Do You Really Want to Haunt Me

Chapter One

MORGAN DUMONT ROCKED IN PLACE, her arms high in the air as she mouthed along to the music as one of her favorite bands played on the stage that was nearly within touching distance. The band was performing their encore, playing one of her favorite songs. Not that they had any songs she didn't like.

The concert had been amazing so far. Everything she'd hoped for and more. She'd been a fan of the band for years and owned every single one of their records. The minute she'd learned they'd added a stop in New York City to their tour, she'd attempted to buy herself a ticket, only to find they were sold out.

When a ticket appeared on the kitchen counter as if by magic, with a vase full of flowers and a card wishing her a happy birthday, she'd been surprised her parents had paid enough attention to her likes and dislikes to realize she was a fan of the group, and that they'd even remembered her birthday, as they had forgotten her first twenty.

The parental units weren't known for their listening skills or for being anything close to observant or warm and affectionate. At least not when it came to her. Her parents had yet to notice the fact she'd cut off most of her hair, leaving her with a cute shag that she teased as high as she could get before dyeing a chunk of the front red. The red, set against her natural black hair, was very noticeable.

But her parents had glanced at her, barely paying any attention, and continued reading their papers at the breakfast table. That had been weeks ago.

They were wrapped up in their own lives. That had always been the way of it. Her mother was in charge of various social functions, which always seemed to happen at night when Morgan needed sleep or somewhere out of the country. Her father's work kept him away from the house and often out of the country. He often looked at her with something close to disdain in his gaze. Her mother, when home, stayed tucked away in her room, refusing to go out or do anything. She liked to claim that the sun caused wrinkles. Therefore she didn't want to be out in it any more than required. On top of that, Muffy spent most of her time in bed, sleeping her days away.

A nanny had raised Morgan. That was probably for the best, considering the only thing her mother seemed to love in life was a small toy poodle that was vicious to anyone who was not Muffy Dumont. Morgan was convinced the canine was the lapdog of Satan himself. Its name was Vapula, and since Morgan had always been fascinated with mythology and theology and loved to read, she knew darn well that was the name of a demon.

One said to have led legions in hell.

It also seemed to be in a never-ending battle of wills with Morgan's pets. When she was little, she'd wanted pets desperately, and much to her delight, her godfather had gifted her two. A bat and a hedgehog. She loved them both dearly. They tended to fight among themselves often, but whenever the dog was introduced into the mix, the bat and hedgehog were suddenly the best of friends. Vapula hated them. And oddly enough, they didn't seem too fond of Vapula either.

Why anyone would name a poodle after a demon was beyond her. Especially someone named Muffy, of all things, but it was what it was.

Her mother's love of the dog knew no limits. It yapped at anyone who got within a three-foot radius of Muffy. She never went anywhere without the small beast. The same could not be said of Morgan.

Her mother went anywhere and everywhere without her.

That was fine.

It wasn't as if Morgan craved mother-daughter bonding time with Muffy. In truth, she couldn't recall a time she'd ever wanted such a thing from the woman. The people who'd cared for her growing up had been kind and nurturing. As were members of the household staff. She could always see the pity in their eyes at the lack of attention her parents paid to her.

The person she was closest to was Millie. She had become a surrogate grandmother of sorts since Morgan had never met her biological grandparents. Technically, Millie was Morgan's nanny, but since Morgan wasn't at an age that she required one, Millie's duties had changed over the years. She now headed the household staff and could almost always be found in the kitchen.

Morgan loved Millie dearly. She also didn't seem too afraid of Morgan's parents whenever they were in one of their famous moods, resulting in tantrums and insults.

Morgan wasn't sure how it was she'd sprung forth from their loins, seeing as how she had virtually nothing in common with them.

For the first few days after finding the concert ticket, she'd been excited, though shocked, at her parents' thoughtful gift. Typically, they threw expensive items at her and ran the other way, never bothering with silly details like whether Morgan wanted or needed the thing they were giving or if she even liked it. They'd been buying her off since she could remember.

