Jeremy listened carefully, hearing only a faint trickle of water. The sound itself was familiar. Behind his back, his hand struck a rough wood surface. He let his fingers feel around for a moment, then, carefully, he stood, reaching overhead with one hand.

His hand struck rock.

He turned around, reaching out with both hands, finding a wooden surface, feeling its shape, running his fingers across broad wood beams. A grin began to form, then spread itself across his face. For a moment, he wondered if any sodas were left - even a too-sweet rootbeer would taste good right now.

Jeremy shook himself, then reached down and pushed. Two of the heavy vertical planks moved smoothly. The grin got wider as a lighter darkness outside revealed itself.

At least it wasn't raining.

He turned and tried to slip through the opening. No luck. Jeremy straightened up and shrugged off the backpack, turning to lay the pack on the pallet / bed / couch. He extracted the contents, then crouched for a moment, considering. Finally, he shook his head and left both backpack and package lying where they were.

Turning back to the door, he pushed the panel open and slipped through. Outside, the air was cool but a quarter moon, softened by a light overcast, provided enough light for movement.

Carefully, he began working his way out through the brambles. "If you're going to make a habit of this," he thought to himself, "you really ought to find a better way." Then he realized what he'd just done and stopped, giggling softly before adding: "Yeah, that's what you said last time. Except that it's not getting any better, is it. Maybe ... if you just ..."

"Right," he agreed with himself. "But ... not right now. We'll try this under better conditions. Hmm, I wonder ... Hey, Danny, can you hear me?"

"Hey, bro." Suddenly Danny was there. "Wondered where y' went? Uh, where are we?"

"Place I told you about," Jeremy replied. "My old hideout. Where were you?"

"At t' warehouse," Danny answered. "Watchin' t' 'citement. Bad scene, bro, There's Flash Boys an' some kin'a bad boys in suits an' a whole bunch a' fuzz all over t' place. Hey, y'got a chill hole here - some secret hideout."

Jeremy laughed. "You got it," he agreed. "More ways than one. Hmm, could you keep an eye on the action? See if you can figure out who's running things? For the cops, I mean?"

"Sure. Easy." Danny's presence vanished but his voice came back from a distance. "Hey, I'm SuperSpook!"

* * *

By the time Jeremy reached the road, he was serious tempted to reconsider his decision about experimenting. "There's no hurry," he reminded himself as he reached the bus shelter. The lantern he'd left there nearly a week before was gone.

"Doesn't matter," he decided. "What were you going to do with it anyway? But, next time, maybe you'd better keep a pocket flashlight handy. Well, let's get going ..." He turned toward Santa Rosa and started walking.

A moment later, he stopped, struck by a thought. Pausing, Jeremy fished through his pockets, extracting the mustache wrapped in a piece of plastic film. A small tube of Skin-Tight adhesive was in the same pocket.

Wishing there was more light, Jeremy applied a careful drop to each side, then smoothed the mustache into place, holding it for the few seconds it would need to adhere correctly.

Feeling more confident, Paul Reisenfern resumed walking.

* * *

"Five dead, three wounded - not counting ours - and five more in custody. That still leaves one man unaccounted for! Plus twenty keys of junk! Vanished! Gone! Entirely!" The nondescript man was - definitely - not happy.

"Shall we check the tapes again?" another man asked.

"You can take the damn tapes and ..." the first man shook himself. "What have we got anyway. Two cameras, different angles, both light enhanced and they both show the same thing. The damn suspect receding. But where? He wasn't moving. Pass them along to the lab boys - maybe they can enhance some sense out of them. ... Twenty keys ... What have we got on those studs he climbed?

"Finger prints," the second man answered. "They're a match. The Blume kid. Uh, there're also traces of rubber adhering to the studs. We've pulled the studs and sent them over to the lab already."

"Wonderful," the nondescript man growled.

* * *

Whatever the reason, Jeremy / Paul reached the bus station without incident. After walking less than a mile, a couple in a compact station wagon had stopped to give him a lift and had dropped him a few blocks from the station.

Jeremy's first thought, after reaching town, was to check his funds. He then walked to an ATM, withdrawing three hundred in cash, the maximum allowed for a single transaction before proceeding toward the bus station.

Before reaching his destination, Jeremy stopped at a convenience store, buying a pepsi and peanut butter cups. Outside, he set the drink on the shelf by the pay phone and was leafing though the phone book, looking for instructions for making a collect call, when the phone rang.

Almost instinctively, he lifted the handset. "Hello?"

"Hello, Jeremy," Jeanne's voice addressed him. "Where the hell are you?"

