"Gonna stir that shake through the bottom of the glass?" Maria asked as she passed Liz.

"Huh?" Liz looked up at her friend's voice. "Oh, right." She removed the shake from the blender and set it on the counter in front of the customer.

"Okay, what's eating you?" Maria questioned as she picked up a glass and started to dry it.

Liz looked to the floor. "Nothing."

"Nothing, huh? We're not going to have to play the let's-complete-Liz's-sentences game again, are we?"

Liz snorted softly. "No. It's just that whole thing that happened at lunch today. Was that weird?"

Maria nodded. "Yeah, but I always knew Isabel had it in her."

Liz realized that perhaps Maria wasn't the most objective person in this situation - she'd always been a little afraid of Isabel and had probably expected something like this out of her. "Yeah, but to hit Max like that. And she had to have hit him pretty hard…"

"Well, hell knows no wrath."

Liz sighed. "But what about the way Max reacted?"

"What about it?"

"I mean, he didn't even -"

"Thank you?"

Liz nodded.

"Get used to it."

Liz realized that Maria wasn't the most objective in that argument either. She was always doing things for Michael and he was never thanking her. Well, that left Liz with no one to discuss it with, so she decided to keep it to herself.

The door chimed as Michael walked in. He made direct eye contact with Maria, but his face never broke into a smile. Liz was trying to recall if she'd ever seen him smile…she didn't think so. Oddly enough, Maria didn't smile at him either.

"Hey," Michael said as he slid onto one of the barstools.

"Hey yourself," Maria replied. "What can I get you?"

"Shake. Chocolate."

Maria's lips curved into a grin. "Well, Liz is good at making shakes. Especially tonight."

Liz gave her a look, then stuck out her tongue when Maria turned around. She was surprised to see the corners of Michael's mouth turn up slightly. No smile - but close.

"Yeah, why doesn't Liz make my shake tonight," Michael said, throwing a glance at Liz that held more meaning than just a request for a beverage.

"Oh, okay," she answered. "Only if Maria will take table 7 for me."

Maria let out a groan and walked to the table closest to the door. Liz quickly put Michael's shake together, then leaned across the counter toward him.

"What's going on, Michael?" she questioned.

"Did you see what happened today?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Yeah."

"Tell me what happened. I would've asked Maria, but you know how she is - she exaggerates everything."

"Well, Isabel was in the quad laying all over a bunch of jocks. You should have seen her, Michael - she was dressed like she was selling it. Anyway, Max got up to get her away from them and she hit him. Square in the nose. There was blood everywhere."

"What did Izzy do?"

"She just walked away from him and left with the group of jocks." Liz studied Michael's worried face. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I'm worried. Max said when he got home tonight she didn't remember any of it."

Liz's dark eyes were round.

"It's like she's possessed or something. I'm worried she is going to do something stupid and expose us."

______________________________________________________________________

That night, Michael lay sleeping on his sofa, which doubled as his bed. He was having a sweet dream about Maria, a dream he'd never admit to anyone he was having. They were lying in a field of dandelions, his head was on her belly and she was stroking his hair and just repeating, "Everything will be okay, Michael. I'm here, you have me. Everything will be okay." He released a small sigh of pleasure.

The weight of something pushing down on him interrupted Michael's dream and he fought to clear the fog from his head. In the half-light of the room he could see Isabel's golden hair falling down around her shoulders as she straddled him.

"Isabel, what are you - "

She placed a well-manicured finger to his lips. "Shh, Michael. You don't have to talk."

Michael tried to sit up but she pushed him back down on the couch. Am I dreaming this? he wondered.

"It's not a dream," Isabel cooed in response to his unasked question. "I'm really here." She bent down and placed a kiss on his neck. Michael shuddered, partly out of excitement, partly out of fear. He could see all of the way down her tank top, and he swallowed hard. She met his gaze, dark eyes to dark eyes. "Do you like what you see?"

His eyes widened. Could she read his mind now?

"Sort of." Her voice was husky as she planted a kiss on his chest.

"Isabel -" he started again, only to have his protest stifled when she placed her mouth hungrily over his. Michael groaned audibly as she thrust her tongue into his mouth. God, Maria never kissed him like that.

"Forget about Maria," Isabel whispered, her breath hot against his skin. "Think only about me."

