I didn't even want to think about ghosts, because I'd never been one to believe in that kind of thing, but I could have sworn some phantasmal Grim Reaper or something had just paid us a little visit. I shrugged in false denial. "Nothing-just shadows playing tricks on me," I said.

Pam flicked water at me. "Well, c'mon, you two. These dishes aren't gonna wash themselves."

"Maybe they would," I said, "if we could get a hold of that pesky Fairy Godmother of yours. Can't you text her or something?" I suggested with a smile.

She laughed. "You're right. I'm gonna have to fire that woman."

I grabbed the rag out of her hands while Hunter sprayed her, then me. I pushed the wet hair out of my eyes. "Hey! Payback time, mister!" I scooped up a handful of bubbles and plopped them on his head.

He retaliated by splashing me back, and within minutes, I was soaked and he had a soapy Santa Clause-without the bowlful-of-jelly physique, of course, because everything about his figure was perfect.

Apart from getting scared to death, washing dishes had never been so much fun.

And in no time, a week quickly passed by in the blink of an eye. I felt pretty settled in and was ready to face the school year head on. I changed into my nightgown and brushed my teeth. Jumping into bed felt wonderful. I turned off my bedside light, crawled into the soft covers, and drifted off to Dreamland.

A while later, with a huge effort, I pried my eyes open and scanned the room. My mind felt as though it was engulfed in a fog, and instrumental music, some distinctive melody with a particular musical structure and harmonic elements, echoed from the walls. I rubbed my eyes and sat up groggily, wondering why anyone would be having a classical music festival so late at night. I remembered going to bed, but my bedroom was simply gone, and I found myself standing in a large concert hall with marble floors and a glorious grand piano in the middle of the room.

As the fog lifted, I could make out tiny streams of moonlight creeping through a large bay window on my left. The branched candelabras cast a golden glow on the beautiful instrument before me. My fingers danced back and forth over the keys in an organized rhythmic pattern, gliding over the ivories as if I'd played a million times before. How did I get here? What's going on? My brain had a thousand questions, yet I couldn't focus on anything but the piano in front of me. I tried to stop my fingers from moving, but music continued to pour from my finger-play. It was such a beautiful tune. I had never learned the chords needed to create such beautiful music, and I couldn't have even picked out "Mary Had a Little Lamb" on the piano to save my life. Yet there I was, playing like Chopin.

"Well-composed, spellbinding, and beautifully haunting. It's extraordinary, isn't it?" said a male voice in a Scottish accent, jerking me out of my confused thoughts.

I glanced up at a strikingly handsome, well-groomed man in his early twenties, dressed in cutaway tailored coat, over a waist-length satin waistcoat and dark breeches. He was wearing a brocade vest covered with a robin's egg-blue coat, tan knickers, and white hose. His necktie was quite outdated and looked more like a wide scarf trimmed with lace.

With a grand movement, I played the last note, and then the music melted into an eerie quiet. Somewhere in the room, I could hear a clock ticking. I shuddered, pulling my white silk robe around me, and tied it tightly around my waist. "Who are you?" I asked in an accusatory tone. Part of me knew he was the reason I was there, but none of it made much sense. "How did I get here?"

He smiled. "How nice of you to wake up and join us."

"Us?" I peered around me, more confused than before, because I only saw him. "What do you mean?" I pointed to the piano and behind it, into the corners that weren't illuminated by the candelabras, but all I could make out was darkness.

"You must only close your eyes. When you do, if only for a minute, it shall be morning, and all will be back to normal, as you know it, milady."

"But I-I don't understand," I whispered.

He gazed deeply into my eyes. "Victoria, you must hold the connection."

"What?" I shook my head. "I'm not Victoria. My name is-"

"I'm not talking to you, Zoey." His sharp tone and the fact that he somehow knew me took me by surprise.

"But you're looking at me...and how do you know my name?"

"Reestablish the connection," he ordered to some unseen entity, ignoring my question.

