"Can't you tell me why we're doing this?" Andrea asked, trying to keep from moving her lips. She was in public, after all.

No, that would ruin the surprise, Kaziel answered.

"I told you, I hate surprises."

Have I ever done you wrong, kiddo? Andrea clenched her fists. She'd asked him not to call her that. He was right though. In the three months since Kaziel's disembodied voice began speaking to her, she'd gotten a new job, avoided a major car accident and helped return a kidnapped child to his mother. So his credentials were sound, but that didn't mean she liked walking onto the firing range blindfolded.

"Fine, then. Just tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do when those large, angry looking gentlemen up there figure out I don't belong here." Kaziel chuckled.

Well, walk faster, for starters. Look like you're late. Don't smile, don't look nervous. Say you're from the Times.

"The Times? Which one?" The main doors of the conference center were looking closer, the dark-skinned men flanking the entrance looking very tough and intimidating in their matching black suits and eight hundred dollar sunglasses. I'm going to get killed, she realized in a flash of horror.

Relax. Do what I say and you'll be fine. I promise. Licking her dry lips, Andrea faked a glance at her watch and sped up as much as her heels would let her. Nice touch, Kaziel said appreciatively. Now, just like I told you. And no names. Don't give them a name. She frowned slightly at the strange orders, but she was beginning to know better than to question him.

"Can I help you?" asked the man standing to the left of the door. He had a cropped goatee and a large diamond pierced his ear. The man on the right wore a heavy ruby ring on his left hand and had no neck.

"Damnedable traffic," Andrea said in her bitchiest voice. "The Times will have me covering the ground-breaking for the new landfill if I missed anything." She dug into her purse, as if looking for her press badge, but kept walking. She reached the doors and almost sighed with relief when Mr. Goatee opened the door for her.

"Press conference starts in five minutes," he said. She nodded her thanks, but kept her head and did not smile as she hurried down the hall to the main conference room.

Spectacularly done, Kaziel said, sounding awed. I didn't know you had it in you. What a great little actress you're turning out to be.

"Yeah, they can mail my Oscar to my mother after my body's recovered from the bay," she muttered under her breath. "What have you gotten me into?" Her spirit guide didn't have time to answer -- not that he would have -- as the hallway opened out into a large hexagonal room, the side across from her taken up by a brightly lit podium. The place was packed. Every chair in the room was taken, and reporters and their cameramen lined the walls two deep in some places. "Now what," she whispered.

Head to your left, Kaziel instructed. Your other left. She pretended to be looking for someone and corrected her course, sidling past primping news anchors and shutterbugs checking their film supply. There, beside that narrow hallway.

"There's like, four inches of wall there. Where am I supposed to stand?" she asked, faking a cough. That was fast becoming one of her favorite tricks, though if she had a stalker, they might start to think she had tuberculosis or something. It didn’t matter, this time; no one was paying her the slightest attention. Not even Kaziel. “Did you hear me?”

See that guy there, the one in the obnoxious red tie? She wouldn’t have called it obnoxious, but the fact that he was rather handsome might have had something to do with that. Smile at him. He’ll make room.

“Is he why we’re here? You’re playing matchmaker now?” Kaziel snorted.

Hardly. He’s happily married and too good for you, anyway.

“Gee, thanks.” She inched through the crowd, getting her feet stepped on several times and her shoulder bruised by a careless camera man. “It must be nice being intangible,” Andrea muttered, ducking out of the way as some fat old man in a brown suit gestured wildly with one meaty arm.

Yeah, right. After you’ve spent two hundred years without a body, we’ll see if you feel the same way. Andrea finally reached the safety of the narrow corridor, which no one seemed willing to block, and worked her feminine wiles on the man in the red tie.

“Got room for one more?” she asked, flashing a coy smile. He smiled back and sidled closer to the man on the other side of him, allowing her to stand mostly out of the corridor.

Tone it down, Jezebel. I said happily married. And you have no idea what a pain in the non-existent ass it is not to have a body, he said after a moment. Especially when you’re in the shower. You have a very nice ass.

“You watch me when I’m in the shower?” Andrea asked, a little louder than she should have. The people nearest her all turned to look, including the man in the red tie. She blushed and raised her hand to her ear. “I’ve got to go, honey, the conference is about to start. We’ll talk when I get home.” She pretended to take out her earpiece and slip it into her pocket. No longer the most interesting thing in the room, attention turned back to the still empty platform.

