! I didn't mean to say anything bad, I didn't – sorry that I – Jesse said that you got hurt by the ghosts, and I'm – '

Wow. The kid talks almost as fast as me when he's freaked.

Aww.

I smiled weakly, and rumpled his un-Paul-like hair. Jack's was even MORE curly. 'Dude, I'm fine. And I'm sorry about before. Your brother's giving me a hard time. I was worried that he'd told you to do the same.'

'What's Paul saying to you?' he asked curiously.

'Wouldn't you like to know,' I responded, feeling weary. 'The plus side is, I almost killed the pair of us just now.'

CeeCee, who'd resigned herself back to the mercy of Fortunaschwein's glum library, twitched, and looked around sharply. 'What?' she asked urgently.

I shrugged. 'I almost set us on fire.' When she looked confused, I muttered, 'Shifter stuff.'

A funny look came over her face. 'Shifter . . . ' she murmured back to herself, and her eyes went out of focus.

. . . Um, okay. I looked back at Jack, who was looking astounded. 'What shifter stuff?' he pried.

'Never you mind.'

He was silent for a moment, before groaning, 'I'm bored.'

'Well, you're in a boarding school, it's to be expected,' I joked lamely.

He didn't look all that impressed with my dazzling humour.

'I've been in a boarding school since third grade,' he muttered bitterly. 'I mean, before JSMA.'

. . . Oh.

'Um,' I ummed, 'Right.'

Well. What CAN you do to entertain a thirteen year old?

Oooh, I know.

'Wanna see something gross?' I grinned.

His face broke out into a big smile. 'Yeah?'

I very carefully peeled the shoulder of my sweater back. 'Eww,' he said in glee, examining the highly attractive bruise. 'Whoa. What happened?'

'One of the ghosts twisted his foot on it,' I said. 'It really hurts.'

I dunno why thirteen year old boys relish seeing bruises or painful looking wounds. But Young Jack was rather fascinated by mine.

Whoop dee doo.

That's when CeeCee's cell phone went off, making Adam jerk up in shock, going, 'WHERE?'

CeeCee calmly picked it up. 'Hello?'

I saw her face change to one that looked kind of confused. 'Um, she's right here.'

She?

I was the only other she.

'Sure,' she muttered into the cell, and held it out to me. 'For you,' she informed me, looking weird. 'Um, it's Father Dominic. He sounds pretty . . . heavy.'

'Hey,' I said into the phone, sitting down. 'Sorry we haven't been to visit, I mean, just, you won't believe what happened this afternoon, the ghosts TOTALLY attacked me, but you know me, keeping such a cool head and all, and Father D, we REALLY need to exorcise them because that's the only way that their gonna get the hint because these guys are bitter as hell and I think the only way they're gonna move on is if we give them a hard kick up the b – '

'Susannah.'

' – utt, because, yeah, they're not cool and now I have an ugly bruise and if you'd just let us all exorcise them then we can leave this dumpy school and we could party, and we'd all be – '

'Susannah – ' he said again, in a stronger tone.

'Hmm?'

There was a pause. Like he was licking his lips. 'I . . . I asked that you weren't told, I didn't want you to . . . erm, worry, but they . . . they advised me to tell you . . . they have been advising me to tell someone for a while, now –'

His tone was shaking.

I went very, very still.

'Father Dom?' I said piercingly. 'What? What did they advise – who's they?'

CeeCee was staring at me. So was Adam. And Jack.

'I've . . . you must understand, I've – I mean, I've known about it for – ' he broke off.

'WHAT?' I yelled.

'Susannah,' he said in the softest voice I've ever heard him use, 'Please come to the hospital? This isn't something that I'd like to say over the phone.'

And then he hung up.

I just stood there, and I somehow, I knew what he wanted to tell me.

And when CeeCee asked what was wrong, I couldn't find my voice.