"What do you mean where the hell am I," he replied, puzzled. "You called me."

"Of course, silly. I cast for the right numbers. That doesn't mean that I know where you are."

"Oh ...Of course. Uh, I'm at the bus station - well, almost - uh, in Santa Rosa."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Uh, it's a long story. But I can't get back until tomorrow."

"Have you bought a ticket yet?"

"Not yet."

"Good, hold on, here's Uriel."

"Hello, Jeremy," the older witch's voice was almost laughing. "You do get around, don't you."

"Uh, you found me anyway," Jeremy tried to match her amusement.

"Not me," Uriel laughed. "That was Jeanne's idea. Hey, you're in Santa Rosa? Have you got any money?"

"Uh, yeah, why?"

"I want you to catch the bus over to Sacramento. Then take a cab to the Tropicana. There'll be a room waiting for Paul Reisenfern. I'll take care of it by phone. Okay?"

"Uh, okay ... what then?"

"I'll be up early tomorrow," she continued. "And we'll fly back after sometime after lunch. Tell me, how does it feel to be a millionaire?"

"A what?"

"A millionaire," she laughed. "Paul Reisenfern is about to be rich. Hey, I'll explain later. You go catch the bus. I'd send a limo but you need to keep a low cover. Okay?"

"Uh, okay but ... I don't understand," he finished.

* * *

This time, the bus ride was relatively brief and it was a bit after ten when Jeremy reached Sacramento. From the bus station, a taxi delivered him to the Tropicana where, as Uriel had said, a room was waiting ... along with a message.

"Your aunt," the clerk told him, "wants you to know that she'll be in on the 7:40 flight but she'll meet you here. Would you like to leave a wake-up call?"

"Uh, sure," Jeremy's head was spinning a bit. Things were moving too fast and, mostly, he wanted a hot bath tub, a cold pepsi and time to think. "How about 7:30?" He signed the registry card awkwardly - he'd have to practice a signature as well. The address he used was pure fiction. He pulled a folded stack of twenty's from his pocket to pay for the room, then nodded when told it had already been paid by credit card.

"Room two oh seven," the clerk passed him a key. "Up the stairs to your right. Ice and drink machines are just three doors down by the center stairs."

"Thanks. Uh, I could use some change," he pulled a twenty out, accepting smaller bills and coins in return.

"You look bushed," the clerk smiled. "Have a good night."

"Thanks," he looked at himself in the mirror behind the counter. "You're right. G'night."

* * *

The hot bath and a cold drink were exactly what he needed.

He'd also filled a wastebasket with ice and a couple more pepsi's. For a moment, he reflected on how backward U.S. motels were. Elsewhere, the room would have been provided with a small refrigerator, already stocked with an assortment of drinks and snacks - all charged for at exorbitant prices, of course, but still convenient.

Still, despite the relaxing bath, a comfortable bed and general exhaustion, sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.

"Danny?" he called softly.

A moment later, he felt the ghost arrive. "Hi, bro," Danny sounded cheerful. "What's my main man up t' now?"

"Tired," Jeremy confessed. "Hey, I guess you don't get tired?"

"Not 'xactly," Danny agreed. "'Cept I kinda try t' doze sometimes. I think it's habit much as anythin' but it feels ... uh ... right."

"Yeah, I can relate to that. Hey, 'd you find anything?"

"Man, it's better'n a street carnival. They got people over there tearing t' place apart - even t' floors. Hey, y'know three homies got offed? An' two a t' suits? Bro, there was bullets flying ever'where."

"I know," Jeremy agreed. "That's why I left."

"Ina hurry," Danny agreed. "Ifn I'd been alive, I'da bugged out too."

"Did you find out anything about who's chasing me?"

"Ever'one," the ghost laughed. "T' Flash Boys wan' you, t' suits wan' you, t' Man wan' you. You got 'em all madder den anythin'."

Jeremy laughed. "You know you're beginning to sound like Huck Finn?"

"Oh," Danny was silent for a moment. "Is that bad?"

"Well, guess not ... but it's not improving your English either."

"Oh. uh, okay. Hey, t' Man what's gunnin' f' ya?"

"You know who?"

"Yep ... but he's a stone bastard. Face like one a' them mean dogs an' 'e barks at ever'one. Think he knows you, too. They's talkin' bout prints matchin'."

"Fingerprints! Damn!" Jeremy swore.

"You been 'rested, bro? Police got y'r dibs on file?"

"Where'd you hear a word like 'dibs'? That's British."

"Just what t' homies say. How come t' man's got a sheet on you?"

