"She likes you."

Naluma jumped at the voice of Paskelo behind her. He leaned against the arched doorway, arms crossed, his body silhouetted by the bright light in the hallway.

The older man took a few steps inside the room and tested the switch on the lamp once more. "Blasted thing. There goes another lamp." He grinned at Naluma. "Not scared are you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. I've dealt with ghosts before, and she's not nearly as bad as some cantankerous old Force-ghosts I've met." Naluma could have sworn she heard Master Yoda's unique chuckle. So, you are taking an interest here? She rolled her eyes at the unseen mentor. Figures.

Another chill blasted through the hallway, plunging the entire ground floor into darkness. Only the wan light from sunset provided a sliver of illumination.

"Did you do that?"

"Who are you talking to, Missy?" the caretaker asked.

"Another ghost."

His voice trembled. "We've got two now?"

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Naluma found her way to the settee and plopped down on the overstuffed seat. "Nothing to worry about. He's a transient ghost, always poking his nose in when you least expect it."

Instinctively, Naluma sent her spirit out with the Force, falling into a meditation pattern. The Colors of the Force danced around her, writhing in the air, bathing the room in an eerie glow. The greens, blues, pinks, yellows, and even purples swirled together and enveloped the form of a petite woman standing with her arms extended, pleading with the Jedi to follow her. No words, just the Force's insistence.

"What does this queen look like? Is there a portrait? What was her name?" The questions spilled out of her mouth as fast as she could think.

"Amidala. Queen Amidala."

Naluma pursed her lips. "Real name."

Paskelo shuddered and shook his head. "If we say it, things go wrong around here."

"What about a portrait?"

He nodded his head and pointed above the fireplace where dusty drapes covered the wall.

Naluma reached behind her back and unclipped her lightsaber. She had stored it horizontally on her belt along her waist. "Well, I doubt she'll be able to extinguish this." The saber activated, the purple blade growing to full length in one second, humming to life.

Using the Force, Naluma slid the curtain aside and held the blade close to the two-meter tall painting. Expecting the same picture as the one in the museum, Naluma gasped when she saw the beautiful face without the obscuring trappings symbolizing the office of the State. Chestnut curls framed her angelic face. Groomed eyebrows arched over chocolate-brown eyes that Naluma instantly recognized—and not from the painting in the museum. A hunch grew in her.

She heard a gasp behind her. She thought at first it was Paskelo, but the glowing form of another Force-ghost wavered in and out of existence.

Again they heard the voice. Ne. Ne. Uh-ne. The Colors of the Force continued to swirl around the woman's form in the room. Naluma followed her into the dusky hallway. Paskelo shuffled beside her.

The woman floated through the darkened villa. She stopped in the drawing room off the main hall. A large fireplace beckoned with comfortable couches. Other forms wavered in the darkness. A young girl, no older than fourteen, with a half dozen ladies in waiting encircling her, sitting around a roaring fire while rain pounded outside.

Strange, I don't recall a forecast for rain today.

Scrutinizing the young women, Naluma wrinkled her brow. They all could be sisters, twin sisters at that. Or sextuplets, I guess.

The girls chattered, voices indistinct until a squelching tuning the frequency settled into the conversation. "Oh, hush, Dormé."

"You hush, Eritaé."

"Enough." There was no doubt who was the leader of this group. The young woman sat up straight and rolled her eyes at the girls before bursting out laughing. The rest guffawed loudly.

"I almost died when Sabé ordered you to clean that astromech, Your Majesty." The girl who seemed to be the youngest had a merry twinkle in her eye. "I'm surprised you haven't returned the favor."

The young queen leaned forward in her seat and winked at the girl. "Yet. I haven't returned the favor yet, Yané."

Another lady with thicker hair and slightly darker complexion leaned in and snickered. "What are you going to do? Tell us."

The young queen smiled wickedly. "I'm waiting for the right opportunity to present itself."

Eritaé looked up through her eyelashes from where she sat on the floor between the hearth and the chunky coffee table. "Tell us about Tatooine."

"There was a lot of sand."

Yané whined. "Come on, Padmé—"

Naluma jumped at the name. It was so familiar.

"—you know what we mean. What was it like hanging out with that dishy Padawan learner?"

The queen's mouth upturned in a warm smile. "Dreamy. He was sooo nice and brave."

"And handsome. Definitely hot," Dormé said with a sly grin. "Did you do it?"

Padmé opened her mouth wide and raised her eyebrows. "Of course, not. Jedi are forbidden attachments."

