No wind touched the room.

No noise marked the apparition's descent.

Hope finally reached the turn of the stairs, feeling her way with her fingers in the darkness. She could barely breathe beneath the cowl Jeffrey had draped over her head, and she could see almost nothing. At the third step, something caught the hem of Hope's ghostly gown, and when she grappled for the wall, something pricked her finger hard.

She bit back a hiss of pain. "Jeffrey, I don't think-"

"Great. Just fabulous. Now do the rest, the way we rehearsed."

"But I still don't think-"

"Go on."

Sighing, Hope raised her arm. As the lights changed, her ghostly shape took full form in the darkness. Then the silence was split by a shattering scream, and the ghostly head separated from its body and flew toward the ceiling, accompanied by ghoulish laughter.

Outside, the front steps creaked. "Miss Hope?" The oak door opened slowly. "Is anyone here?" A white-haired head appeared in the gloom of the front hall.

Wildly Hope clutched at the yards of fabric trapping her face. She tried to answer, but every sound was muffled by her costume. After a moment she recognized the voice.

Morwenna Wishwell. An inveterate meddler, but a wonderful neighbor.

With sickening clarity Hope envisioned her first lawsuit: a spry old lady shocked into an early grave by the sight of a headless apparition flittering over Glenbrae's oak banister.

CHAPTER TWO.

HOPE STRUGGLED DOWN the stairs, expecting disaster.

Jeffrey's curse was interrupted by a boom as one of the speakers toppled behind the sofa. Static filled the air, and high overhead the lost soldier's "head" reappeared, floating like a grinning pumpkin.

Why didn't Gabrielle just turn on the lights?

"Dear, dear me." Morwenna halted in the foyer. Her breath caught in surprise. "First a head and now a torso. I see this lovely old house finally has a ghost of its own. How perfectly wonderful."

Hope continued to pull at her hood, staggering forward and fighting to be heard above the static that rumbled through the hall.

Then the lights came on, and Jeffrey and Gabrielle ran to Hope's side. "Are you all right?" Jeffrey demanded.

Hope finally managed to tug off the hood that was threatening to choke her. "Just barely." She wobbled down the stairs toward the visitor. "I'm sorry about that."

"Oh, no problem, my dear. Most enjoyable, it was."

Hope frowned. "You weren't afraid?"

Morwenna smiled benignly. "Was I supposed to be?"

"Yes, actually." Hope rubbed her stinging wrist. "And that proves my point. I've been telling Gabrielle and her friend that this ghost idea won't work."

"On the contrary, my dear." Morwenna tapped her jaw thoughtfully. "Anyone seeing you there in the dark would have been certain they were looking at a class-one apparition. Of course, anyone with real knowledge of the subject would have been looking for the related signs of paranormal activity. Temperature change, for one. Pervasive fragrances and unusual auditory stimuli-that sort of thing."

Just then a bloodcurdling scream blasted from Jeffrey's carefully prepared audio system.

Morwenna chuckled. "Not bad," she said calmly. "Perhaps a touch heavy-handed, but effective nonetheless. Just last month while we were visiting Warwick Castle, my sisters and I saw a wonderful apparition cross the herb garden. He had a most impressive shriek, but not nearly as good as yours, I'm bound to admit. Was your tape sound-enhanced?" she asked Jeffrey.

He blinked in shock. "Er, I rigged up auxiliary speakers and sound tracks with extra feedback. Two speakers behind the bottom step."

The old woman's eyes twinkled. "How very clever. I think that another pair added at the entrance hall might give you a very nice rebound effect."

Jeffrey looked stunned. "Where did you study stage acoustics?"

"Oh, here and there, my dear boy," Morwenna answered. "And I don't mean to intrude, but the mail-delivery woman was in a rush to get home to see her sick daughter, so I offered to bring this letter up to you. I hope that was all right?"

"It was very kind of you, Miss Wishwell. May I offer you a cup of tea? Or perhaps something stronger?"

