Read Remembrance (The Mediator #7) for Free Online

through me when he says it, just like when he says my name.
    Let’s face it, I’m warm for the boy’s form. Which is good, since I fully intend to marry that form. I don’t care how many Egyptian curses I have to break in order to do it.
    “I think I’ve got things under control for now,” I said. “I’ll call you later when I can talk more.”
    “Yes, you will. Because there is very definitely something going on that you’re not telling me. Am I right, Susannah?”
    “Damn, Jesse,” I said, hoping my lighthearted tone would disguise the fact that I really was unsettled by his seeing through my lie. “You may not be a ghost yourself anymore, but you sure as hell can sense when one’s around. How do you do that?”
    “A ghost? Is that all? I thought at the very least you’d found out you’d won the Powerball.”
    “Ha! I wish. I’d buy you that cool new PET scanner you’ve been wanting.”
    I knew Jesse was only acting as if he wasn’t concerned. He’s protective by nature, and when it came to the supernatural, he’s more than simply protective. He was what we call in the counseling trade hypervigilant .
    Considering what he’d been through, however, this was only natural.
    “Look out for yourself, then, all right, querida ? The last thing I want is my fiancée being brought in to the ER as a patient.”
    “You know that’s never going to happen. I can’t stand doctors, remember? They think they know everything.”
    “Because we do know everything, actually. Te amo, querida .”
    Thankfully he hung up before he could do any more extrasensory percepting (or turn me into a puddle of desire right there on the phone).
    I hung up, too. There was no way on earth I was going to tell Jesse about Paul’s threat, let alone his proposition. It would only make him angry.
    Angry? It would set off a thermal nuclear explosion inside his head.
    And now—despite Paul’s assertions otherwise—Jesse was a gainfully employed, full-blooded citizen. Unlike before, if he was caught attempting to kill a fellow citizen, he had a lot to lose, what with his fellowship and our planned wedding next year in the basilica at the Carmel Mission. True, the invitations hadn’t gone out yet, but there were two hundred guests and counting on the list . . . none of them family from the groom’s side, of course, all of Jesse’s relatives having died over a century earlier, something Jesse pretended not to mind. But who wouldn’t be bothered by it?
    It would be awkward to have to pay back all those deposits due to the groom having been indicted for murder.
    And what about the private grant Jesse had applied for that, if he won it, would help pay back a substantial chunk of what he owed in student loans, and also help finance his own practice after he became certified? (As long as he agreed to serve uninsured and low-income patients, something he’d planned on doing anyway. One in five American households lives below the poverty line, even in a community as outwardly glitzy as Carmel.)
    Jesse’s chances of winning it out of so many hundreds of applicants would be another miracle that I didn’t think we could count on.
    I came out of Ms. Diaz’s office and waved the first-aid kit at the bleeding girl. “Let me take a look at that.”
    “No, it’s okay,” Becca protested, backing away from me and pulling her arm close. “I’m fine.”
    She was so far from fine this statement was almost hilarious—except no one was laughing. Besides the blood dripping from her arm, some had spilled down the front of her school uniform—the school had reinstituted a uniform policy after having relaxed it in the years I’d been there (I tried not to take the reinstitution personally). Now all students were required to wear a navy blue sweater over a white shirt, with either gray trousers or a blue plaid skirt. This girl had opted for the skirt.
    Her mouse brown hair looked as if it had never met conditioner . . . or a brush. Her skin