"But not sex." Sabé laughed. "Some are notorious for their amorous engagements on Naboo."

"How would you know?" Eritaé asked.

The queen rose to her full height and formality and dropped her voice into her official Amidala timbre. "We are not amused." A second later, she relaxed and resumed her camaraderie. "Besides, I wouldn't want to give my body to a man just so he could have sexual release. We have courtesans all throughout Theed if that's what he's looking for. I won't give myself to a man without him first giving me his heart."

She grew pensive. "And it would never be to Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan? The Obi-Wan? Luke's former master? Force-ghost Obi-Wan?

Sabé teased,"Oh, come on, you weren't at least a little interested in him?"

"At first maybe," Padmé admitted. "But now, someone else haunts my dreams every night."

"Do tell!" the handmaids echoed.

Padmé shook her head. "It doesn't matter. He's a Padawan learner now, too. I just hope he's safe." She reached across the square table in the center of the couches and grabbed a deck of cards. "Anyone for a hand of Sabacc?"

Each of the handmaids dematerialized one by one, ending with the queen herself. The flames in the fireplace whooshed into a conflagration of a fireball before collapsing like a dying star.. The rain outside quenched, drying immediately, the last vestiges of sunlight sinking below the horizon.

The Force-wrapped spectre floated out of the room and down the hall through the glass-paned double doors that led to the grand terrace. Naluma and Paskelo followed their ghost host into the refreshing night air. The violet-bladed lightsaber led way like a candle in the night.

Two figures coalesced in front of them, a woman wearing a yellow, pink, and blue ombre gown as the area around them lightened to midday. Her chestnut curls wrapped in a tortoise-shell headdress into a short tail. The sleeveless dress with a bare back looked like it would fall off the woman if she sneezed.

The man hung over the balustrade. With their backs to Naluma, she only knew he wore a dark robe and wore the ancient Padawan braid over his right shoulder while his dark blonde hair was so close-cropped to his scalp that it stood on end.

The figures wavered in the mist, the noon sun fading to dusk and surging back to full brilliance. The couple spoke, but Naluma could not hear their private conversation.

Through the gap between them, the young man caressed the woman's hand with his fingers, just like Luke had done to Naluma so many times before. Her heart contracted for a moment as she was reminded of her loss. But the images compelled her to watch. The Force demanded it.

The couple turned to each other, their faces blurred as the images continued to waver. With their faces profile, Naluma caught the instant the man's eyes locked onto the woman's. They could not avert their gaze. The tension building. Naluma was reminded of the many moments like this that she and Luke had shared but would never share again. Pangs attacked her heart.

Slowly, the man leaned in. Centimeters from her lips, he hesitated for one moment. But when she parted her lips, he opened his and merged with hers. The images coalesced once more as the young lovers shared the taste of first love—until the woman pulled away.

The images blurred a final time before the scene returned to the current twilight, frustrating Naluma. I swear I've seen that man before. Why is he so familiar?

But she couldn't stay there to think it out, because the spectre was floating once more, this time across the terrace and through the glass-paned doors of the library. As soon as Paskelo opened the doors, the heavy curtains billowed out, knocking them in the face. Naluma swiped them to the side with the Force and chased the ghost.

The Colors of the Force swirled and brightened in the dark room as the ghost stood near a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. She peered up toward a book that glowed on the top shelf.

"What's she doing this time?" the caretaker asked. "First she takes us to the drawing room and then the terrace, all for nothin'."

"You didn't see the ladies-in-waiting? The man?"

"Nope."

Must be the Force generating these images, but why were they struggling on the terrace so much? What was that Luke said about his training with his father? After a few minutes, a Force-ghost has to be held to reality by a Jedi. Naluma rubbed her chin. That doesn't explain this woman, though. Although, now that I think of it, we're not actually seeing her as a ghost. I'm seeing the Colors of the Force swirling around her. Paskelo can only hear her, not see her either.

"She's pointing to that glowing book."

"Ain't no book glowing, lady."

Naluma chuckled. "Jedi can see it. And now I know why the queen invited us. This ghost is tied here by the Force itself." Lifting her hand toward the book, she called it down with the Force, but it wouldn't budge. Strange. Again, she tugged much harder, sending herself sprawling on the floor and her saber hilt clattering on the marble as the blade extinguished with a snap and hiss.

