“None of the Vicknair mediums,” Dax said. “We’re certainly not the only folks helping ghosts find their way through, but I think she’d have mentioned it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Plus, more than likely she’d come to one of you, since she’s been to the Vicknair place twice already, don’t you think?”

Dax nodded.

“Okay. So she can’t control when she comes to this side. Did she say where she goes when she isn’t with you?”

“She said she didn’t know.”

Ryan frowned, shook his head. “Hell, man, I don’t know either. I mean, my experience was totally different. I saw the light but didn’t want to go through, and then, later on, the powers that be wouldn’t let me. In my case, it was because I needed to learn how to love.”

“And thank goodness you figured out how,” Monique chimed in from the doorway.

Ryan smiled, but Dax didn’t.

“So you don’t know what I can do to help her get back through?” he asked, feeling defeated.

His brother-in-law’s grin disappeared, and he looked solemnly toward Dax. “I wish I did, but if she can’t move freely within the middle, then I don’t know what to tell you. That’s nothing like what I went through, and, truthfully, I can’t figure out why she hasn’t crossed over.”

“If she hasn’t,” Dax said. What was to say that she hadn’t crossed tonight, after the two of them had shared that phenomenal kiss?

“Oh, Dax.” Monique entered the kitchen with Tristan close at her heels. She wrapped an arm around him consolingly.

Dax shrugged to shake off her arm. He didn’t want consolation; he wanted answers. “What about sleeping?” he asked. “Have you ever known of ghosts who got tired when they came to this side?”

“Tired?” Ryan repeated. “Ghosts don’t get tired, Dax. Why would they?”

“She did. And I don’t mean a little sleepy either, I mean exhausted, nearly-ready-to-pass-out tired. I saw her like that today, twice.”

“A ghost? Tired?” Tristan repeated from the doorway. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Me, neither,” said Monique.

“Well, trust me, she was,” Dax said.

“That’s not-well, it’s not normal,” Tristan said. “Seriously, why would they need sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Dax admitted. “But there were other things about her that were different too,” he thought aloud.

“Like what?” Monique moved to sit in Ryan’s lap, while Tristan grabbed a Coke from the cooler and joined them at the table.

“Yeah, what else?” Tristan asked. “Maybe we can help you figure out what’s going on.”

“Her clothes. Last time she was here, she was always in the same thing, a yellow tank top and jeans. I assumed that’s what she was wearing when she died.”

“But that wasn’t what she wore this time?” Monique asked.

“No. She wore a white gown.”

“Like a wedding gown?” Tristan asked, surprise evident in his tone.

“No, not like a wedding gown,” Dax said, growing irritated but still wanting answers. “A nightgown, a long, satin nightgown.” A very sexy nightgown that barely balanced on her shoulders and looked as though if he could only ease it down the smoothness of her arms, it would puddle to the ground.

Dax’s imagination was way too vivid, and the image of Celeste, standing beautifully nude before him, was crystal clear. Would the real thing be better than the fantasy? Oh, yeah, he knew it would. But would he ever see her that way? Would he ever see her again at all?

“You changed clothes in the middle,” Monique said to Ryan, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I did.”

“How?” Dax asked, realizing he needed to pay attention to any insight Ryan could offer.

“The same way I moved from one place to another. I thought about what I wanted to wear, and my clothing changed.”

“Just like that?” Dax asked.

Ryan nodded. “Pretty much. Really, there wasn’t anything to it. I thought about it, and I changed.”

“I remember you went from jeans and a T-shirt to a tuxedo right in front of me,” Monique said, and her husband smiled.

“Yeah, I remember that night.”

Dax shook his head. None of this was adding up. “But you changed clothes based on where you were going, what you were doing or who you were seeing, right? I mean, you picked clothing to go with whatever you had going on, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed.

“Celeste came with Prissy and went with her to the hospital, and then she spent time with me back at the house. And the whole time she wore that same gown. Don’t you think that if she could control what she was wearing, she’d have picked something different than a nightgown? And it wasn’t because she died in it, because she obviously died in that jeans and tank top that she wore last time.”

“Maybe it was because she knew she was going to be sleeping while she was here,” Tristan said with a smirk, then held up his palms when Dax glared at him. “Hey, I worked all day and hauled furniture all night, forgive me if I’m leaning toward sarcasm.”

Monique twisted in Ryan’s lap. “Honey, do you remember anything from being in the middle that would help Dax figure out what’s causing her to be so different from all our other spirits?”

Again, Ryan shook his head. “If I did, I’d tell you.”

“Anything else out of the ordinary with her?” she asked. “Something that might help us figure out why she’s stuck in the middle? Other than the sleeping and the clothing, was there anything else different from other ghosts? Did she glow like our regular spirits?”

Dax started to nod, but then he thought about Celeste and Prissy, standing side by side in the sitting room. The little girl’s body had been cloaked in a brilliant, golden glow, so bright that Dax had nearly had to squint to look at her. But Celeste’s appearance hadn’t been nearly as bright.

“No,” he said. “No, she didn’t. Her body was illuminated, but it wasn’t as vivid as the younger spirit’s. But-”

“But?” Monique prompted.

“But when she got tired, and then again, right before she left, her body glowed brighter, not quite as bright as my usual spirits, but it was more gold than white.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “I don’t know about the other things that are different, but that one does have a reasonable answer, based on what I remember about the middle.”

“What is it?” Dax asked.

“When I saw other spirits getting closer to the light, they always glowed brighter. I assumed that the closer a spirit was to crossing, the brighter their essence became.”

Dax closed his eyes and pictured Celeste, getting brighter and brighter, right until she left. That did make sense, and he knew why he hadn’t thought of it on his own. Subconsciously, he hadn’t wanted to face the fact that touching him, kissing him, might have made it harder for her to fight the pull of the light. What if being with him today had forced her to cross? “Damn.”

“Hey, man, I’m not saying she crossed over. I’m merely saying that when ghosts glow brighter, that usually means that they’re closer to the other side. She could still be in the middle. I fought crossing, remember? And if she wants to be with you the way I wanted to be with Monique, she’s fighting it too.”

Dax swallowed, nodded. Celeste would fight it; he had no doubt. But she’d been weak today. “Thanks,” he said, standing. He needed to go back to the plantation and think, try to put the pieces together and figure out where Celeste was, and how to help her get where she needed to be-on this side, with him.

“I’m not sure why you’re thanking us. I don’t think we were all that much help.” Tristan finished off his soda then tossed the can in the trash.

“Talking through things always helps,” Dax said, knowing that they had, in fact, given him more to think about. Celeste was getting pulled toward the light, and he didn’t want to give the other side the advantage by making her weaker. But he did want her here, and to feel her body, her mouth, her everything against him again. “I’m going home.”