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reflection or ghost twin or doppelganger.
    Her shadow was herself. Therefore, only one woman was in the hallway with him. One woman, split into two, elemental and reasoning, in respective bodies, but one.
    Further, the sweet Ms. Eleanor Russo was not so controlled, not so compliant, certainly not cooperative. Part of her was intensely curious, wanted sex and wanted it bad, sought attention at every turn, acted on pure instinct. The other part was deliberate, enduring, brave, and desperate in her cause.
    Separate, she had a big problem, one she’d hoped he would solve. Altogether, she made one hell of an intriguing woman.
    Huh. Been a while since he’d had a crush on anyone. It was as good a reason as any to do the right thing.
    He sighed, blowing out his decision slowly. He would not be turning Eleanor over to any aide tomorrow, not unless all of his questions were satisfied. And he had a bundle. Asking hard questions was what he’d been trained to do.
    His gaze slid toward magic again and his heart leaped.
    Still no. He would not be tempted.
    He’d see the Shadowlands again, would pour his mind and guts into the effort, but most likely not at Segue. As of tomorrow, he’d probably be out of a job.
     
    Ellie couldn’t stop the tears. They came from her dark half, her deep self, who was rapt with awe at a painting. The painting was lovely, a lifesized vantage of a forest. Great skill had been exercised to render the depth of perception and the layered mixtures of colors, especially in those mysterious patches that seemed almost black, but not quite. Anyone could see that a talented artist had painted this. In the past, her shadow had occasionally responded to art with emotion, though never to this degree. The last time Ellie had hurt this much was when Gran passed away. The tears hadn’t stopped falling then, either. Even now, every once inawhilet. . .
    Now Ellie knew why. For once Ellie saw what her shadow did.
    A dreamland of trees, steeped in seductive fantasy. This was passion dark and rich, with a power that she had never imagined. It made her body scream for touch, her mind fragment with the throb of magic. She wanted this, needed to feel this, but it belonged to her other half. Her shadow got the best of everything.
    “Can you cover it up?” Ellie asked. Please.
    Dr. Kalamos reached over and squeezed her hand, as if he could possibly understand how she felt. “You’re not alone.”
    Ellie snorted through her tears. “I’m never alone.”
    Kalamos lifted his chin to one of the soldiers. “Can you see if there’s a tarp somewhere back there?”
    The soldier departed and Ellie closed her eyes against the feelings that still surged within. A sudden sense of loss and disconnect had her stumbling, but that was just her shadow’s reaction, foundering after the painting was covered.
    “Don’t . . . please . . .” her shadow begged.
    Ellie turned her back on herself and strode down the corridor. She could find her way on her own if she had to. Stupid shadow, making her feel like that. It wasn’t fair.
    “Wait, Eleanor!” Kalamos called.
    She didn’t want to stop, but a soldier impeded her progress. She wouldn’t look back.
    “I understand,” Kalamos was saying, but not to her. He had to be talking to her other half. “It’s pure magic.” He was talking about the painting again. “That’s Shadow.”
    “Yes,” her dark self breathed.
    Ellie braced against a pang of longing. It hit harder than she’d been prepared for. Shadow, the element he’d said he studied. He should have just said magic. The potency of it made her little shadow problem seem trivial.
    “I want it badly, too,” he continued. “But it’s always there. You know that, right?”
    “Yes.” Again, spoken with longing.
    More sweet pain jolted Ellie. Damn them both.
    “But not tonight,” he said.
    “I want to see it now,” her shadow insisted. “Now.”
    “It can’t be now,” he explained.
    Was he actually trying to reason