They'd had her to maintain the status quo, but they hadn't really wanted a child to cramp their jet-setting lifestyle. Reproducing had been expected of them—a requirement for them to keep their fortune.

There had been an honest-to-the-gods contract with the verbiage requiring them to produce an heir within the first ten years of their marriage, or they'd forfeit their rights to both of their families' fortunes. Mysteriously enough, when Morgan had gotten her hands on the paperwork without her parent's knowledge, she'd found the wording to be odd.

It kept referring to the required child as a sacrifice.

Since both her parents had grown up in the laps of luxury, there was no way either was going to part with the mother lode of paydays, so they'd done what was necessary to fulfill their contractual obligations, even if it meant sacrificing by having a child they didn't want.

That was where their parenting had started and ended.

They were shallow and materialistic and clearly had no business raising children.

There were times she wished she'd known what it was like to have a family like the ones on television shows. The kind that all sat around the dinner table together, discussing their day while they ate or played a board game. The type that tucked their children into bed and read them a bedtime story.

Did people like those on the television shows really exist, or were they something Hollywood made up to make the rest of the world feel bad about themselves and want to tune in to get a taste of happiness?

No family she knew in real life was like that.

They were all like hers, parents too rich for their own good, with children left on their own. Though many of the kids Morgan had grown up around in her social circle had turned out to be crappy adults.

Thankfully, the people who had cared enough about her to raise her in place of her parents had instilled values and morals in her. Something many in her group sorely lacked. Somewhere around the age of sixteen, she'd stopped associating with others in her parents' circle and begun venturing out into the real world and making friends of her own.

True friends.

Not fake ones only in it for the money.

There was only one person in her parents' orbit who Morgan enjoyed spending time around. That was her godfather. His name was Luc Dark, and he seemed to barely tolerate her parents, which only made her like him more.

She'd never been sure of how he'd come to know her parents or how it had been decided he'd be her godfather. It was easy to see there was an underlying tension between her parents and the man. There were times they came off as not liking one another at all. And Luc was the only person her parents didn't speak down to. They walked on eggshells around him, which was amusing because he was nothing but a teddy bear to her.

Oddly, the man didn't seem to age.

Neither did her mother, but that was thanks to having a plastic surgeon in her Rolodex.

While Morgan had been on cloud nine after receiving the ticket from her parents, Luc had shown up at the house unexpectedly, looking for her parents, who were in the south of France—again. Before he'd left, he'd mentioned something offhand about hoping she enjoyed the show, and she'd known then he'd been behind the gift. That he'd either told her parents what she liked and what to get her for her birthday, or he'd actually gotten her the ticket himself.

He was considerate like that.

As much as Morgan wanted to sing the blues over it all, she couldn't do so in good conscience. So what if her parents didn't really care about her or even remember they had her at times? She had a roof over her head, food on the table, and didn't want for anything. A lot of people weren't that lucky, and she knew it. Knew better than to look the gift horse in the mouth.

But she wasn't above wondering how it was a man as nice as Luc bothered with anyone as shallow as her parental units.

Maybe the man was serving penance for some nefarious act he'd committed in another life. It really was the only explanation as to why he'd subject himself to Muffy and Barton Dumont.

Whatever it was, it had left her at the concert of her life and happy.

Music was something she absolutely loved. That and art. The difference was, she was great at art but couldn't carry a tune with a bucket. That didn't mean she couldn't sing out of tune along with the massive crowd doing the very same thing.

Someone bumped into her, and she twisted to find a man with a tall, spiked mohawk and several nose rings standing there. Since Morgan had a lip ring and an eyebrow ring herself, she wasn't exactly one to judge, but there was something about the man's blue-gray gaze that made unease trickle through her.

She tried to step away and put distance between her and the man, but there was nowhere to go. There were simply too many people at the concert, and it suddenly felt as though they were all crowded up near the stage with her.

