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There s always a way. Now that s one cliché I believe in. That and a bird in the
hand& You ve got to prove that lightning does strike twice. Contact the guy. Make it
happen again. Carpe diem and all that.
For someone who doesn t believe in clichés, you sure like to spout them. Marie
snapped her purse closed.
Look, we ll cut this evening short, Linda said, pushing off from the sink. I can tell
you re having a miserable time. We ll get you home and on the phone to this guy, pronto.
Okay? Make it happen!
Marie smiled, overwhelmed by her friend s enthusiasm. Okay.
At the very least, she was getting early parole from an unwanted blind date.
* * * *
Marie thanked Marcus for the nice evening, apologized for bailing early and got out
of the car. She stood on her front porch watching until the red taillights disappeared. She
repeated Linda s advice aloud. Make it happen.
She went into the house, tossed her purse on the hall table and kicked off her shoes.
Make it happen. She d tried to convince herself for over a month that the whole
experience had been a dream. It was ridiculous. The imprint of Sam s body on hers was
too fresh, too real. It had happened and she d be damned if she let such bliss slip away
without protest.
She relived every moment of that magical night and for the thousandth time tried to
figure out how Sam had been brought to life. What entity or elemental force had given
her that gift? How and why had it happened? More importantly, how could she make it
happen again?
What do you need, huh? What do I have to do to win him back? Make a blood
sacrifice? she said aloud.
Seized with the thought of a sacrifice, she went to her computer. She searched online
for All Hallows Eve and read everything she could about the ancient Celtic festival of
Samhain when the souls of the dead mingled with the living.
On that day all manner of beings are abroad: ghosts, fairies, and demons all part
of the dark and dread.
She learned about the harvest spirits, also known as fairies, which had extra power
on that night. There was folklore concerning witches transmogrifying people into animals
and stories about deals with the devil but nowhere did she find anything that told how one
could force a transformation. But she knew the druids were big on blood sacrifice and it
seemed a likely offering.
Marie wasn t about to sacrifice an animal, let alone a human being, but she figured
her own blood was hers to do with as she wished. She read up on druidic rituals, found an
American Indian prayer to the spirits of earth for good measure then took a sharp paring
knife from the kitchen and some dish towels to staunch the wounds afterward and went
out to the field.
Kneeling in front of the scarecrow on the muddy earth and feeling like a complete
asshole, she closed her eyes and fabricated a prayer. Great Spirit, Faerie Queen, Pan,
Earth Mother, whoever the hell granted my wish, I beseech thee. Please. She took the
knife and made a careful cut across her palm. It hurt like hell and blood welled along the
slice. She held her trembling hand toward the navy pants and smeared them with her
blood. Please, whatever higher power or elemental magic brought this being to life do
so again. Fix this! She transferred the knife to her injured hand. It slipped in her blood-
slicked palm. She grasped the handle tightly and cut into the flesh of her right palm,
repeating the anointing of the scarecrow.
I offer this blood sacrifice to earn my, uh & boon. Please grant me this request. We
only had one night. It wasn t enough. Please, please, please, give him back to me. I want
a new life. I want to change.
She wrapped her stinging hands around the dummy s squishy legs, letting the blood
seep into the fabric of its trousers, and continued to pray, plead and cry. She pressed her
forehead against the scarecrow, squeezed her eyes tight shut and concentrated on
believing in what she was asking for, believing anything was possible.
Whistling wind filled her ears. At first she didn t know if it was real or blood rushing
from her head as she started to lose consciousness. I believe. Come to me. I believe.
Come to me, she repeated the phrases over and over like a mantra. There was a crash of
thunder and a lightning flash that glimmered even through her closed eyelids.
Marie opened her eyes, lifted her head and looked up at the bedraggled clothes
hanging on the wooden frame. They moved and shifted in the unnatural wind, but
underneath her gripping hands, the pants were still only stuffed with moldy straw.
Please! she yelled, her cry rising to the midnight sky. She called it aloud and then
mentally repeated that single word until she passed into an exhausted trance.
Eventually she slipped into unconsciousness at the inanimate feet of the scarecrow
and crumpled in a heap on the muddy ground.
* * * *
When the first rays of the sun touched her stiff, cold body, she shifted and woke.
Please was her first waking thought and she realized she d never stopped repeating it
even in sleep. Please, I don t want to search for a companion, a partner, my other half.
I ve already found him. Please.
A muffled groan made her sit bolt upright and snap her head around. Lying on the
ground near her was a man s naked body. She did a mental inventory; long and lean, tan
skin, dark hair. He lay on his side with his back turned toward her in the same fetal
position from which she had just uncurled.
Marie scrambled on all fours to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, rolling him onto
his back in the dirt, leaving a bloody handprint on his arm. Sam?
He groaned and his eyelids flickered once before opening. He stared up at her
blankly, blinking, struggling to focus.
It s me. Marie. Something happened. You re alive! See! She lifted his hand and
brought it to his chest so he could feel the thumping of his heart.
His dark gaze wandered from her face to the rose and lavender sky arcing overhead.
The sun breached the horizon and gold limned every frosted blade of grass around them.
It was going to be a crisp, clear autumn day.
I m here, he rasped. He looked at the post. The old clothes still hung there but with
no straw stuffing inside them.
You re real again. She clung to his hands as though he might slip away. Do you
remember what happened?
No. I don t remember much of anything. His gaze traveled back to her and a warm
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