"Some other time, I think. My sisters will be wondering what's happened to me."

Hope barely heard as she scanned the return address of the overpriced Chicago law firm that had handled her late uncle's estate. She prayed this was the rest of the money she had been waiting for, the final part of her uncle's bequest that had been tied up in court for over a year now. Eagerly she tore open the heavy envelope. But a moment later the words blurred before her eyes.

She sank down in a chair beside the door, the letter falling unheeded to her feet.

Morwenna touched her shoulder. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

It was worse than bad. The law firm informed her there would be no more funds. And as a result of her uncle's poor planning, she now had a whopping bill that she owed the U.S. government. Hope suspected it was because of his law firm's inept miscalculations.

Either way, she was ruined.

Hope blinked hard, fighting back tears.

"You had better drink this, child."

Numbly Hope accepted the glass pressed into her fingers. The elderberry wine Morwenna must have fetched from the sideboard went down like kitchen grease. She would have to sell the few good antiques she had managed to acquire for the manor. Like it or not, the books in the library would have to be sent to auction. But none of these measures would stave off ruin for long.

Morwenna's kindly eyes seemed to bore right through her, picking out her secret worries. "Things are never as bad as they seem, my dear. The inn will catch on, and this ghost of yours is quite wonderful. It's been too long since we've had any visitations here on this side of the valley. The last one was-" She cleared her throat. "Dear me, I mustn't run on." She smoothed her shawl as she stood up. "Are you sure that there's nothing I can do? We still have a spot for you in our investment club."

Hope shook her head. Her problems were beyond the help of mutual funds or slow-growth portfolios. Besides, she had no money to commit.

Suddenly Morwenna's fingers tightened on Hope's wrist. "My dear girl, you're bleeding."

Hope looked down in surprise at the line of blood trailing over her wrist. "It must have happened when I tripped on the stairs." She summoned a smile. "I'll be fine."

Morwenna looked as if she was going to say something, but shrugged instead. "I suggest you try a bit more gain on the bass, young man. You'll find that it enhances the resonance." She waved at Jeffrey, then disappeared outside.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"One of our neighbors," Gabrielle explained. "A very clever lady. If she suggests some electronic change, I suggest you do it."

Jeffrey rubbed his jaw. "That's the odd thing. I was considering that even before she mentioned it.

But how could she know so much about sound systems?"

Gabrielle studied the white-haired figure on the gravel drive. "She knows very much, that one. So do her two sisters. And now," she said sternly to Hope, "you will tell us what was in that letter."

"More bills, this one from the IRS. They're not the sort of people to accept excuses."

Gabrielle frowned. "This is bad, no?"

"As bad as it gets." Slowly Hope picked up the letter and slid it into her pocket. "I...I'm going outside for a while. Then I think I'll try to get some sleep."

Gabrielle and Jeffrey exchanged a look, but said nothing. "I'll bring you some lemonade if you like," Gabrielle said helpfully.

"That would be nice," Hope said.

But what she needed was a way to escape the ruin that was staring her dead in the face.

What she needed now was a genuine miracle.

"I'M TELLING YOU, she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. And I don't mean the apparition that those clever young people conjured up on the stairway." Morwenna frowned as she paced briskly back and forth in the tiny, beamed kitchen of the cottage she shared with her white-haired sisters.

Perpetua, still regal at seventy-four, smoothed back a stray hair. "We'll have to intervene."

Morwenna ran her fingers over the silver pin at her collar. "Once the plan is launched, it would be too late for her to protest. It will only take me a few minutes to do the calculations." She sat at the desk and began keying codes into a sleek laptop computer.

Perpetua sank into a chair beside the preserves bubbling on the fireplace, and a white angora cat with pale green eyes jumped onto her lap. "Well, Juno, what do you say? Do you think our Miss O'Hara needs a miracle?"