"He shouldn't," Jeremy thought a moment. "Must have been from the FBI files but they're not supposed to be available except for ID. Dad's company wanted my prints before I left the country the first time - for emergencies. The FBI office did them, said they'd go in a special file. If stone face has them, he's got some kind of pull ... or something. ... I've got a funny feeling 'bout this."

* * *

The morning wakeup call came soon enough. Jeremy rubbed the sleep from his eyes, started the tub filling and popped the opener on a still-cold soda.

Somewhere between the hot water and the cold soda, Jeremy began to feel awake. He glanced at his watch - nearly eight - and forced himself to get out and dry off. No comb, he realized. running his fingers through his hair. He stepped over to the mirror and jumped, startled at the sight of the stranger looking back at him.

The mustache he'd donned the night before was still in place as was the makeup.

He grimaced at his reflection, then grinned and mugged at himself. Not bad, he decided, pulling his hair back into the revolutionary period pony-tail. Satisfied. he reached for the elastic band to hold the hair gathered at the nap of his neck. "You're just going to have to get used to yourself," he cautioned. "How's it going to look if you jump every time you meet your reflection."

Back in the bedroom, his clothes looked more shabby than anything. "You just got to stop spending your evenings crawling though the brush," he lectured. "Of course, if you want to hang around places where they're playing with guns ..." He stopped, shuddering at the memory.

He dressed, grateful that he'd at least cleaned his shoes. "Uriel did say something about being rich," he remembered. "Maybe I can get some pants and shirts ... and another jacket. Course, the one Jeanne found is still upstairs ... and you probably could get it real quickly ... but it might be better to wait and experiment at a shorter range first." He shook his head, then pocketed the key and went down to the office.

This morning, it was an older woman duty at the desk. "Paul Reisenfern," he introduced himself. "In 207. Got in late last night. Uh, I'm going to need to be around for a few days. Could I pay for the room for, say, three nights?" He produced the fold of bills from his pocket.

The manageress looked at Paul / Jeremy, then at the bills.

Jeremy continued. "Uh, I came down on short notice. Is there someplace convenient where I can get some slacks and a couple of shirts? Sorry about my appearance but, you know how it is." Privately, Jeremy suspected that, even with the rumpled shirt and pants, he was better dressed than many of their clients but smiled politely as he counted out a week's rent.

"Oh," he added, tucking the receipt in his pocket "when my aunt shows up, if I'm not in the room, I'll be at the Denny's across the street."

* * *

"I could kill you," Jeanne greeted him. "Disappearing like that." She slipped into the booth opposite him as he was mopping up the last of the pancakes.

Jeanne was in her 'Jean Roblyn' guise, looking very poised and very lovely. "Uriel will be here in a moment," she added. "She's taking a bag up to your room. Thought you might like a change of clothes. Brought your makeup kit, too - case you needed a touchup." She looked at him for a moment. "Mostly," she decided, "you need a comb."

Jeremy swallowed his last bite, then asked, "Have you eaten?"

"On the plane," she confirmed. "Maybe better than you."

"Let's get out of here then," he reached for the check, mentally added a tip, then left check and cash on the table.

Walking out next to this very much matured version of Jeanne, he felt much more like Jeremy than Paul. "I suppose that clothes do make the man," he muttered to himself. Then added, aloud, "Where's Danny?"

"He came up with us," Jean answered. "He loved the flight. Of course, he had the best seat since he can stick his head outside for a better look around. And," she grinned, "he loved the cockpit ... which is where he spent half the flight."

"Hey, homegirl. You're just sore cause you didn' get a invite." Danny interrupted.

"Neither did you," she reminded him.

"Didn' need one," he chortled.

"I see," Jeremy summarized, "that death hath its privileges." He led the way across to the motel without waiting for a response.

* * *

Changing clothes was a relief. Stepping out of the garb bought for last night's adventure and back into the slacks and shirt he'd worn when becoming Paul Reisenfern, made him feel like he was abandoning a disguise that had chafed all the while he'd worn it. Even the new - and still stiff - shoes felt like a relief as he stepped back into them.

"Very good," Uriel had commented, "you're settling into the part very nicely." She then turned the subject to the progress of their cover identities. "You should each have a driver's license renewal reminder arriving in the mail in the next day or two. The computer should have printed and posted them last night. The address for both is a friend's apartment 'cross town. All you need to do is go in for a photo and pay the renewal fee. Uh, you do drive?" she asked Jeremy.

"Not a lot," he confessed, omitting mentioning that he was more accustomed to a right-hand drive than a left and that the last time he had driven, the results hadn't been exactly promising.

