The Medium

"Well?" he prompted.

"Last night you did something for me," I said. "So now I want to do something for you in return."

He frowned. "Last night? You mean meeting your aunt's ghost? I don't think you should thank me for that. She was a witch. I'm sorry I mentioned her at all."

"No, not for that." I spoke quietly but not just because I didn't want to be overheard. The tears in my throat kept me from speaking any louder. "I wanted to thank you for...for telling her you think I'm pretty. It was very...noble of you."

Before my heart could hammer another beat, he'd pulled me into a dead-end alley. It was empty except for a few crates pushed up against the brick wall of the neighboring chop house and some rotting vegetables piled in a corner. "It had nothing to do with nobility, Emily," he whispered. He bent his head so that we were nose to nose, barely a breath separating us. His eyes burned into mine, their smoldering heat seeping through me, warming me from the inside out.

"Then what was it if not to show me you're still a gentleman?" I had the heavy feeling that his answer would bring us closer to something important, something so big that I knew we could never go back. Never undo it.

Nor would it be something I wanted to undo.