((Search 'Requiem for a Dream music box' for an awesome song to listen to while reading this chapter.))

"I didn't know you played," Tate remarked from the chaise lounge.

Violet plinked out the notes of O Fortuna on the baby grand piano in a slow, almost staccato manner. The sound echoed gloomily in the music room.

"My parents made me take lessons," she said with a slight smile. "They thought it would help me with math or something."

"Did it?"

"Maybe? I don't know. I haven't done math in so long…" She shook her head, making her straight brown hair shimmy down her back in the dim light coming through the dusty windowpanes. "I knew I wouldn't need algebra."

Downstairs, the front door swung open though no hand touched it. Michael's presence and desire were all that it needed. He stepped into the shadowy entryway and the door swung shut behind him. He paid it no mind. He could sense Constance wasn't in the house but that wasn't why he was there. Orienting on the familiar source of erratic energy on the third floor, he headed up the boxy flight of stairs.

On the second floor landing he encountered Moyra. He recognized her energy signature but not her physical form: In the past, she had always appeared to be an old woman. Now she looked close to his age, pretty and fiery-haired. Her clothes fit more snugly and covered less. She practically dripped sex.

"Looking for someone?" she purred, blocking his way up.

Michael assessed her from the toes on up. Sex with her would be interesting. He wasn't sure how corporeal she was, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be an issue. "I might be."

The maid could tell he what he was thinking, and she came down to his step to sidle up close to him. "You've found someone."

The maid's supernatural sex appeal played with his senses, distracting him from his intentions. He knew that any delay would mean more time Constance had to disappear, but the carnal urge was a heady temptation. Michael knew he could resist if he wanted but he didn't particularly want to. His cock was hard and when she pressed up close to him and squeezed his ass, he decided it was worth it.

He grabbed her shoulders and pressed a hungry kiss to her lips. She tasted like autumn spices and coffee. Delicious.

They kissed for several long seconds there on the stairs, pawing and groping, before she tugged him up to the landing and toward the nearest bedroom. The master bedroom. It looked the way it did when the Harmons lived there and they fell into the broad bed, feverishly tugging at each other's clothes.

The sex was rough and loud. He took her from behind then she rode him cowboy style. When he came, he came deep inside her and kept her pinned beneath him until his heart had settled back into a normal rhythm. The bliss he felt was amazing; better than anything he'd felt with a living girl. He decided he would definitely try it again, when he wasn't busy searching for his runaway relatives.

Eventually he pulled out and rolled away from her after nuzzling her with a couple of light kisses. As he sat on the edge of the bed searching his coat pockets for his cigarettes, the bare redhead crawled up behind him and started smoothing his hair. He had lost his hair ribbon somewhere in the tussle.

"Was Mother Constance here today?" he asked. He found his cigarette case and plucked one of the black-papered things out.

"What?" Moyra blinked. "No."

"Shit," Michael swore. He exhaled smoke and promptly hit the cigarette again. "You're sure?"

"Yes," the maid replied, withdrawing a bit. "The last I saw of her the priest and that woman came and took her body away. Michael. Do you think…would you take my body away?"

He shifted and twisted a little so he could see her face. Her youthful face was flushed with hope and sex. Michael tucked his hair behind his ear and hit his cigarette again.

"Where would you want me to take your body?"

Her hopes soared further. She knelt up, heedless of the fact that she was still naked. The sunlight coming through the windows made her a shapely silhouette. "The cemetery. I want to be buried with my mother. I miss her so much."

Michael exhaled clove-flavored smoke, noting the abject longing in the spirit's words. "I'll think about it," he decided. "I don't know though. I kind of like having sex with you. I might want to keep you around."

She deflated visibly, tears brightening her eyes. "I hate this place. Everyone else is free to come and go and I can't. If you move my body, I promise I'll go wherever you want me to. Just free me. Please!"