"We'll have to arrange driver training," she made a mental note. "For both of you," Uriel amplified. looking at the younger witch. "I've seen you drive."

"Anyway," she continued. "Your passports will need a bit longer - they need to be authentic. But the rest can be ready by next week.. And," she added, "you each have one bank account already but they'll need signature cards for you. There's also - well, let's skip that for the moment. I have an appointment at 10 and the limo should be here in a minute."

"You still haven't told us what this is all about," Jeremy reminded her. "Least, you haven't told me."

"I suppose I haven't," she agreed. "Do you mind? Witches do enjoy their secrets."

"Are you going to tell us?" Jean asked.

"Yes ... First, however, you remember I asked each of you for 45 cents since Danny didn't have any change? Okay, that plus my ten cents is now a lottery ticket which is worth a little more than six and a half million dollars ..."

"Oh ..." Jean looked more blank than anything.

"Is that all?" Jeremy shrugged. "I thought it was something important ..." He held on to the chair, trying to make the room stop spinning.

Danny didn't say anything.

* * *

Later that day, neither Jeremy, Danny nor Jeanne could have said what color the limo was, what they'd had for lunch nor even, reliably, their own names. Either name.

Since Jeremy and Jeanne were both minors and Danny, obviously, was even harder to explain, Uriel had claimed and accepted the 6.65 million dollars - payable over a twenty year period - alone. The funds, however, as she informed her three companions, would be split 10-30-30-30 with shares paid - automatically - from her bank to separate accounts for the young witch and young warlock. As for Danny's share, that would be paid into an account which any of them could sign on Danny's behalf ... for whatever reason.

The rest of the evening was spent in a daze. Even Danny was subdued.

"There's one thing I do want," Danny finally asserted.

"What's that?"

"I want," the ghost announced, " to go to Disneyland!"

* * *

Friday morning, Jeremy woke up early. Outside the sky was a dark, pre-dawn gray. Dressing quietly, Jeremy pulled his jacket tight, silently opened the left window and climbed up the tree.

He wasn't certain how long he'd been perched there at the top when Danny approached ... from below.

"Nice climb isn't it, bro," the ghost spoke.

"Sure is. And the view's great ..."

"Yeah."

The two sat silently - boy and ghost watching the sun turn night into day and the world below waking in response.

Finally, Jeremy spoke. "You can go anywhere," he addressed Danny.

"Most anywhere," the ghost answered. "An' I'm gettin' better at it. Jeanne's been teachin' me 'bout maps and all."

"And she can find anything ..."

"Seems like," Danny agreed.

"And I ..."

"What?" Danny prompted impatiently.

"And I can change things," Jeremy concluded.

"So ..."

"So ... it seems like we oughta be able to do something important ..."

"What?" the ghost demanded.

"I ... I don't know ... we've got money ..."

"'Cept I don' need it," Danny sounded a little regretful. "Still, if'n I'd had it, guess I'd just have blown it on shit."

"That's part of it," Jeremy agreed. "That's the stuff that seems to mess up a lot of people. What ... what if we could get rid of it?"

"Be a lot of mad pushers ... and a whole lot of hurtin' junkies if'n y'did," Danny considered.

"Then you don't think we should?"

"Didn' say that," Danny corrected. "Stuff's no good. Sure, get rid of it. But how?"

"Don't know," Jeremy was uncertain. "But ... maybe ... Hey," he brightened up, "there's something I want to try. Watch." Jeremy vanished from the tree top.

A moment later, he was climbing out of the window again and back up the tree.

"How was that?" he asked on reaching the top.

"Good as me," Danny admitted. "That how you got away t' other night?"

"Yep."

"Why'd y' climb back up?"

"Because I wasn't sure where I was going. It's a small branch."

They sat silently for another few minutes.

"Besides," Jeremy broke the silence, "I can only go some place I know. You, now you can jump all over the place. You did. The other night? When I ran away from the gun fight? You found me later. How?"

"You called," the ghost shrugged. "So I came."

"But you'd never been there before."

"No ..."

"Okay, that's a talent that would help. Besides, when you go somewhere, people don't know you're there. If I showed up ..."

"Tol' y' I was SuperSpook," Danny agreed. "Hey, why'd you just go down stairs?"

"Cause that was the only place close I was sure about."

"So why don' you try some more."

"Okay," Jeremy agreed. "We'll play hide and seek. I'll go someplace and you see if you can find me. If you don't find me in a few minutes, I'll call and you'll know where I am. Sound good?"

"Sound righteous t' me, bro."

"Okay." Jeremy vanished.

* * *

Jeremy looked around the room. The motel room looked the same as it had the day before ... except that the bed was still made.