The man with the mohawk reached out as if to touch her. The black leather jacket he was wearing had so many silver chains on it that she wasn't sure how the weight of it alone didn't make him topple forward.

A second before his hand would have made contact, another man pushed through the crowd. This one was around six and a half feet tall and looked totally and completely out of place at the concert. He was in a dark gray T-shirt that was snug on him, showing off his rippling, muscular upper body. The jeans he had on didn't have any of the telltale trends like acid washing or man-made holes, but that didn't mean they didn't look awesome on him.

The only thing remotely goth or punk about him was his black boots. They looked to be military issue.

The man caught Mohawk Guy's arm and thrust it away from Morgan. The newcomer used his free hand to push his shoulder-length dark hair from his face, showing off his chiseled, angular features. He reminded her of one of the models from fashion magazines who posed for men's cologne ads.

Mohawk Guy boldly attempted to reach for Morgan again, surprising her. It wasn't as if she knew the man, so he had no business trying to touch her at all.

The out-of-place hunk wasn't having any of it. He puffed out his chest and planted himself firmly between Morgan and the man.

"You so much as look at her again, and I'll use those chains you're sporting there to beat you to within an inch of your…" His voice, tinged deeply with the South, trailed off as he looked at something toward the back of the arena. He grunted and then growled, "Go. Now."

Mohawk Guy vanished into the crowd, and the cowboy turned slowly to face her, his dark brown gaze locking firmly on her as he did. The temperature around her seemed to flare dramatically.

The band kept playing, and the person to her other side danced a bit aggressively and knocked Morgan right into the cowboy. He caught her with ease, and additional heat assailed her.

"Hey, darlin'," he said, the timbre of his voice making her breath catch.

Never had she ever imagined herself falling for a country boy, because she was a city girl through and through, but she was literally and figuratively doing just that. He wrapped his powerful arms around her, hugging her.

The moment should have been beyond awkward.

Somehow, it wasn't.

Morgan's arms had a mind of their own as they slid around his waist and returned the embrace, her heart pounding at a level that was nearly as loud as the music.

Country Boy dipped his head, his lips nearing her ear. "I wish I could change it all for you, darlin.' That I could stop it from happenin.' I'm sorry."

She went to her tiptoes and turned her head slightly. "Stop what?"

As she moved her head more, he did the same, and the next thing she knew, their lips were brushing against one another's.

It felt as if a bolt of electricity had gone through her. With a yelp, she grabbed her lower lip and stared at the man, trying to decide if she should be embarrassed by the kiss or tackle him to the floor and kiss him again.

The latter was winning out.

Big time.

He winked and touched her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. "It'll be all right in the end, darlin.' I promise. I've gotta go. I love you."

I love you?

Was the man insane?

Love?

Before she could comment, he backed into the crowd and hurried away. She tried to follow him but found the mass of people pushing in tighter around her. Confused and hotter than she should be, she stood there, her back to the stage as she touched her lips hesitantly, thinking about the feeling she'd gotten when their lips had connected.

The man had been downright electrifying.

With a shaky laugh, Morgan faced the stage and shook her head at the strange turn the night had taken. What had he meant by wishing he could stop it from happening? Stop what? And what would be all right? Not to mention love. He'd said he loved her. She'd not imagined that or misheard it.

A sinking feeling came over her as she thought harder about it all. Things like that did not happen to her.

Ever.

It had to be an elaborate joke. The man had probably been a fraternity boy who had been put up to a dare by his buddies. They were more than likely having a good laugh at her expense, watching her from a higher vantage point.

That had to be it.

Because there was no reality where a country hunk like that man and a goth girl from NYC ended up together.

None whatsoever.

The song changed to what she suspected was the last of the night. It was another of her favorites, and that helped to drive away some of the sting of being the butt of a joke.

Elation spread through her as she jumped in place, wearing a black mini-skirt, matching thigh-high boots, and a T-shirt that had the sleeves cut off. The shirt proclaimed her love of her home city.

New York.

The song drew to an end, as did the concert.