I opened my mouth to ask again what he was talking about, when a cold gush of air traveled up my body, making me shiver. For a moment, I closed my eyes to escape the freezing sensation, but when I opened them again, there was only darkness.

At the shrill sound of my alarm clock, I bolted up and peered at my bedside table. It was six a.m. Streams of sunlight hit my face through the window, and I blinked. I jumped out of bed, threw on my slippers, grabbed my robe, and wrapped it around me. I had no idea how I'd gotten out of bed and back. In fact, my memories were too hazy and incoherent for me to really remember anything. I brushed my teeth and threw my hair up in a ponytail, then sped out of my bedroom and down the spiral staircase, through the corridors, straight to the music room.

I yanked the door open and stepped into the vast hall, then peered around me. I didn't remember entering the room before, but I recognized everything, from the marble floor to the heavy furniture and large candelabra. The beautiful grand piano stood in the middle of the room, its lid securely shut, even though I didn't remember closing it when I was somehow there before. I spun in a circle, confused, and took in several new details. There was a glass door that led to what looked like a back yard, something I hadn't noticed before. A large painting hung on the wall to my right, and I was sure I couldn't have simply missed it in my strange dream. I knew I needed to calm down and think for a minute. I scooted into the window seat to look out the bay window. It was the perfect place to curl up with a book or take a nap in the sun. I looked at the shrubs swaying in the wind. Maybe I was dreaming...but it felt so real. I swear I could feel the keys underneath my fingers. My gaze drifted back over to the grand piano.

I knew I wasn't supposed to mess with the expensive instrument, but my curiosity overwhelmed me. I rushed over to the black-lacquered piano and propped open the enormous lid. I gazed down at the horizontal strings and laughed. I knew there was no way I could play any kind of song on that thing. I lowered myself onto the piano bench, then shook out my hands like some brilliant concert pianist, trying to relax myself before a performance. In the dream, I'd had no sheet music, so I assumed I'd been playing from memory. I clumsily pecked at the black and white keys, playing three notes that didn't seem to go together at all. Da-da-dum-dum, dum-dum-ding. I then ran my hands up the scale and cringed: Even that was off key.

Just as I was trying again, Pam walked in, carrying a cup of tea. "Ouch," she said. "I wondered who was playing in here." Her long, wet hair hung in blonde curls. She had a romantic Bohemian about her and had paired a ruffled blouse with a black tiered, pleated skirt. Her style was simple and understated, yet incredibly classy.

I stood and brushed my hands over my humble and dull robe, suddenly embarrassed. "Well, I guess I'm no Mozart."

She let out a small giggle. Her makeup looked perfect, so natural, giving a glow to her flawless skin. Her blue eyes twinkled in the bright rays of sun. "Maybe the piano isn't tuned," she said, trying to cheer me up. "Why are you down here anyway?"

"I had the weirdest dream. I dreamt I was in this very room, playing this think like some concert pianist."

"Hmm. Well, I hope you gave a better performance than that ear-splitting screech I just heard," she joked.

"In my dream, I played one of the most beautiful, eerie, and haunting songs I've ever heard," I said.

"Sounds romantic." She nodded. "Way better than the boring dream I had the other night. My hands were all caked with gray goop, and I was sculpting some ancient Greek statue." She pointed to the floor. "Hey, I think you dropped something."

Silver glittered off to the left of the foot pedals, and I reached down and picked up my silver locket. "Hmm. That's weird."

She sipped her tea. "What?"

I rolled the jewelry in my hand, regarding it intently. "I only came down here a minute ago. I'm sure I would have noticed if it fell off, especially since everything echoes in here. Maybe I really was in here last night and dropped it then."

"Sleep-walk much?" she teased.

I dangled the necklace in my hands. "I suppose that could have been it, but that doesn't explain the strange guy."

"Strange...or hot?" She laughed. "If you are seeing hot guys in your dreams, girl, you're definitely dreaming. How hot are we talking anyway? Like...Johnny Depp hot or Taylor Lautner hot?"