"No sweat, bro," Danny announced. "Where nex'?"

Jeremy grinned ... and vanished.

* * *

The library wasn't open this early and, worse yet, Jeremy had landed in the juvenile section, cut off from the main library by a glass wall. He looked through the wall, then shifted.

"Gotcha," Danny spoke. "Hey, sneaky - jumpin' double like that. I near went lookin' f' you."

"You didn't have any trouble, did you?" Jeremy asked.

"Nope, dead easy."

"Then you've got something to teach me," the boy decided.

* * *

Initially the lessons were an exercise in frustration. Jeremy could 'hear' Danny - no matter where he went - but he couldn't 'find' him. And Danny's attempts to explain how he located Jeremy - whether Jeremy spoke or not - were frustrated because he couldn't find the words ... because there weren't any words. It was a frustration which was already familiar to Jeremy.

Then it happened - instead of listening to Danny, Jeremy tried listening for Danny ... and he felt him, not so much as a location or direction as it was a feeling of the place itself - the texture, the shape, the smell even.

And, once Jeremy sensed that much, getting there was even less effort than stepping from one room to another.

The only difference was that Jeremy could only 'find' Danny when Danny spoke. As long as Danny was silent - unless he was near by - he was invisible ... in all senses and to all senses.

Finally, Jeremy tired of the exercise. For one thing, he was hungry ... and thirsty ... and, frankly, a little bit dizzy - all problems which Danny seemed to be immune to.

Their joint appearance in the kitchen - back at Ms. Geller's - was more than a small surprise even for the older witch ... but more so for her breakfast guest who, of course, knew nothing of Jeremy's abilities and who, luckily, couldn't see Danny at all.

When Jeremy appeared, Jack Carmine was seated at the breakfast table, a coffee cup raised to take a sip. The moments which followed were like an old comedy. As Jack sat open mouthed, the coffee cup slowly tilted, pouring the contents into his lap.

And all Jeremy could do was watch. He felt like a total fool - like one of those dreams where you're expected to do something but don't know what ... or why ... or how.

Finally, it was Jack who broke the tableau, jumping up from the table and dropping the cup. "Damn," he began. "I must be asleep still. I ... er, I think I ... I didn't see you come in, Paul. Uh, can I have a towel, Uriel? I ..."

Jeremy and Uriel exchanged glances - the kind in which a dozen questions are asked and answered instantly - before both leaped to Jack's rescue.

"Here," Uriel was suggesting while she blotted at his pants with a towel. "Come upstairs and take them off and I can run them through the washer and dryer for a quick clean up."

"Uh, what size do you wear?" Jeremy / Paul was asking. "I can pop over ... uh, run over to the store down the block and get a dry pair."

In the end, while Uriel washed and dried one pair, Jeremy supplied replacements which, if not great, were at least a reasonable fit. And, Jeremy resolved to himself, never go anywhere without having Danny check first ... unless, of course, it was an emergency.

Finally, while Jack's pants were being washed and dried, Jeremy / Paul settled down to a delayed breakfast.

"I have the feeling," Jack was saying, "that I shouldn't ask about your 'luck', Uriel. But, if this was one of your premonitions, I wish you'd teach me how. You know, the stock market's the place you could really make a killing."

"Sometimes we get lucky," Uriel cautioned him. "But only a fool expects lightening to strike twice."

"But it does," Jeremy thought about saying but, on second thought, kept silent.

"Then why were you buying lottery tickets in the first place?" Jack challenged.

"Paying dues to the gods of luck," Uriel grinned. "Once in a while, they pay dues back. That's all."

"And it has nothing to do with this other business?"

"Of course not," she assured him. "What do you think I am? A fortune teller?"

* * *

Later, after Jeanne had arrived and Jack left, Uriel had collapsed, giggling. "You should have seen his face," she was telling Jeanne. "If little green leprechauns had walked in doing the monkey, he couldn't have been more astonished. By now, he's probably ready to blame it on an acid flash-back."

"Still," she continued, "that just shows you how hard it is to keep a complicated secret. We can trust Jack as far as the paper work goes. That's his second profession as well as his first love and he's been doing it a long time. As for anything else, well, there's no sense in tempting his credulity."

"What's his first profession," Jeanne had asked.

"He designs burglar alarm systems. And he's good at that too."

"But," Jeremy guessed, "I have a feeling that we shouldn't ask too much about him."

"Very perceptive," the older witch agreed. "We all have our secrets ... and some of them go back a ways."

"Uh, I've been wondering ..."

"What, Jeremy?"

"Do you know a good chemist? One who can be trusted?"