Greg stepped forward and suddenly I couldn’t see him anymore. Instead, I could feel him. It was even colder than I remembered.

“Oh, this is creepy,” I thought.

“Well you requested it.” His surly voice was right inside my head now. I mean, I always heard his voice in my head, but this was so much more there. It was hard to describe.

I took a deep breath, trying to get used to the icy feeling. “So, you can just control me now right?” I asked, thinking the words instead of saying them.

“Not quite,” he said. “You have to let me. Possessing someone is very finicky business.”

“You controlled that drunk guy though,” I countered. “You made him pour his drink on himself.”

“Aye, but he was drunk. He wasn’t entirely in control of his own faculties.”

“Okay,” I thought, “so I just have to trust you. That sounds easy enough. Make me move.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without warning, I felt the horrible, icy feeling crawl down my leg as my foot lifted off the ground. Panic shot through me and before I could stop myself, I forced my foot back down. The icy feeling went away.

“This isn’t going to work,” grumbled Greg.

“Sorry,” I said hastily, “I wasn’t expecting it. That was a totally unconscious reaction. Try again.”

The icy feeling returned once more and my foot lifted from the ground. With my heart pounding, I took a shaky step forward. I couldn’t describe how utterly weird and terrifying this felt. With Greg controlling me as I took another step, I felt like I was about to tip over or something. This took an insane amount of trust. Still, we were taking step after step, heading toward the main tent.

“You’re making me walk like a man,” I grumbled aloud.

“Well I apologize,” Greg said stiffly, “I don’t know how else to walk.”

I knew he wasn’t sorry in the least. As we entered the tent, I saw the two guys from earlier. The one that I’d picked a fight with was getting a padded vest fitted on him.

“Ready for the match, shortie?” he asked.

I hated his stupid, greasy face. “You bet I am,” I responded with a smile. The man running the tent walked over to me.

“You’re going to be in the swordfight?” he asked. I nodded. For now, I’d taken control back over my body. I’d let Greg fight for me, but I didn’t trust him enough to let him do my talking. “Then let’s get you outfitted,” the man said.

Turning around, he went over to a clothes rack that was filled with padded vests of all sizes. He picked out a small one, probably intended for a child, and helped me put it on. Then he walked over to a stand lined with swords. The jerk-face and I walked over with him.

“For sparring,” he said, “we use these.” He held up a long black sword. “They’re not made of metal and they don’t have sharp edges. However, a powerful blow can still hurt, so be careful. Aiming for the head of your opponent is strictly prohibited and if I see either of you breaking that rule, I’ll get you the foam swords that the children play with.”

I shot a glare at the acne kid next to me. He glared back.

“Other than that,” the man said, “have fun!” He handed me a sword and I walked out to the arena.

“Sure you don’t want to back out yet?” Trev asked.

I gripped the hilt of the sword. “Sure you don’t want to stop being a sexist pig?”

The only response I got from the jerk-face was a frown. His friend took off his glasses and cleaned them with the corner of his shirt as he walked past the two of us, shaking his head. “You are such an idiot Trev,” he muttered as he leaned against the fence and put his glasses back on.

“Okay Greg,” I thought, “show time. I’m relying on you a lot right now, so please don’t let me down.”

“I think I can hold my own against this pimpled youth,” he replied dryly. I felt my lips stretch into a smile. The smile wasn’t mine.

My body suddenly moved, sinking down into a defensive position. I shivered as the icy feeling filled me completely. The guy in front of me, Trev, hesitated only a moment before lunging forward and swinging his sword. Without thinking, I shied back, raising my own sword in a pathetic defense. Before I realized what I was doing, I closed my eyes. Trev’s sword clashed against mine and then continued on to hit my shoulder, hard. I flinched in pain.

“What was that?!” Greg yelled. “I thought you said I was in control! You can’t just take over without warning!”

“I’m sorry!” I shot back. “That was totally unintentional, I swear! Look, he’s swinging again, do something!”

This time I was relaxed enough to let Greg lift my arms and partially block the blow with my sword. However, at the last moment, I closed my eyes again. I felt another blow land on my side.

“Stop. Closing. Your. Eyes!” Greg yelled.

“I can’t help it!”

“Then we’re going to lose!”

