Ghostfinders 01 - Ghost of a Chance

chest under the T-shirt was solid and real. He was undeniably there, smiling right at her, his eyes full of laughter and mischief. Natasha could feel her heart racing.
    Behind her, unnoticed by either of them, Erik was kneeling beside his cat-head computer. “What is that?” he said quietly. “Is it a ghost of some sort? Is it real? Really real?”
    “No,” said the cat head. “Not even close. Real enough to be dangerous, though.”
    “I know he’s not a ghost!” snapped Natasha, not looking round. “I’m a telepath, remember?”
    “So what are you picking up from him?” said Erik.
    “Mostly . . . appetite,” said Natasha. “And I don’t mean he’s feeling a bit peckish.” She fixed the handsome young man with a steady gaze. “Flattery will get you nowhere; and I’m well past the point where I can be swept off my feet by raging hormones. So throw a bucket of water over it and talk to me. You’re not a ghost, and you can’t be real, so what are you?”
    “I’m whatever you want me to be,” said the young man. “Your fantasy. Your dream. I am your secret need and your heart’s desire. I’m everything you ever dreamed of, including all the things you wouldn’t admit to on waking. And you have dreamed of so many things, haven’t you, Natasha?”
    “How do you know my name?” Natasha wanted to be suspicious and on her guard, but there was something about his voice . . . something in its tone and timbre that made her feel like a teenage girl again, trembling in the grip of her own sexuality. She wanted him, she really did, even while another part of her mind yelled at her to kill him, immediately, while she still had the chance.
    “I know everything about you,” said the man. “You called to me.”
    “No,” said Natasha. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t. You know my name; what’s yours?”
    He smiled engagingly. “I have many names but one nature. I am the fire on the heath and the shriek in the night. I am the look that challenges and the glance that quickens the heart. I am the cat who is always grey and the cuckoo in the nest. Don’t you know me, Natasha?”
    “I didn’t call you,” Natasha said sternly, ignoring her increased breathing, the fluttering in her stomach, and the pleasant ache between her thighs. “I don’t want you. You can go now.”
    “You want me,” said the man, so close to her by then she could feel his breath on her mouth. “You need me. You can’t live without me.”
    “Don’t put money on it,” said Natasha.
    Her breath caught in her throat as the man changed subtly before her, becoming even more handsome and glamorous, every detail intense and overwhelming . . . But at the same time, he was too much of a good thing. Like every treat you know is bad for you; like the poison that tastes sweet even as it kills you. Natasha backed away, and the man went after her.
    And Erik, forgotten by both of them, stepped in behind the young man and stabbed him in the neck with his taser turned to full strength. Lightning flared, and the man stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth stretched in a wild, inhuman howl. Natasha almost cried out as the man’s face changed abruptly before her, the details blurring and slipping. He lurched forward another step, his hands reaching imploringly out to Natasha; but they weren’t hands any more. He didn’t look like a man any more. The slumping figure turned abruptly and lashed out at Erik, one overlong arm scything through the air with deadly speed. But Erik was no longer there.
    He’d put away the taser and taken out his pointing bone. And as the figure changed still more, sloughing off its veneer of Humanity to become something so disturbing that human eyes could not bear to look at it, Erik shielded his eyes and stabbed the pointing bone in its direction. The figure cried out again, in pain and horror and thwarted rage, and disappeared.
    Erik lowered his trembling hand and moved forward to make sure the thing was really gone. He waved both his hands through the air where it had been, and only then did he go over to join Natasha, who was leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, breathing hard. Erik stopped a safe distance away and waited. He knew better than to touch her, or even say something reassuring. He looked at the poster on the wall. The countryside was simply a painted scene again, but interestingly, there was no trace anywhere of the young man. No-one stood under the oak tree any more.
    Erik glanced down at