She was slipping into unconsciousness when someone approached. Through the haze, she made out a young man kneeling beside her, speaking softly, though she lacked the strength to listen. She reached for his energy, but his natural barriers were too strong. Still, she managed to scrape just enough to stay conscious. He touched her, and through that contact, she stole a little more. Then she realized he was helping her up, guiding her somewhere. Through the fog, she heard:

  “…get out of the rain. The church is just ahead. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  “No need,” she whispered, leaning against his shoulder. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

  The church was old and perfect. Power seeped from the altar, a soft, steady pulse of energy she could tap into. Not enough to fully recharge, but enough to clear her mind. Too bad she hadn’t made it in time for Mass.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, sinking heavily into one of the back pews.

  She closed her eyes to assess the wound. Barely a centimeter deep now. Closing it completely wouldn’t be a problem. Alice could hardly believe she’d made it that far on her own. It felt surreal, unlikely even, but fascinating. She knew it had only been possible thanks to the energy she’d accumulated over the past few months. And the thought of what she might achieve with even more thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. So many doors were starting to open.

  “Can you hear me?” the man asked.

  She forced her eyes open. For a second, she wondered if maybe she’d died on that street and this was all some hallucination. But no, the pain was too real, and yes, the man was there. Young. Strong. A seminarian, probably. Not exactly her type, not classically handsome, but well-built and annoyingly healthy-looking. Blonde hair, even features, clear green eyes.

  “You should shave that excuse for a beard,” she said, eyeing the patchy scruff on his chin. “You look like a teenage boy who just discovered razors exist.”

  “I could’ve left you on that street,” he said, straightening up. Irritation edged his voice.Good. That’s what she wanted. She reached for his energy again, but it was useless. His barriers still held. She felt a strong urge to swear—or maybe laugh. Of course, it was just her luck to stumble into the arms of a health-obsessed zealot radiating purity who wouldn’t let her steal a single drop of life force.

  “You could’ve, but you didn’t. And I’m grateful,” she said, unfastening her coat. A wave of weakness washed over her again.

  “Doesn’t show,” he replied, though his voice had softened slightly.She noticed instantly and shifted her focus, not just on his aura but in that other, deeper way. The one that let her read emotional states. To her satisfaction, she discovered he was intrigued by her.

  “Well now, this could be interesting,” she said, her tone low and teasing.

  He reacted right away. His aura betrayed him.

  “Should I call someone?” he asked, looking her over.

  “Do I look like I need help?”

  “No. Not anymore.”

  The air between them thickened with something more than polite concern. That wasn’t by accident. Alice had sent out a clear pulse, a subtle nudge meant to stir something in him. To spark desire. The game had begun.

  “I got dizzy after seeing a run-over cat,” she said, lowering her gaze and wincing slightly. “It always gets to me, seeing dead animals. When I was four, I was in the car with my dad. Some lady’s dog broke loose and ran straight into the road. We crashed. I spent two months in a body cast. I guess it left a mark.”

  She felt his hand rest gently on her shoulder. Only sheer willpower kept her from smiling like a cat that’d caught a mouse.

  “Come on. Let’s get you to the sacristy. I’ll make you some tea. You can take off that wet coat before you catch a cold.”

  She didn’t say a word. Just gave him her hand, letting him think he was in control.

  They entered a small room. He closed the door carefully behind them. Alice began unbuttoning her coat while he filled the kettle with water. She knew he’d seen the wound, but he chose to ignore it. She also knew he had no real intention of keeping his vows of chastity, that his devotion to God came with his own private interpretation of what that service should look like. He wanted her. The only thing holding him back was the fact that, technically, they were still inside a church. He was torn. She could feel it, and it amused her. If she did nothing, if she sat back and let him decide, his sense of decency would win out. His aura told her so. But it also told her how close to the edge he was. It wouldn’t take much. Why not push?

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  She walked over without a word. He turned to face her just as he set the kettle down. He noticed her struggling with one of the buttons, her fingers red and trembling from the cold. He assumed—wrongly—that she couldn’t manage on her own. How could he know how easy it was to fake something like that? He reached for her, deftly undoing the buttons one by one, then slipped the coat from her shoulders.