I was surprised at the level of frustration in Greg’s voice. For being so hesitant about this before, he was certainly getting caught up in it.

Pursing my lips, I tried to concentrate. This was much harder than I thought it would be. It was difficult to rely on someone so entirely, especially someone who’d found so much joy in tormenting me. I had to trust that he would move my body quick enough and raise the sword in time. But after getting hit twice because of interfering, I knew that I had nothing to lose. I had to keep my eyes open. I had to let Greg fight and wipe that smirk off of that stupid boy’s face. With another deep breath, I let go of control.

Suddenly, I wasn’t me anymore. My body moved in a way that was foreign to me as my steps grew quicker and my stance tighter. I wasn’t leaving my sides wide open. I felt like a fighter. Moving forward, I could feel myself lift the sword and lunge toward Trev. He looked taken by surprise and he blocked the blow just in time. I stumbled back and almost lost my balance. This time, it wasn’t my fault.

“What was that?” I asked.

“It’s been a very long time,” Greg said. His voice was still irate. “This sword is too light, it’s throwing me off.”

“Come on!” I cried, “I’m actually trusting you now! This guy is just some nerd who’s only ever played video games. It should take you two seconds to beat him!”

“Then be quiet and let me beat him!”

Once Greg regained my footing, he had me run back toward Trev. I could feel as I swung the sword to the right, but then I pulled back as Trev moved and Greg made me trip him as his weight shifted. Once Trev hit the ground, I pressed the tip of the sword against his chest.

“Take that yeh daft English swine!” I yelled triumphantly. My eyes grew wide. The words weren’t mine. They’d been said with a Scottish accent.

“That’s going a bit overboard, isn’t it?” I asked Greg.

“My apologies,” he replied. “I got carried away. Perhaps it is best if I take my leave now.”

There was a rush of warmth as the icy feeling vanished and I could see Greg standing beside me. Falling back a few steps, I let go of my sword and placed my hands over my chest. My heart was doing this awful, fluttery thing that made it hard to take in a deep breath.

Trev’s friend rushed over to help him up and with a dirty look, the acne-faced idiot left. I hardly noticed. It felt like the world around me was spinning.

“Are you alright?” Greg asked, hovering near me.

I teetered over to the fence and leaned against it for support. “Yeah,” I gasped, “I think so. I just need to—”

“What’s going on?” a voice asked. “Are you okay?”

Turning my head, I glanced up in surprise. My gaze was met with Allan’s pale blue eyes as he stared down at me from the other side of the fence. I hadn’t heard from him since the date. I was totally caught off-guard seeing him here.

His gaze was concerned. “What’s going on Jessi?” he asked.

“Well if it isn’t the ghost-seeing wonder,” I said with a weak smile. I was trying really hard to mask how drained I suddenly felt. “Look at you, appearing out of nowhere to see if I’m okay. It looks like you’re still stuck in hero mode.”

His eyebrows settled low over his eyes as he cast a dubious glance at Greg. “I saw the ghost possess you. I wanted to make sure everything was alright. What were you doing?”

“There was this guy,” I said with a wave of my hand, “who was saying a girl like me is too short and delicate to win in a sword fight, so I had to prove him wrong. Greg just helped me out a little bit.”

Allan stared at me, his eyes getting wider. “You agreed to possession so you could win a petty swordfight?” He shook his head and rubbed his eyes as weary laugh escaped his mouth. “You get that this stuff isn’t a joke right? It can actually get dangerous.”

I looked up at Greg, but he was staring at Allan with hatred in his eyes. There was definitely some bad blood there. “Look,” I said, turning back to Allan, “I’m fine. I asked Greg for his help, he helped me, and that is that. It’s not like it’s ever going to happen again.”

Allan chewed on his lip for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say anything more. “Ghosts want a body,” he continued at last. “They would do literally anything to have one again and if you let a ghost possess you once, then you’re more susceptible in the future. You are giving away your will to someone else!”

“This boy is a half-witted fool,” muttered Greg.

Allan gave the ghost a wry grin. “You know I can hear you, right?” His grin faded. “And even if you’re not a threat to her, who’s to say that there won’t be a more dangerous spirit down the road?”

“Alright, alright,” I said, “I’ll be more careful from now on.” Taking a step back, I looked Allan up and down. For the first time, I noticed what he was wearing.