Still jubilant and on a natural high, Morgan followed the crowd as they exited the arena. There was a lot of shuffling in lines that were three and four people wide, but she managed to make it to the exit. The issue was, it was the wrong exit, on the other side of the arena from near the bus stop.

Life in New York City had left her being one of those people who relied on public transportation or on the driver her parents employed. She'd elected to take the bus to the concert and permit the staff to have time to themselves.

A fast check of her watch let her know she only had a few minutes left before the last bus headed out. She tried to hurry, but the crowd leaving the show was thick and in no rush to disperse or make room for her to get through.

Worried that she'd have to walk home or try to get a cab willing to take her all the way to her parent's home, Morgan turned and went in the opposite direction, remembering seeing a small alleyway that cut behind the arena. It was less than ideal but so was missing the bus.

She was nearly out of breath when she got to it and had to slow to a fast walk.

A stitch started in her side. She touched it, slowing her pace even more. "I have really got to start running again."

There had been a time, before she'd become what her parents liked to refer to as an "angry, antsy young woman," when she'd been into organized sports, gymnastics, martial arts (at her godfather's request), and other extracurricular activities.

That seemed like a lifetime ago.

A cat meowed loudly, startling her, and she jerked to a stop in the alley, peering around, suddenly feeling as if she wasn't as alone as she'd first thought. There was no one there, but that didn't lessen the uneasy feeling.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she rubbed her upper arms, trying to chase away the sudden chill that came over her. It didn't help. As the hair on the back of her neck rose, she edged closer to one of the buildings, looking around for any signs of another person.

A black cat darted out from a pile of trash, making her jump in place and then burst into a fit of nervous giggles. She lowered her arms and stepped out and away from the building to continue in the direction of the bus stop.

Suddenly, pain exploded at the base of her skull. She knew she was falling, but there was nothing she could do to stop it as darkness claimed her fully.

Chapter Two

MORGAN WASN'T sure how long she'd blacked out. When she came to, her head felt as if she'd been hit with a bat. Morgan blinked and sat up slowly, disoriented and confused as to how she'd come to be on the ground.

"Hey there," said a familiar voice as a dark shadow appeared above her, making her breath catch. When the figure came into focus, she was totally and completely baffled as to why her godfather was there, bending over her.

"Luc?" she asked, thoroughly confused.

Why on earth was he outside of the concert venue at all, let alone at this time of night? And what had happened to her?

He forced a smile to his face. "Are you in any pain?"

"Pain? My head hurts. Why does my head…" Before she finished the sentence, she remembered running through the alleyway in hopes of making the last bus. Then, the uneasy feeling came over her a few seconds before pain exploded through the base of her head. "W-what happened? Why are you here? How are you here?"

With a sigh, he took hold of her elbow and helped her to her feet. He then positioned himself behind her and forced her to face forward. "We can discuss it all later. For now, we should go."

She had far too many questions to let the conversation end there. Morgan leaned and looked over her shoulder at what Luc was clearly trying to conceal.

As she saw what it was—or rather, who—her stomach knotted, and her brain reeled with denial at what she was seeing.

It couldn't be real.

Could it?

It was her body there on the cold, hard, unforgiving concrete.

Denial was the first thing to run through her mind, followed closely by panic. But before either had a chance to manifest externally, she found herself blurting out her first thought. "Dude, am I dead?"

Luc sighed, and a tic started just under his right eye. He nodded and averted his gaze. "You are."

She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the sight of her body on the ground. She looked peaceful, as if she were merely asleep, not standing outside herself, looking down. "What happened?" she asked, her voice barely there.

"Something bad," returned Luc, trying to usher her down the alley away from her body.

"No," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "You don't say."

He grunted. "Trust you to still be a handful even when newly departed."

Another thought hit her. "Hold the phone. I'm dead, right? So, I'm like a ghost?"

"Something like that, yes," supplied Luc, being as clear as mud.

She touched her temple to rub away the pending migraine. "Holy crap. Ghosts get headaches?"