Nice save.

“No thanks to you,” she hissed. She glanced up to find the man in the red tie still watching her. She smiled awkwardly.

“I’m Brian,” he said, extending his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she replied. He had a warm, firm grip. “I’m --”

No names! Kaziel shouted in her ear, making her jump.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a laugh. “Do I know you? You look so familiar.” She realized she was still shaking his hand and let go.

“I don’t --” he started to say, but she cut him off.

“Of course you do. I probably saw you at another of these things. We all get around, right?” She knew she was babbling; she always babbled when she was nervous. Luckily, the conversational murmur that had filled the room until then broke open in a flurry of excited chatter and popping flashbulbs. For some reason, all the cameras seemed to be pointed in her direction. Blinking away the ghostly afterglow of the flashbulb fireworks, she took advantage of the distraction and turned away from Brian with the red tie.

Another black suit was moving past her, a pillar of a man with dark cocoa skin, no hair and even more expensive sunglasses than the muscle outside wore. This guy had to be somebody’s head of security. She watched him pass, hardly daring to breathe. If he was less than six and a half feet tall, she was a Spanish peanut.

Something brushed against her arm, and she glanced away from the moving mountain. Walking past her now was a shorter man, about her height, actually, with dark, curly hair that didn’t quite fall to his collar. He wore a midnight blue suit and small, wire-framed glasses, and had a quiet, intelligent air about him.

He looked to see what he had brushed up against, his gray-green eyes barely passing over her before he turned away. She watched him as he walked, impressed by the way he ignored the jabbering news people and almost constant flash of cameras. She wouldn't have been able to stand all that attention. Suddenly, he paused, then glanced back over his shoulder at her. Their eyes met and for a moment, it was like they were the only two people in the room.

When he finally turned away again, Andrea let her breath out in one long, slow hiss. Her heart was dancing in her chest.

"What was that?" she asked under her breath.

"Probably the biggest mistake you'll ever make," Brian said, startling her. She'd forgotten that he was standing there. "You didn't ask a single question or take one picture. You don't get a second chance with Mr. McCrea. Hell, most people never get a first like that. He looked right at you."

"I -- I don't know what I was thinking," she stammered. "Who is he?" Brian gave her a funny look.

"Are you from New Guinea, or something? Mr. McCrea is only the richest and most powerful man in the country."

"Oh, that Mr. McCrea," Andrea said quickly. She still didn't have a clue. Aspengrove wasn't New Guinea, but they paid about as much attention to the outside world. "I've just never seen him up close before. Funny, I thought he'd be... older." Brian gave her another funny look, then went back to checking his tape recorder. She allowed herself only a minor sigh of relief, though. If the last ten minutes were any indication, she was in for one hell of a headache. If only Kaziel would shed a little light on his master plan, but he seemed to enjoy keeping her in the dark.

The mysterious Mr. McCrea now stepped up to the podium. Andrea slowly shook her head. The most powerful man in the country? She didn't see it. He looked like an accountant, or a high school English teacher. Another volley of flashbulbs went off, then went still as he cleared his throat to speak.

"Thank you for coming," he said into the bouquet of microphones arranged before him. Even his voice was quiet and unassuming, though it filled the conference hall. "Today, we at Starcore Industries would like to announce the merger between ourselves and the Blackgold drilling company." A gasp rose up from the crowd. Andrea had no idea what he was talking about. "This may come as a shock to some of you, considering Blackgold's vehement refusals of our previous offers, however, it just proves that there is indeed a price for everything."

Stop looking at him, Kaziel instructed suddenly, making her jump. Look at your watch. She did as he was told, not sure why she cared that it was a quarter after four, except that she was missing her favorite talk show. Brian nudged her with his elbow.

"Aren't you paying attention?" he whispered. "He just looked up here at you." Before she could respond, Mr. McCrea was talking again, thankfully stealing Brian's attention away.

"In the months and years to come, we hope to see our two companies unite, into the cornerstone of a new industry: deep space mining. With our development of --"

Time to go.

"Are you kidding?" Andrea hissed. "This isn't over. I'll make a scene."

Nobody'll even notice you. One person, maybe. Now go. She grumbled under her breath as she made her way back toward the front doors, but she knew better than to argue with Kaziel. Better than to argue too much, at least. She was too busy trying to avoid stepping on toes or in front of cameras to listen to the rest of Mr. McCrea's speech, but it wasn't like she was interested in deep space mining. Let them get richer digging for mud or gold or whatever on distant space rocks. It just meant fewer people she had to fight to get to work each morning.