She clutched at his shoulder then, trying to get some sign of sympathy from him for her plight. He let her do it but wasn't moved by the drama.

"I said I'll think about it," he repeated, tone cooling. "Right now, I have shit to do. And you have a bed to make."

He got dressed then, leaving his cigarette butt smoldering upright on the dresser, in a way that would put it out but not without putting off a bad smell of burning filter first. Moyra barely noticed it through her misery and sobs.

—

Michael found the two lovebirds in the music room, seated together on an old chaise lounge. He had their energy signatures in 'sight' before entering but seeing their physical seemings, for the first time he realized just how young they were. Not that he was all that older than they had been when they died but knowing how much he had changed in the past couple of years put a new and strange lens on Tate particularly.

"Have you seen Mother Constance today?" he said, interrupting their quiet talk without preamble.

They both looked over at him, surprised. Neither had heard him come into the room and neither expected to be seen. He hadn't done anything to tame his bed head and his button-down shirt was uncharacteristically untucked. He probably looked as strange to them as they did to him.

"She hasn't been here," Violet said.

Tate eyed Michael, brows furrowed slightly. He was trying to decide if he was still mad at Michael, or if Michael still harbored ill feelings toward him.

"She's alive. She may try to kill herself here again," Michael said, like one might report a possible thunderstorm. "I would appreciate it if you didn't let that happen."

He left then and the teens exchanged bewildered looks. Then Tate was on his feet and giving chase. He caught up with Michael at the stairs.

"Wait," he said. "You can't just dump that shit and leave. What do you mean, she's alive? The priest and the witch did it? They brought her back?"

"I brought her back," Michael corrected.

He didn't stop, so Tate was forced to follow him down the stairs. Violet brought up the rear of the small group.

"So why would she come here and kill herself?" Tate pressed. Then he sorted through it himself. "Fuck. I told them she wouldn't want to be brought back. Fuck! Is she mad? She's mad, isn't she? Fuck! Does she know I let them have her body? Shit! Shit-shit! She doesn't know, does she?"

Michael didn't look back, but he privately marveled at how quickly the ghost worked himself up into an emotional timebomb. Violet put a hand on Tate's shoulder, but he pulled away, not wanting comfort. He wanted answers!

"She doesn't know," Michael said. He stopped on the stairs and looked back up at the stressed spirit. "If you don't want her to find out, make sure she doesn't hurt herself if she shows up here. And don't let her leave."

He kept going then. This time Tate stayed where he was at. Violet stayed with him but her proverbial hackles were up. "That…asshole!" she swore. She almost called him a son of a bitch but didn't want to insult her mother, even incidentally.

Tate scrubbed his hands through his hair frantically, trying to think clearly. His mother didn't know he'd let the coven walk off with her body, which now had her spirit back in it. He wondered if Constance was a zombie like the priest. He reckoned not or else she wouldn't be in danger of killing herself.

"Maybe she won't come here," he consoled himself. He looked at Violet then. "Right?"

She looked at him blankly then realized he just wanted to compartmentalize. She put on a fake smile. "Yeah. Right. Why would she? She's alive…she can go anywhere. Why would she want to come back here?"

Neither of them believed her. Dead or alive, Constance had always been drawn to the house, possibly stronger than anyone else. It wouldn't surrender its hold on her any easier than it had its other souls.

...

Author's Note:

It's been a rough week. I didn't realize how brutal summer classes can be. I'm in the 'prepping for finals' stage of this flash semester and it's been a bullet train through hell. Hence the slow update. And about the update...Sorry in advance. It's unedited, so I know there's going to be some weirdness and crap in there. It could use polish. I'll tidy it up ASAP. I just didn't want to keep you guys hanging.

I'm not sure where this puts Tate and Michael. I fully expected them to fight in this chapter, but apparently having sex right before a brawl takes some of the fight out of the Antichrist. Unfortunately for Moyra, her plan didn't help her like she hoped, though.