Luc huffed. "Morgan, really. We need to go now. I'm breaking a lot of rules here with you. It's best we not linger."

"Breaking a lot of…hey, hold up, how are you seeing me? You can see and hear ghosts? Luc, have you been hiding a cool side all my life?"

His lips twitched. "I've hidden a few things from you, yes. Morgan, please. I need to get you clear of here before one of my siblings notices a reaper didn't come for your soul."

Her mind raced, and she latched on to his comment on siblings and souls. Her eyes widened more. "Holy crapola, are you like the Grim Reaper or something?"

Luc snorted. "Uh, no. I'm not a reaper."

"A reaper, as in there is more than one?" she questioned.

He groaned. "Most people would freak out but obey in a situation like this. Not ask a billion questions."

Morgan raised a brow. "I'm not like most girls."

"Don't I know it. Come on. We really need to go now. Michael will no doubt wonder why it is he can't sense me and come to investigate," said Luc, doing his best to get her down the alleyway.

Morgan pointed at her body as the reality of her situation set in. "I'm dead."

"Yes. We've already been over that," stated Luc.

She glanced around frantically.

"What are you doing now?" asked Luc.

"Looking for big creepy skeleton guys," she replied, before thinking they'd more than likely be in cloaks too.

Luc grunted. "They don't run around in robes. Well, not anymore. That's very old school."

She gasped. "You can read minds too?"

He took hold of her shoulder and all but pushed her down the alley. "No. Well, yes. But not yours. Some people are immune. You're one of them. I know you well enough to know where your head went when I said reaper."

"Blue Oyster Cult," she said quickly, nodding. "Right there and then, straight for the cloaked figure."

He snorted.

Her gaze wandered back to her body—or at least to the spot her body had been. Her eyes widened. "Someone stole my body!"

Luc looked tired. "No. They didn't."

She pointed at the bare ground. "Yes, they did!"

He took her by the elbow and hurried her down the alley more. He kept going with her before darting into a doorway of a side building as if he owned the place and went there often. It was pitch-black inside. All of a sudden, there was an orange glow coming from Luc's hand. At first, she thought he had a flashlight with him—until she realized it was a ball of fire, and he was holding it.

Her eyes widened. "L-Luc?"

His shoulders slumped. "Morgan, I need you to stay calm when I tell you what I have to say."

"Highly unlikely, but carry on," she said, her mind feeling muddled as she was no doubt in shock.

"Here goes nothing," said Luc before facing her fully. "My full name is Lucifer."

Morgan lifted a brow as she stared at the ball of fire in his hand, putting together the name and the act. "Shut up! You're the devil? Like, the devil?"

He nodded, and the flame vanished.

She grabbed him and turned him around.

He groaned. "I don't have a tail!"

"You so do read minds," she supplied.

He faced her, and a soft light began to glow near them—this time, it wasn't in his hand. She didn't need to be told that was his doing. "Morgan, there is a lot at work here that I don't want to get into with you right now. I need to get you somewhere no one can touch you or take your soul for now."

It all hit her hard. "W-what about me? Erm, my body? Someone body-jacked it. Is there some sort of bureau of the afterlife we can report a missing body to?"

He lifted a brow. "Your mind is a very strange place."

"Thanks. About the purgatory police," she stressed.

He sighed. "Your body wasn't stolen. I handled it."

She looked at the flame in his hand, and he instantly extinguished it somehow.

"I did not burn your body away. Stop looking at me like I did," he said.

"Mind reader," she chastised.

"You're rather exhausting to deal with," he said evenly, with a slight smirk.

"Thanks."

Luc looked upward and sniffed the air. He growled slightly. "The Collective is sending more people here. They know by now the act is done, and they'll want your soul."

He turned his head and then led her back outside. He looked toward the end of the alley.

Morgan followed his gaze and gasped when she spotted the cowboy from the concert. She tensed. "Hot dude killed me?"

"What?" asked Luc quickly.

She stared at him while she pointed down at the end of the alley. "The cowboy. He's who killed me?"