"At Starcore Industries, we believe that the future is deep space drilling --"

"Of course you do," Andrea mumbled as she headed down the main corridor, "you own it."

Whatever you do, Kaziel said suddenly, don't look back. Of course, her first impulse was to look, but she fought it, even as the buzz of the reporters rose up again.

"Now why did I have to leave early?" Andrea asked her guide. "It was almost over anyway."

You were there long enough, Kaziel said. No need to bore you with more of that business talk than necessary.

"You going to tell me the point of this little adventure?" She zipped her lips as she pushed through the main door. Her heart just about stopped as the two men outside turned to stared down at her.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but you'll have to come with us," the one with the goatee said.

Step around them. They can't do anything to you, Kaziel said. If he'd been tangible, she'd have slapped him upside the head. Couldn't do anything to her? These guys could have snapped her like a toothpick. Be polite. Say you're late. Apologize. Walk past them. Andrea adjusted her posture, her shoulders back, head up, and stepped between them.

"I'm terribly sorry, gentlemen," she said, "but I'm already very late. Next time, perhaps." She began to walk across the parking lot, the click of her heels on the pavement ringing loudly in her ears. Every breath became her last, every step she expected to hear them coming after her, guns drawn. Or maybe not guns, but knives, sharp, silent stilettos that would slip right into her heart. "I'm going to die," she muttered to herself, "and then I'm going to kick your ass, Kaziel."

Quit talking to yourself, her guide said, sounding highly amused with the situation. They're coming. Just keep calm, be nice, don't lie and don't tell them anything, especially your name.

"What is it about my name?" Now she could hear the footsteps behind her, catching her, many footsteps.

"Excuse me, Miss," said a deep, rolling bass voice she didn't recognize. "May we have a moment, please?" If she was supposed to be nice, did that mean it was okay to talk to them? Maybe, but she'd avoid it if she could.

"I'm sorry, but I'm really..." she turned and looked back, "late." The huge black man from inside the conference hall stood flanked by the guys who were on door duty. Between them, almost unnoticed next to the security detail, was Mr. McCrea. "Well, perhaps I can spare a moment. What can I do for you?"

"Do you know who I am?" Mr. McCrea asked quietly.

"Sort of," Andrea said. Disbelief, or perhaps amusement, flashed across his face. The expression was gone before she could really tell.

"You're not a reporter, are you?" She hesitated.

Tell the truth. It's okay.

"No, I'm not."

"Who are you, then?"

Don't answer that.

"I'd rather not say." The expression now on Mr. McCrea's face, she had no trouble reading. He was obviously used to having his own way. He just looked at her for a moment, his unusual gray-green eyes hard and calculating.

"You say that you 'sort of' know who I am," he said, that soft, unassuming voice sending chills down her spine. "For your sake, I will choose believe that you do not know enough, and ask you again: Who are you? And before you answer, whoever you are, let me warn you that, although I do like playing games, I play for keeps, and I play to win."

Show no fear, Kaziel said, and she almost laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of his words. Why shouldn't she show fear? She just been threatened with death, more or less, if she didn't cooperate. Taking a deep breath, she set her jaw and did her best.

"Forgive me, Mr. McCrea," she said, frantically scrabbling about in her head for something to say that wouldn't get her killed, "but I really can't say. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going." She turned away and began to walk toward her little Toyota. Her hands were shaking so bad, she almost dropped her purse as she reached in to find her keys.

Forget the car for now, Kaziel said. You're in no condition to drive, and they're still watching you. They'll trace the plate number and find out who you are. Just walk on by.

"Kaziel, you son of a bitch, I'm getting sick and tired of your bullshit!" she hissed between her teeth. "Why is it so fucking important that they don't know my name?"

Some people only want what they can't have, he replied. Especially people who think they have everything.

"So, what? You want him to want me? You are playing matchmaker." She cast a longing look at her Celica, but walked on past. "But why him, of all people? He's... he's cold and vicious, drunk on money and power. I thought you were supposed to help me, look out for my best interests. Somebody like that wouldn't be any good for me."

Perhaps you're right, Kaziel conceded. Let's just forget about it, okay?

"Does that mean I can go back for my car?"

A little walk won't kill you.

"Twelve blocks in these heels; it just might."

C'mon, you could use the exercise.

"Are you saying I'm fat?"