Brushing herself off, she stood and called her saber back with the Force and then snapped it on once more. In the purple glow, Naluma shoved the hilt between her teeth, grabbed the fourth shelf, and stepped on the second shelf, pulling herself up.

"What do you think you're doing? That bookcase is hundreds of years old."

As she scaled a few more shelves, she said, "Hasn't broken after all these years. I'm sure it will hold me." She continued her ascent until she reached the book glowing with a strong blue energy. Clutching the shelf, Naluma yanked at the volume with all her strength and the Force this time.

Still, it didn't budge. So she planted one foot higher and wedged it between a large set of encyclopedias and a series of law books from long ago. Concentrate. Peace. Center. There!

It pulled loose with a click. The leather-bound text was about three centimeters thick and about ten centimeters tall. A small volume with no title.

The Jedi kicked off from the bookshelf, and tumbled down the five meters to land in a crouch in front of Paskelo.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Some sort of journal. Maybe a diary."

The lamp flickered on, revealing a stained-glass shade and a wrought-iron base. The lights in the rest of the villa sparked on, restoring the brilliance.

Naluma crossed to a divan by the lamp and opened the small book. On the first page, the following words were inscribed in calligraphy: "The Personal Journal of Padmé Naberrie upon her ascent to the throne as Queen Amidala." In cramped handwriting, the notes "as well as her years in the Galactic Senate. For my child."

Sucking in her breath, the Jedi turned to the first page and started skimming. Most of the words were the queen's reactions to her coronation and early years on the throne. But a few sentences caught Naluma's eyes:

"I can't show weakness, not one bit, but I'm terrified with this blockade by the Trade Delegation. We're members of the Galactic Republic. Why won't the Chancellor send us aid? We pay our taxes. This is so frustrating. My people are starving to death, and I can't do anything about it."

A few pages further, another passage caught her eye. "I daren't write his name, or any names, now. I know I'm a target. I worry about that little boy who saved us. I shouldn't say little. He's only five years younger. In ten years, that age gap won't mean a thing—no, he's going to be a Jedi. Jedi must not have attachments, must not love ... must be miserable, I guess. No wonder why they hardly smile. Still, I hope he's safe. I get the feeling he's going to do great things with his life, my little Ani." The last word was scribbled out, but Naluma could just barely discern it.

Ani? That's what she's saying? Ani.

Naluma flipped through the book toward the back. Another bit of text glowed for her. Just like with that Jedi Path book Luke had given her years ago when she became a Padawan.

"I can't believe the Jedi Council appointed A. as my protector. If it weren't for that attack on my life, I'm not sure if we would have ever seen each other again. My heart stopped as I gazed into his eyes the first time he showed up to my apartment on Coruscant. I had never forgotten those eyes. I had dreamt of them every night since we left Tatooine ten years ago."

Tatooine! Luke's homeworld. Who is she? Who is he?

"Tonight as we chatted on the terrace, dreaming about swimming across to the island once more, it happened. I don't know why I let him, but for that one moment when his lips touched mine, I felt like everything was right in the world. We are meant to be together. I can't help loving him. And as much as he is not supposed to love, I know he has given his to me with utter abandon. But how can this be? He's a Padawan learner. About to be a Jedi in a few months." A doodle of a heart with P & A scribbled in the center appeared below. "Oh, well, I can always dream. Sometimes that's all we get in life."

The next illuminated page sucked Naluma in. "It happened. We rebelled against our elders and the expectations and constraints. We followed our hearts. And to hear A. tell it, we followed the Force. I'm not so sure about that one, but after the arena on Geonosis where we both almost died, where The Clone War started, we knew no life was worth living if we would be apart. With Jedi called up for active duty in the wars, we knew it was now or never. Neither of us could guarantee tomorrow we would live, not in these uncertain times. On the terrace where he first kissed me just weeks ago, we took our vows, our secret marital vows. If anyone finds out, A. will be thrown out of the Jedi Order. I'll lose my position in the Senate. But tonight was worth it. The melding of our bodies and our souls for the first time, the gentle care as he carried me to the wedding chamber ... remind me to have Artoo's memory wiped. I'm sure that droid was recording the wedding. Hope he wasn't recording anything else!"

Artoo?

"Oh, and a note to myself, check in on Chancellor Palpatine. Something doesn't feel right."

Naluma closed the still-glowing book and laid it on her lap as she considered everything. Hunches clicked into place as the spectre swirled once more and called for "Ani."

Closing her eyes, Naluma reached out with the Force into the ethereal spirit world and called his name for all to hear: "Anakin!"