"And what will she do when she has it?" Honoria said, with her usual astuteness. "People always say they need a miracle. They plead and plan, but when they have one standing in front of them, they haven't the slightest idea what to do with it. Why, I remember that nice man, Mr. Schweitzer. A little absentminded, but then we all are at times." Her eyes took on an unfocused, dreamy appearance. "I'll never forget how we had to-"

Perpetua's rocker creaked softly. "No more nostalgia, Honoria. Hope O'Hara needs our help, though she is too proud to admit it." She opened a large, leather-bound book and ran her finger down the page.

Somewhere down the hill a thrush trilled in the late afternoon sunlight, and the sound spilled through the silence of the glen, full and rich.

"It has to be now." Perpetua slammed the volume shut and stared at her sisters.

Morwenna nodded as she shut down the computer. "If we miss the transit tonight, it will be six months until we have another chance. We all know that Ms. O'Hara might not be able to hold out for that long." She bit her lip. "It's very risky."

"Last week I tripped on one of your shoes and nearly broke my neck on the stairs," Perpetua said.

"Don't talk to me about risky. It's now or never, I'm afraid. What do you say, Honoria?" Both turned toward their silver-haired sister.

"Your calculations are correct." With a sigh, she rubbed red-rimmed eyes. "The transit will be operative until 2:00 a.m., but no longer. The next window won't appear until mid-May."

Silence hung. The wind rattled against the snug casements and grumbled across the glen.

Morwenna sighed. "Tonight, it is."

Lightning flickered far to the north.

Outside, the first fat drops of rain struck the flagstone path.

"If we do not act now, our young friend will run out of time and maybe even out of dreams,"

Perpetua said. "It is time for the vote."

All movement stilled. The powerful word had been uttered.

The three women stood, hands raised. As quiet as sunlight, they moved closer. "Shall we find a man for Hope O'Hara?" Perpetua asked.

Light changed and swirled in front of them.

A figure slowly took shape in the semidarkness. Light gleamed from the armor at his chest and brushed his dented broadsword as he sprawled in a chair by a cold hearth.

Even at rest, his eyes were hard, lined by months in the blinding desert sun.

Honoria frowned. "He looks dangerous. Dear me, maybe we should reconsider...."

Perpetua shook her head. "We have to do this. Dangerous or not, he is exactly what she needs."

Morwenna nodded. "A flawed miracle is better than no miracle at all. It is time for the vote."

Honoria nodded with a sigh. "Then let it be done."

"Look." Morwenna pointed at the misty image. "He's vulnerable now. There won't be a better chance than this."

The three women stood, hands raised. As quiet as sunlight, they moved closer. "Shall we find a man for Hope O'Hara?" Perpetua repeated.

All three nodded as one as they tightened their circle and then stood still.

The firelight flickered. Light shimmered and swirled. Outside, clouds brushed the high cliffs. Then time wavered and seemed to stand very still....

HOPE WANDERED to the open window, listening to a distant peal of thunder. Tax worries from her newest financial blow had made sleep impossible, and she slipped on a paisley shawl, intending to raid the kitchen for Gabrielle's hot milk and fresh cookies.

At the top of the stairs her skin began to tingle. Strange, nervous energy brushed her neck, almost as if life were about to hand her an unexpected gift.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, watching moonlight play over the hard features of the manor's ancient owner. "What am I going to do?" she whispered. "How am I going to save this beautiful old place? That's what you want from me, isn't it?"

The lace curtains stirred at the open window. Somewhere in the darkness a nightingale piped in solitary splendor.

As moonlight pooled through the open shutters, light glanced off the warrior's face. His gaze seemed to cut through her, proud and commanding. There was a touch of light at one shoulder, and Hope had the sharp impression of a crouching form that might have been an animal.

An animal no more wild than he, with his cloak flying out behind him and his eyes dark as a hunter's. In that moment sadness filled her, pain for a warrior she had never seen and a hero whose name she would never know. Just as on her first visit to this house, the portrait called to her and Hope reached out to the man, out to the animal glinting at his shoulder. Her fingers opened, curved to touch the ornament at his surcoat.

"Who are you?" she whispered. "Tell me your secrets."