"Drop-dead gorgeous, but way too old for me-like...ancient. He was dressed in medieval-looking clothes, and he sounded like that one guy on those old Star Trek reruns that's always beaming people up."

She laughed. "A Scotty in a Scottish castle. Imagine that." She arched an eyebrow and continued, "But accents are hot, right? Dang it. Why couldn't he have jumped into my dream?"

I chuckled.

"What century are you talking?" she asked.

"Around the 1800s, I think. He had the greenest eyes and shaggy brown hair, and there was something about his smile."

"I can only imagine." She winked. "So, Zoey, what did you two do in this dream? Did you hook up?"

I held back a giggle. Nothing like that had happened, of course, but even if it had, I wasn't exactly the kiss-and-tell type. "None of that. When I woke up in here, I was standing at the piano, playing it like a pro. He was watching me, and then he told me to go back to sleep, so I did and woke up in my room. It just felt so...real."

"My mom's all into that dream stuff. She keeps this corny dream journal and is always reading about Sigmund Freud and checking out dream dictionaries from the library. She says dreams can express our emotions."

"Well, what's that mean in this case?"

"I'm not sure, but I think dreaming about being a sculptor has something to do with me being able to create and accomplish my goals-one of which is to ace that geometry test this morning."

I gave her a fist bump. "Me too."

"You dreamt that you played the piano," she continued. "Maybe you're on a quest for harmony in your life and all that stuff-an epiphany and blah-blah-blah."

I smiled, because in the midst of all her joking around and sarcasm, Pam made a great point.

"Well, in any case, Dream Boy isn't here to help you with that math test, and you look like crap," she said bluntly.

"Yeah, you're right. I'd better get upstairs and take a shower."

She turned to leave. "See you in class."

"Thanks, Pam." I nodded, and she was on her way.

Pam's explanations still in my mind. I was ready to believe her, even though I wasn't fully convinced. The whole experience just seemed too vivid to be a figment of my imagination, but I truly hoped she was right. I yawned, exhausted; the dream and all the confusion had taken its toll. I took one last glance at the piano before my gaze drifted to the floor, where I noticed a small white patch. I ran my fingers over it and realized it was candle wax. The image of me effortlessly playing the keys rolled across my mind, candles burning brightly in the candelabra, and goosebumps rose on my neck. I couldn't shake off the feeling that I wasn't seeing the whole picture. Was I really here last night? And if I was, why can't I remember it?

Pushing the door open to my last class of the day, I scanned the room, hunting for my Hunter. My eyes locked on him, and he winked. A shiver of excitement ran down my spine as I flashed him a grin. I debated whether or not to talk to him after class, and I decided there was no reason not to. I only had to keep it cool and casual, and I decided I'd just ask him if he liked his room, since he couldn't have mine. It wasn't exactly talking about the weather, but it was the perfect excuse to strike up a conversation.

As I sat at my desk, chewing on the eraser of my pencil, Pam slid in the desk behind me and smiled a big, goofy grin. Her cheeks were flushed, and I knew immediately that something was going on.

"What're you so happy about?" I asked.

"Not happy, girl...turned on. Hunter's friend is so freaking hot."

"Who? Eric?" I whispered, craning my head to get a better glimpse of the guy sitting in the front row on the left side of the classroom. "I sat next to him yesterday at dinner."

"Gosh, he's got it all-the shoulder-length brown hair, brown eyes, and glasses. He's like Clark Kent, and I bet without those glasses, he could be my personal Superman," she teased. She stared at him and let out a sigh. "I'll be his Lois Lane anytime."

"He is cute," I said. He wore thin, wire-framed glasses, but he was very attractive and had a killer smile. He stood six feet tall and was broad shouldered with an athletic built. If I wasn't so smitten with Hunter, I'd definitely be interested.

"Yeah, he's my knight in shining armor."

"Hmm. A knight in shining armor or an idiot in tinfoil?" I asked in the most serious tone I could muster, before I broke into a laughing fit. "You just don't get it, Zoey." She let out a giggle, slapping my arm. "Some of us aren't Miss Independent like you. Having a man to take care of you would probably be your biggest nightmare, huh?"