Luc shook his head. "No."

She couldn't rip her gaze from the man at the end of the alley.

"You got her?" Cowboy asked.

"I do," returned Luc. "My word, she'll be fine. That I'll personally watch over her until it's time."

"You better," warned the cowboy. "Is she there with you?"

Morgan was totally and completely lost. "Is who here? Did the Collectors kill someone else too?"

Luc snorted. "It's the Collective, not collectors. And I'm sure they have, just no one other than you right here."

She touched her chest lightly. "Is he talking about me?"

"He is," said Luc.

Morgan thought harder about it. "Hold the phone. He, like, can't see me?"

Luc's mouth twitched. "No. He can't. Unless you want him to."

"How do I do that?" she asked.

"Just want it, and it will happen," replied Luc.

Morgan took a deep breath and thought about the cowboy and how electrified she'd felt at the simple brush of his lips and about his words.

I love you.

They stuck in her head on a loop.

"Look at that, darlin'," he said from the end of the alley. "Here I've been upset you took so long to show yourself to me, and I'm pretty much the first person outside of Luc there to see you like this. Now, go with him. He'll keep you safe."

"W-who are you?" she asked.

Luc put up a hand. "No. She can't know anymore. Telling her more risks both your futures."

"Lame, Luc. Lame," said Morgan, a nervous laugh escaping her.

Nodding, Luc took her arm. "We need to go now. I can't risk anything happening to your soul."

"But what about the cowboy?" asked Morgan, looking back to find the hunk was gone.

"Morgan, please," stressed Luc. "The Collective isn't something you want to go up against yet. You're not ready, and I'm only allowed to interfere so much. And I kind of already blew way past that limit, so let's go."

"Fine, but tell me who this Collective is."

He sighed. "A very bad group of people who make me look downright cuddly. It's enough to say your family has spent generations making pacts with them. It was time for a sacrifice to be made by your family. It was decided before you ever came to be that it would be you."

She thought of the contract she'd read that had required her parents have a child, and then kept referring to said child as a sacrifice. "W-what?"

He stilled. "Morgan, I'm sorry. Know that wasn't my doing. That I tried to steer them from the path of darkness."

She stared blankly at him. "But you said you're the devil."

"Yes," he replied. "Because I am."

"Then wouldn't you be trying to get more people on the evil train?" she asked.

He tipped his head. "It doesn't work that way. I oversee hell. That doesn't mean I'm evil."

"Doesn't mean you're not," she shot back quickly before thinking harder about it. She'd known him all her life. Nothing about him was evil or bad. "Sorry. That popped out."

"Don't apologize. I'm not a perfect person, Morgan. No one is. We all have shades of light and dark within us. Portions of good and evil. It's what we do with them that matters. I've known demons with hearts of gold and humans with hearts so dark, so twisted, that they'd be considered the monsters."

"Like my parents," she interjected.

He looked pained. "Yes and no. Muffy and Barton are products of their environments and their families. That being said, they had free will. They had the ability to change the agreement at any time by simply giving up their fortune."

Since she was dead and having an in-depth conversation with the devil himself, Morgan didn't need it spelled out that her parents had decided against giving up their money to save her life. The proof was right before her eyes.

Her stomach sank. As much as she didn't want to believe what Luc was saying was true, it felt right.

"What about Booker and Spike? They need me," she said, her heart breaking for not only herself but her pets as well. Her bat and hedgehog needed tending.

Luc put a hand on her shoulder. "Morgan, they'll be fine. Millie will look after them. Not that they need her help."

She thought of Millie then. "I wish I could say goodbye to her."

"You'll see her again, one day," said Luc. "In the meantime, she's where she needs to be. And I need to get you to where you need to be."

Gulping, she took a big breath. "I'm not going to cry right now. I'll do that later. For now, take me where it is you need to take me. And someday, you're going to explain who that hunk with the accent was."

Luc laughed. "As soon as I learn the details for myself. I think it's safe to say, time will tell."