Instead of his jester costume, he was dressed up in old-fashioned trousers and high boots. He was wearing a dark brown tunic as well with a billowy white shirt underneath it. At his waist was a thick leather belt and a quiver full of arrows. A bow was slung over his shoulder. I pursed my lips. When he was in his jester outfit he was endearingly nerdy, but now I had to admit that he was pretty darn good-looking.

I frowned as my eyes found his face again. Who did he think he was, looking this good while dressed up like one of the Merry Men? How dare he make me feel this way!

“What are you doing out here anyway?” I asked. “I thought you were just a jester.”

Allan smiled, raising an eyebrow at my peeved expression. “Just a jester?” he asked. “That’s only one performance every few nights. I’ve got to make money somehow.”

“But doesn’t your mom own this place?”

“Yeah,” he said, “but I’m twenty-one. Don’t let her free-spirit, New Age vibe fool you, there’s no way she’d let me stay and be a freeloader.”

“So now you’re a Robin Hood wannabe?”

He lifted the bow from his shoulder and shrugged. “I’ve sort of lived here most of my life, and I happened to have picked up a few skills.” He gave me a grin. “Since I’m definitely a master archer, I’m in charge of teaching the kids.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to look serious. “Oh yes, babysitting children with bows and arrows, that’s totally the job of a master archer.”

A look of concern crossed his face. “That’s a job I’m currently absent from. I should probably head back—”

“Oh hey,” I interjected, “I’ll come with you. Just give me a minute to return the equipment.” Without waiting for a response, I dashed to the tent and returned my sword and padded armor. As I walked around the fenced in area, I met up with Allan as he was heading toward me.

He looked around as I got closer. “I must have scared away your ghost friend.”

Glancing up, I saw that it was true. “That’s alright,” I said after a moment, “I don’t think he’s terribly fond of you.”

“Yeah, I was kind of getting that,” Allan said with a laugh as we started across the field. The area for archery was fairly close to the sword fighting arena and we soon reached the space for the kids. There were three children there now, all with little bows and arrows tipped with foam.

I looked behind me to where I’d had my swordfight. “I’m surprised you noticed me from all the way over here,” I said. “Are you always on the lookout for maidens trapped in ghostly clutches?”

Allan grinned. “Not really,” he said, “but I did notice you yelling at empty air.” He tilted his head. “Well, I could see Greg, but to anyone else it just looked like empty air.”

“Fantastic,” I muttered. I turned my gaze back to the little kids firing at their targets.

Allan stepped forward as two of the children started hitting each other with the arrows. “Hey,” he said sternly, “hey, remember the rules? No hitting or shooting each other.”

One of the little boys spun around to face him. “What if we shot at you instead?” he asked with a broad grin. Before Allan could respond, the boy pulled back the arrow and fired. The foam tip bounced off of Allan’s chest, but Allan quickly stooped down and retrieved the arrow, holding it in place over his heart. His expression grew mortified.

“You got me,” he choked, staggering back a few steps. All three of the kids were watching now as they giggled. With an exaggerated moan, Allan fell to his knees, then toppled over in the grass. The kid that had fired the arrow jumped up and down.

“I got him!” he yelled triumphantly.

I walked over to where Allan was laying on the ground. “The little monsters did you in,” I said, “and you didn’t even put up a fight. They’ll never respect you if they know they can kill you so easily.”

Allan squinted as he stared up at me. “It happens at least five or six times a day,” he said, flashing a smile, “and as a jester, I’ve never been any good at commanding respect.” Reaching out my hand, I helped him to his feet. “But what can I do?” he continued, “The kids love it.”

Taking a step back, he placed the foam tip of the arrow on his finger and began to balance it straight in the air. “So, how has your week been?” he asked, his hand wobbling back and forth as he tried to keep the arrow upright. “It seems that Greg’s recovered well.”

I nodded. “Yeah, but I think he still hates you.”

“That’s fair enough,” Allan said, catching the arrow as it started to fall. “But what about you? Do you still hate me?”

The question caught me off-guard. “Why would I hate you?”

He ran a hand through his short white hair. “Well, last week you didn’t seem terribly pleased with me banishing your friend, so I was wondering if that was still the case.”