  He turned to hang it on a nearby chair, and their eyes met. She raised a hand, stopping just short of touching him, no more than a few millimeters away. Her lips tightened; her expression wary. Then, suddenly, she dropped her hand, cheeks flushing in apparent embarrassment. That was all it took. That was the last rational thought he had.

  He touched her shoulders first, slowly, waiting to see if she’d pull away. When she didn’t, his hands slid lower, tentative, to her waist. She flinched but didn’t resist. That was enough. He pulled her closer, his mouth crashing into hers. Desire, raw and overpowering, took hold of him. She was weak, he could feel that, but she didn’t push him away.

  He sensed her hesitation, how his sudden hunger had startled her. A small part of his mind screamed at him to stop, but that part was quickly drowned out. Her frailty only fueled him. He shoved her back against the wall, parted her legs with his knee, grabbed her breasts with both hands. She fought him at first, briefly, then gave in. Awkwardly, shyly, she kissed him back.

  Heat surged low in his stomach. He’d never felt anything like it before. It was as if something inside him cracked open. He could feel the energy flowing between them, a pull that went deeper than flesh. He didn’t know when the clothes came off, when he ended up on the floor, when she straddled him. He had no idea when the balance shifted and she took over. But he didn’t care. His own hoarse voice echoed in his ears, pleading for more.

  Was she saying anything? No, he didn’t think so. He heard only his own breath, the rush of blood, and soft cries that might have been moans. Everything happened too fast, too rough, too out of control to process. None of it mattered. She was here. He was inside her. And nothing else in the world existed.

  When he finally came, the sensation tore through him like a storm. He felt his strength, his very life force, drain out of him along with the release… and then came darkness.

  Alice stood quickly, examining the wound with a critical eye. The energy transfer had gone perfectly. She still felt pain, yes, but she suspected it would take a few minutes for her brain to catch up with what had just happened. That was fine. She could wait.

  She dressed quickly. The cleric she covered only with his own discarded clothes. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, though not exactly her type. She shrugged, adjusted her coat, and slipped out the door. With one hand on the lock, she sent a burst of energy into the key still in the mechanism, turning it from the inside. This way she sealed the room and spared him a very awkward conversation with his superiors. It was a small gift, her way of saying thank you for the healing help. That was the full extent of her gratitude. Nothing more.

  She walked quickly, aware that her energy reserves were running dangerously low. She had burned through nearly all of it repairing the internal damage, and the pain was growing stronger. Still, that was the least of her worries. All she wanted now was to make it home, to collapse in her own bed and sleep deeply, undisturbed. That was all she needed to feel content. When she finally saw her building, relief washed over her. She had to stop a few times along the way, siphoning life from random passersby just to stay upright, but somehow she made it. She crossed the final stretch and opened the first door. Then came the next little crisis: the stairs. Two short flights took her nearly ten minutes. By the time she reached her apartment, she was drenched in sweat and trembling. Even the simple act of getting into bed felt impossible. Life, she decided, was full of compromises, and tonight, the floor would do just fine. Sleep swallowed her the moment she let herself fall.

  Marcel stood over the girl sleeping on the floor. He couldn’t decide whether it surprised him, disturbed him, or amused him. In any case, he had no intention of waking her. He hoped she might finally “catch the wolf,” whatever that meant for women. At least now, he thought, he’d finally learn what his grandmother had meant when she used to yell at his sister for sitting on bare ground. Unfortunately, that quiet wish of his went unfulfilled. He realized it the moment a wave of pure, paralyzing fear gripped him.

  “Hello, Marcel,” said a black-haired man, stepping through a doorway that hadn’t existed a second earlier.

  The ghost managed only a stiff nod in reply, but the man paid him no attention. He walked straight over to Alice, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and laid her down gently on the bed. Then he removed her coat, her shoes, and pulled back her shirt slightly. Marcel flushed with embarrassment. It was ridiculous, really, considering he’d been dead for years.

  Luckily, the reaction was unnecessary. The man wasn’t ogling her. He was examining the scar on her side. He placed a hand over it, and Marcel felt a surge of energy, as if something were being mended, though he had no idea what exactly. Then the man pulled the blanket up over her and said,

  “Don’t even think about waking her. Stay away from her, too. She needs to restore her energy. Unless you want to disappear completely. Even as a ghost.”

  He laughed quietly and vanished. Marcel stayed completely still for a long time, not daring to so much as twitch.