AN: Well, this chapter was full of surprises! Let's just say it wasn't what I had thought up a few days ago. Oh! So y'know how I said the music box couldn't play Sleepers, Wake 'cause Nights died way before Bach was born? Well, today I did a little research to figure out what song it could play. The first music box wasn't made until the 16th century. Nights died during the 14th century. See the little issue? This is what I get for assuming things. I figured "Hey, music boxes are pretty simple, so they must have been made pretty early on in the world." Yeah, not so much. However, during the 9th century, the Arabs created a hydropowered organ. So I'm not fabricating history too much. I hope that's okay with all of you. Still need to find a new song, though. Thanks to AceLions, Dark Angel Erissa, and Animekitty47 for their reviews. Luffs for you!

Nightshade watched in amazement as Derrick's room was transformed into her little pocket of the transitional place between the two realms. Even after six hundred years, she still found it absolutely stunning, and she doubted it would ever lose its wonder.

Thick moss quickly covered the floorboards, as trees appeared and seemed to push his room out of existence. In the middle of it all, two stone pillars formed, with another laying across the top. Vines crawled along the stones, and dark green sparkles floated through the air.

She smirked at Derrick, but it left when she noticed he wasn't even looking at the scenery. He was too focused on his clothes. Nights tilted her head. Now that she was paying attention to his outfit, she didn't blame him.

His long black duster was embroidered with complicated celtic knots in gold thread. He wore a simple button down black shirt, black leather chaps over blood red pants, and a black belt with a gold buckle in the shape of a bull skull. The cowboy boots were black as well, with the nightshade plant stitched into the sides in gold thread, and they had gold spurs with blood red tips. The only other splash of color was a plain blood red bandana at his neck.

"Wow," was all she managed to say.

"I look good," he said, grinning at her.

"No, you look damn good," she corrected with her own grin.

Then he ran his tongue over his lips and looked around. "Why does the Neitherworld taste like strawberries?"

"This ain't the Neitherworld, Ace. This is my Gateway. We're between realms at the moment." She didn't want to address the strawberry observation yet. He shouldn't have been able to pick it up that quickly.

"So how do we get there?"

Nightshade walked up to the Stonehenge-esque formation of stones and tapped the area within. The air rippled as if someone had tossed a pebble into a calm pond.

"We walk through the gate." She then turned to face him, and walked backwards through the gate. On the other side, the gate was identical, even the vines were in the same position. She glanced over her shoulder at her mansion a few yards down the road. One of the reasons she wanted it was the fact it was alone on the road, so her Gate wouldn't be cramped among other buildings. A poltergeist's Gate followed them, appearing in the Neitherworld close to where ever they lived.

"So, this is the Neitherworld?"

Nightshade looked back towards the gate at the sound of Derrick's voice. She smirked again when she saw him, and pulled a cigarette out of her pocket.

"Yup," she said as she lit it and took a drag.

His brow furrowed as he watched her blow a smoke ring. "You . . . smoke?"

"Yup," she said again. "I don't on your side since fa--" Nightshade stopped, took a deep breath, and continued, but using a different word, "cigarettes tend to have a rather distinctive scent. People get ant--" She paused again. "People get nervous when they smell cigarette smoke out of nowhere."

Nights noticed his questioning look, probably in regards to her stop-and-go explanation.

"The Neitherworld tends to take a literal approach to everything. Poltergeists have it worse, though. We've got more power than others, so if we let it build up, this world will take what we say and make it happen. It happens to me on your side, too, but I can control it better there."

"Oh. What're gonna do?"

Nightshade thought it over for a moment. "Well, we'll go get my car, then we'll go into town. Bars are always fun!"

"I'm seventeen, Nights."

"It's almost midnight, Derrick. Most other places are closed. Besides, it's great fun to heckle to karaoke-ers."

~*~

Down at a somewhat respectable bar, Nightshade had a strawberry daiquiri (her usual), and Derrick was drinking a Sprite (Apparently, it was his favorite, but Nights opted to not inform him it was made from actual sprites. As long as it tasted the same as the lemon-lime carbonated beverage, she wasn't going to tell him any different.).

The female poltergeist could only take so much of this woman's sad attempt at a country song. She nudged Derrick's shin with her boot to get his attention.

"Watch this," she whispered.

A large burlap sack appeared above the woman, and it quickly scooped her up, the strings tying up in a bow once she was secure inside. Nights applauded with the rest of the bar-goers, making it seem like she was innocent.

Derrick, however, shot her a disappointed look and shook his head. "That wasn't very nice. She was only trying."

Nightshade sighed in annoyance. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm not a very nice person. I'll only do nice things if it'll help me."

"You're nice to me."

"'Cause . . . 'cause yer m'friend," she mumbled. Not like she was actually going to tell him she only did it to make it hurt even worse when she got her revenge.

"You're my best friend, Nights, but . . . that doesn't mean I like what you did to her." He got up to leave.

"Derrick!" she called after him, but he just kept walking. "Aw, come on, Ace!"

But he left, not even turning around.

Nice one.

"Oh, I see you've decided to come back," she told the voice in her head.

I've been here the entire time, it told her in it's crisp british accent.

"Just mercifully silent."

Nights had the unnerving sense of it rolling it eyes.

That's because you haven't done anything stupid as of late. But that? That was stupid. You may have just lost you're best friend.

"Whatever. I don't need him."

Liar. Why do you think you wanted to kill that breather girl at the party? Why do you get so jealous when he talks about other girls?

"I do not get jealous!"

Because you love him!

"That's . . . that's ridiculous! I don't . . . I don't love him."

Why would she love him? He was just some breather. Okay, he wasn't just some breather. He was a Blackthorn. His family was the reason she was in this mess to begin with.

And you enjoy his company, Emily.

"I'm not Emily! I'm Nightsh--" She gasped as an intense pain lanced through her skull.

Fine, Nights, but you'd better go after him, or your revenge will be a lost cause.

Hmm, the annoying voice had a point.

Nights quickly stood and left the bar, hoping he hadn't gone far. Luckily, he hadn't. She found him leaning against her convertible that was parked a little ways down the street.

But before she could go to him, another female poltergeist ran past her screaming, "Run, Nightshade! They're right behind me!"

Nightshade turned to look in the direction the woman was running from, and saw two sandworms come around the corner.

Like any poltergeist would, Nightshade shrieked and ran. In fact, she even ran past Derrick. But as soon as that little tidbit of information registered, Nights skidded to a halt, made an about face, ran back to him, grabbed his hand, and practically dragged him down the street. No way was some (huge and absolutely terrifyin') worm was gonna eat her Derrick. If anyone was going to eat him, it would be her.

It was then a rather, ahem, image of her and Derrick flashed in her mind at the (possibly?) unfortunate word choice.

Nightshade made a sharp turn down an alley, and smashed her head against the brick wall trying to physically dislodge the mental image (that was causing an odd and fluttery feeling in her stomach) from her head.

"What were those?" Derrick asked, breathing hard, a few minutes after the creatures had passed.

"Sandworms," she answered.

But, surprisingly, her mind wasn't on the creatures that would love nothing more than to devour her. Instead, she was thinking about what the voice had said, and the feeling that hadn't left with the image had.

AN: Poor, poor, Nights. Reviews mean you love me, so show the love and leave a comment! I've fixed it so I now accept anonymous reviews.