By that evening, Lila's power had been returned to full strength thanks to several naps and more than one generous serving of Tamara's delicious apple pie. She had spent the twilight hours with Michael, eating popcorn and catching up with him as they watched Enter the Dragon.

Now, it was well past midnight. Lila couldn't sleep.

After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, Lila finally admitted defeat. Sitting up in bed, she carefully lowered the shields Tamara had taught her to keep around her mind.

"Ethan?" she whispered, gently pulling at the tether of energy that bound him to her.

Several minutes passed, Lila's heart sinking lower and lower with each tick of the clock. He had been so furious last night—so full of anger and guilt that he'd actually lashed out at her. Lila tugged the quilt up over her knees and bunched it beneath her chin, her eyes stinging. That was the closest he'd ever come to looking like a vengeful spirit, and it had scared her more than she'd been willing to admit.

Lila closed her eyes, surrendering to the fact that he probably wasn't going to come. He had been angry with himself and angry with her for lying to him. Worse, he blamed himself for what had happened in the gas station. Noble as he was, Ethan was probably one of the most self-punishing individuals she'd ever met.

A light hand touched her cheek, making her eyes fly open. Ethan sat on the edge of the bed, his face grim as he watched her. The moonlight filtering through the curtains she had left open outlined him in silver, turning the slash across his cheek dark against his pearled skin.

His blue eyes flashed silver when he blinked and loose strands of golden-brown hair glimmered as they framed his face. Lila suddenly remembered why she didn't like to see Ethan at night. The moonlight turned his handsomeness into something otherworldly. Something that hurt her to see.

Something that really drove home how far apart they really were.

She didn't blink when his fingers lightly skimming over the bandage Michael had put on her forehead. His cool touch soothed the dull throb of pain from the cut. Lila let out a small sigh of relief.

He had still come. She had called, and he had come.

"Please don't be angry anymore," she murmured. His hand fell away, and she opened her eyes to find his mouth pressed into an unforgiving line. She leaned forward, reaching for his hand but Ethan flickered out of view just to reappear across the room.

Lila bit her tongue against the well of poisonous words building in her throat. Telling him he was being stupid was not going to resolve this issue. So, instead of pressing him to forgive her—to forgive himself—she leaned back against the headboard and folded her arms tightly against her chest. Ethan stood and watched her patiently, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Tamara thinks that a necromancer working around Denver, Colorado is causing my visions," she said, shivering as some of the images from those visions rose in her mind. "She said the ripples of their spells are so strong that they're causing me to see these things."

Ethan frowned, his brow creasing lightly. "Spells?" he asked. "This necromancer works...spells?"

It was a fair question. Lila herself did not need spell-work to commune with the dead. Frankly, she refused to use them, since most spells that concerned the dead were about controlling them rather than helping them. Besides that, she knew it would unsettle Ethan's eighteenth century sensibilities.

"That's why they're a necromancer and I'm not," she explained, goosebumps breaking out on her arms. "They use spells to seize control of the dead. Spells have to tear energy or power from the world around us. My abilities allow me to see and communicate with ghosts. My inherent power and energy allows me to cut the bonds still holding them to Earth."

An awkward silence settled between them, as it always did when she spoke of breaking the bonds that tied the dead to this plane. It was a sensitive subject for both of them.

"What this individual is doing is dark," Ethan finally said. "What I would recognize as black magic?"

Lila just nodded, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. "Not just you," she said. "That's how I see it. How Tamara and a lot of psychics like her see it."

They were both quiet for a long moment. Ethan drifted back toward the bed and sat on the end, propping his chin on a fist as he stared out the window.

"The magic is so powerful, you can feel it across the country?" he asked softly.

Lila opened her mouth, then stopped, frowning. That was certainly a possibility—a terrifying one. But it discounted Lila's own power. After all, Tamara hadn't been affected by the necromancer's spells until she started actively looking into them.

"Part of it might be my own power," she said, twirling an inky strand of hair around her finger. "I'm tuned into the dead. To death. Necromancy is a perversion of the natural order of those things, which might be why it feels so nasty to me."

"Why it hurts you," Ethan corrected, knuckles turning bright silver as he clenched his fists.

Lila swiped self-consciously at her eyes. It would take a few days until the capillaries she'd burst would heal and her eyes would look normal again.

Tipping his head back, Ethan let out a tired sigh. "I have a guess as to what we must do in order to stop these visions. In order to stop the assault of this magic upon you."

Fear thudded through her, making her body shake in time with her heartbeat. Though she had already made the decision to travel to Denver, to try to stop this necromancer, that didn't make her any less afraid. 

Not caring if he was still mad, Lila threw the blankets back and scooted toward him. Ethan looked down in surprise at the sudden free-flow of energy coming from Lila. She huddled into his side, resting her head against his now-solid shoulder.

A few seconds passed before he let out a sigh, his body relaxing as he wrapped an arm around her. He rested his head against hers, and Lila closed her eyes. It didn't matter that Ethan was dead. That he technically shouldn't exist on their plane. Lila never felt safer than she did when he was with her.

"I'm scared," she whispered. "This person—what they can do—it scares me."

"It frightens me as well," he murmured.

Lila looked up at him, her brow furrowed. Ethan was...was unshakeable. For one thing, he was already dead. For another, he had died fighting in a war he'd voluntarily been a part of. If Ethan was anything, he was brave.

He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, hooking it behind her ear. His palm stayed pressed against her cheek and, despite her knowing that she shouldn't, she pressed into his palm, taking comfort in the familiar hum of his energy.

"I am frightened for you," he admitted. "I am frightened of what this coming battle might do to you."

Lila held his silvery gaze for a long moment. "Me too," she said, placing her hand over his and gently pulling it away from her face.

Hurt flickered across his face, but he merely settled back with grace.

Lila heaved a sigh, her eyelids dragging with sudden drowsiness. She laid down, rubbing her cheek against the soft material of the pillowcase. The quilt was tugged up around her, Ethan's hand resting briefly on her head.

She caught his wrist, looking up at him. "I have to, Ethan. I have to do this."

From her current angle it was difficult to tell, but she thought he might have given her a sad smile. "I know," he said. "That doesn't make me any less afraid, Lila."

Then, he was gone and Lila found herself drifting into a restless sleep filled with dreams of desperate ghosts and walking corpses.