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her face.  “You made a mistake?” 
    “Yes.” 
    “What kind of mistake?” she
asks, not satisfied with my monosyllabic answer.  I could have guessed that,
but I’m going for the safest answers possible.  I have no desire to burn from
the inside out.
    “I weaved Sheehogue law and
magic into the oath because I was sure that your grandmother was not the Witch
she says she is, and that would have exposed her lies.  But I stumbled into an
ancient law by mistake.  I am now bound by it.”
    Confusion was winning the
battle with anger for space on her face, but the tides have now turned again.  “Kallen,
that doesn’t make any sense at all.  What ancient law?”
    Does she not understand that
if I explain to her what ancient law, I will then be telling her what I cannot
tell her?  When I do not respond right away, she crosses her arms over her
chest and begins tapping her foot.  If I was not so desperate to fix this
situation, I would be annoyed.  “Well?” she asks.  If patience was measured by
the beauty of a painting, hers would strongly resemble a finger painting. 
Created with mud.
    I close my eyes a moment. 
There is nothing more for me to say, other than what I have already.  “Xandra,
I need you to trust me.  Please.  Your grandmother is not going to hurt you. 
She cannot.”
    She makes a noise that
strongly bears a resemblance to a squeal.  “So, now we’re back to the blind
faith thing.”
    Crossing my arms over my
chest again, I ask, “Have I given you reason not to trust me?”  Other than
lying to her about why I came.  And about the blood oath.  And several other
things that I have not told her that could be considering lying through
omission.  Perhaps that was not the wisest question in the world.
    Several long heartbeats pass
without a response.  I do not like that it is taking her so long to respond to
my question.  Even if I have misled her once or twice, my own anger is rising
again.  I came clean on most of that stuff.  Finally, she says, “Is she really
bound by the blood oath?”
    There are still miracles.  “Yes,
she is.  Her intentions can only be pure.  She would suffer greatly if not.”
    With a sour, but not angry,
look, she says, “Fine, but you’re carrying her suitcases.”
    I give her my most charming
smile.  “Of course.  I am always a slave to your desires.”  I ignore the tiny
voice in my head that is saying there is more truth in that statement than I
want to acknowledge.
    “You’re absolutely sure that
Grandma’s on our side?”
    I nod.  “I am.”
    She looks at me long and
hard, until I want to start squirming.  Whatever she is looking for in my face,
she must have found it, because she says, “Then I believe it, too.” 
    Music to my ears.  Putting
my hands on her waist, I pull her closer.  “Thank you for trusting me.”  She
wraps her arms around my neck and our lips meet in a kiss that erases any doubt
of how she feels about me.  If we were not in her parents’ driveway, I would
let my hands rove over her luscious body.  Even the thought of it almost pushes
me over the edge.
    Good thing I decided against
the hand roving thing.  “And you wonder why I follow you two around.” 
    I step back so quickly, I
almost fall over my own feet.  These ghosts need to wear bells or something. 
It’s unnerving how they can creep up on you.  The Witch spirit I can sense to
some degree, the Cowan spirit not at all.
    Xandra groans as she looks
at her father, which I believe is only going to make the situation worse.  I
prepare myself for a verbal lashing.  Instead, I get an amused spirit looking
at us as if he is more amused about interrupting us, than being irate that I
was once again kissing his daughter.  There has to be a catch.
    “We were just coming back
in,” Xandra grumbles with more than a little attitude. 
    “It might be difficult to
carry the bags and walk to the door with your lips locked like that.”  There
are