Oh boy. He was totally oblivious. Not that he shouldn’t be oblivious. It’s not like I had given him overabundant signs that I was interested. I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Nah, I mean, you were trying to help me. How could I stay angry about that?”

He gave me a smile. My heart melted a little. “That’s a relief,” he said.

There was a lull in our conversation as we watched the kids firing at the targets. However, I couldn’t stay quiet for long when a question was gnawing at me. “So,” I began, “You said you’ve helped people banish ghosts a few times before. How many times is a few exactly?”

Allan shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, “It’s not like I keep a tally or anything. I’ve always had Lorelai help, since she knows a lot more about it than I do.”

I glanced down at the ground, digging the toe of my boot into the grass. “Have you ever tried to help a ghost move on?” I asked. “I know the banishing makes the haunting stop, but what about the ghost? They’re still stuck.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You think I should help ghosts instead of people?”

I smiled a little. “As Greg once told me, ghosts are just people. By helping them, you’d solve the problem before it happened. If the ghost moved on, they wouldn’t be able to haunt.”

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “It’s a nice thought,” he said, “but the truth of the matter is, ghosts aren’t people.” He hunched his shoulders a little bit. “They used to be, but they aren’t anymore. They’re less than that. They’re what’s left over when a person has everything good about them taken away. They’re just bits of fear and longing and hate.” He shifted his weight, as if uncomfortable. “They’re all caught in a loop, seeing what they want to see, believing what they want to believe. It’s almost impossible to help them.”

“But you could help some of them, right?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be worth it, to help some?”

When he looked up, his smile was gone. “You don’t know how many there are,” he said softly. “I see them everywhere. Some are so old that they’re just smudges of a person, whispering a single word over and over. Some are more recent and they are angry and scared. I can see a few right now, across the field. There’s an American settler, a few Native Americans. There are too many to help.”

I breathed out slowly. I didn’t want to hear what he was saying. Ghosts had to be people, they had to be worthy of saving. I couldn’t believe anything else.

“Besides,” he continued with a shrug, “I don’t think they really deserve help.” I looked up at him, his words cutting into me. “Instead of trying to work through their own messes, they just bring harm to others. They’re totally blind, doing the same thing, over and over.”

“That can’t be true for all ghosts,” I said defensively. “That’s not how Greg is. He isn’t caught in a loop and he’s not blind.”

Allan laughed. “Greg is no different,” he said. “I can see right through his façade. He’s not stuck here out of anger or unfinished business; he’s stuck here out of fear. That’s why he pulled a haunting in the first place. I’ve seen it tons of times. He finds joy in tormenting other people, in making them feel fear. It helps him cope with his own.” Allan stared down at the ground, his forehead creased in concentration. “He’s blind too,” he said. “I’ll bet that if you asked him how he died, he wouldn’t give you a straight answer. He’s running away from what happened. I think death terrifies him.”

I swallowed, not wanting to see the truth in Allan’s words. A moment of silence stretched between us until Allan finally looked back up.

“I’m sorry,” he said with an apologetic grin. “I hate talking about this stuff. It always gets so heavy. I know my perception of ghosts is a real downer, but if you’d seen some of the stuff I’d seen then you might—”

“Alright,” I said.

He looked confused. “Alright what?”

“Alright, I want to see the things you’ve seen,” I said. “I want to try and help a ghost move on.”

He let out a laugh. “Why don’t you start on the one that’s already haunting you?”

“I’m serious Allan,” I said. “I want to understand your perspective, and I want you to understand mine. Maybe you’re right, maybe these people don’t deserve to be saved, but maybe they do. I want to help a spirit move on peacefully.”

For a long moment, Allan didn’t say anything. He seemed to be battling something out inside of him. “Fine,” he said at last, a sly grin sneaking across his face, “we’ll see what you’ve got. How about tonight, 2 A.M.?”

I was caught by surprise. “Tonight, really? That soon?”

His pale lips stretched even wider. “Are you chickening out?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Where should we meet?”

Allan leaned a little bit closer to me, his voice hushed. “It’s a ghost that’s here in the castle. I’ll come and get you if you’re really serious about this.”

“Great,” I said, folding my arms, “it’s another date then.”

He leaned back with a laugh. “I suppose it is.”