"Hey! Don't judge me. You just met me."

She clicked her tongue. "Meh, I know the type."

I saw nothing wrong with not wanting to play the damsel in distress, and I was dead set on slaying my own dragons. If I was going to be with a guy, he'd have to see me as an equal. No way would I be anyone's little princess in need of protection. I playfully nudged her. "Whatever."

"Isn't it funny that we're both natural blondes?" she asked.

At that moment, I felt guilty and embarrassed that I'd thought her hair was dyed, and I was glad I had never mentioned it to her. In any case, her platinum blonde hair was a unique feature about her that made people notice her from miles away. My blonde hair was nothing special.

"So what do you think of my Eric?" she asked.

"He's cute, I guess. His glasses make him look smart."

"Hey! Back off, woman," she said with a chuckle. "I've got dibs."

"Relax," I said, then admitted in a lower tone, "If I were after anybody, it'd be Hunter."

She cocked a brow, disbelief crossing her soft face. "Hunter? That guy we washed dishes with?"

"Yeah, him."

As if his ears had been itching, Hunter entered the room with two of his friends, laughing about some mischief they'd caused the day before. He was wearing his typical faded jeans and a white t-shirt, emphasizing his lean, muscular frame. He was sipping from a soda can as he listened to his friends talking, all the while sneaking peeks at me. He was so hot I could have stared at him all day; his charm was impossible to resist.

"There's just something about him," I said, nodding in his direction to let her know who I was gawking at.

She glanced up at him as he walked back to his seat. "Maybe it's that you wanna tame him. I hate to break it to you, honey, but I don't think Hunter's gonna be tied down to being a one-woman man anytime soon."

I laughed. "Oh yeah? A real bad boy, huh?" I asked, my eyes glistening with curiosity and fantasies that I didn't want to admit.

"Don't do it, Zoey. I've heard the rumors, and you don't wanna go chasing that one. He'll probably date over half the girls here by the end of the school year."

"Maybe...or maybe not."

She sighed the same way my older sister always did, as if I was a hopeless case. "Tell me you're not going to ignore my advice on this."

I nodded, smiling. "Only if he's interested...and not taken."

Mrs. Duball's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "Students, today we'll spend our hour going over the history of Tiker Castle. This will be valuable information for you about your surroundings, so please pay attention."

"Hey!" Pam whispered, kicking my chair.

I turned and whispered, "Are you trying to give me whiplash or something?"

She smiled and pushed a small, neatly folded note into my hand. "Special delivery," she whispered.

I looked down at the note with red ink on the front: "For Zoey's eyes only..." With a pounding heart, I opened it, being careful so the teacher wouldn't see it. "Want to hang out after class?" it said. My mouth dropped when I turned it over and read, "From the guy who almost stole your room."

I grinned, realizing that Hunter had quite the sense of humor, among his other attributes. I was surprised he wanted anything to do with me, considering the way I'd behaved toward him when we'd first met. We had enjoyed our dish-washing interlude, but for all I knew, Pam might have been right about him. His name might have been some clue, and I feared he might just be one of those guys who loved the thrill of the chase. He was so good-looking, and I knew I had to play it cool so I wouldn't seem easy like all the other girls in his fan club, so I slipped the note inside my folder, glanced over my shoulder to the back of the room, and shot him a big smile. As our eyes connected, I could feel my heart skipping a beat. He winked. He was so hot, but I couldn't let him know I felt that way. Still, I was definitely going to talk to him after class.

While the teacher scribbled a bunch of dull facts and dates on the chalkboard, I glanced over at Pam.

She smirked. "So you're gonna date him, huh?" she whispered, looking none too pleased about it.

"Who said anything about dating?" I whispered back. "He just asked me to hang out after school."

"Today?"

"Yeah."

Her face flushed with excitement, and she pushed a hair strand back from her eyes. "Well, maybe you could find a way to get him to introduce me to Eric. Ya think?"

"I'm not sure. I don't really even know Hunter yet."