Michael found his resistance starting to wane. Maria who?

Isabel laughed a small, devious laugh. "That's right, you forget all about her. Isabel's here now." She reached down and grasped one of his hands, brought it to one of her breasts. Michael groaned again, felt a familiar stirring in his sweat pants. A smile creased Isabel's features - she'd felt it too. "Do you want me, Michael?"

He met her eyes and could only nod. He couldn't think of anything he'd ever wanted more or with more urgency. "Yes," he finally croaked.

Her ruby red lips curved into a smile, mocking him. She sat up astride him, and pulled her shirt over her head. Michael drew in a breath at the sight of her bare torso. He reached with both hands for her breasts as she reached for the waistband of his sweats. At first contact, he gasped again, then something in her eyes made him stop.

This wasn't Isabel sitting on top of him. The Isabel he knew couldn't read his thoughts. She wouldn't have broken into his apartment in the middle of the night and tried to seduce him. The Isabel he knew would have demanded he take a shower before having sex with her.

Michael reached up and grabbed her wrists. Isabel tried to lurch away from him, but Michael had heard of her strength earlier in the day and used a bit of power to overcome her. She scowled, struggled against his grip. Their battle for control forced their bodies to tumble from the sofa, Michael rolling on top of Isabel. When they reached the floor, Isabel's head struck the leg of the coffee table and her body went slack.

Michael jumped quickly to his feet, ran a hand through his unruly hair. He'd killed her. Frightened, he reached down and felt her throat - her pulse was strong and steady. Oh, God, what to do? His knees were knocking together as he paced the floor. What had she done to him? He was almost ready to take her right there on the couch. Or rather she was about to take him and he would have let her.

Michael stopped pacing, deciding he needed to think of a plan. Quickly he picked up her discarded shirt and gently pulled it back onto her body, being careful not to let her head drop on the floor. Then he hoisted her onto the couch.

Next Michael dialed Max's number, glad that Max had a second phone line put in and Michael wouldn't have to explain to Phillip Evans why his daughter was passed out on Michael's sofa. The phone rang several times before a groggy Max answered.

"Maxwell, get over here right away."

There was a pause. "Michael, it's 3:00 am."

"Yes it is. Do you know where your sister is?"

______________________________________________________________________

Max nearly knocked Michael's door down when he entered. His eyes went immediately to the couch where his sister was sleeping. Or was unconscious - he wasn't sure which. Irrationally, Max had checked Isabel's bed to make sure she was really gone before he'd left the house. He'd seen Star Trek - you could never count out those evil twins.

Max walked over to the couch and knelt on the floor. His hand went to Isabel's head.

"She hit her head," Michael said, somewhat apologetically. "I, uh, couldn't get her off me. We struggled, she…"

Max looked over his shoulder. "It's okay, Michael." He used his power to make a connection, then withdrew, puzzled.

"What?" Michael asked.

"She's just asleep."

"Asleep?"

Max nodded.

"You mean, like just dozing?"

Max got to his feet. "Yeah." He picked up a blanket and gingerly covered her with it. He motioned toward the kitchen and Michael followed him. It wasn't like they were so far away she wouldn't be able to hear them talk if she awoke, but maybe they stood less chance of waking her if they weren't talking right over her.

"What happened?" Max asked.

Michael shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I just woke up and she was there."

"She was where?"

He scratched his head. "On top of me."

Max looked at his friend for a moment, noted his discomfort. "What happened?"

"What happened? She tried to…" God, this was going to sound stupid.

Max let him off the hook. "Forget it - I saw her little performance at school yesterday. I know what happened."

Michael reddened, then cleared his throat. "There's something else."

"What?"

"Max, it was like she could read my thoughts. I would think something and she would answer me."

Max studied his friend then raked a hand through his hair. "Alright. I don't know what's going on, Michael, but the next time you see Isabel, act like nothing happened, okay?"

Michael cleared his throat. "Nothing did happen, Max."

"I know." One corner of Max's mouth curved into a half-smile. "Better wash the lipstick off your face."

Michael's expression resembled that of a deer in the headlights and he bolted for the bathroom. Max couldn't help but laugh lightly to himself. He walked over to the couch and knelt by his sister again. He touched her forehead, smoothing her hair away from her face.

"Is?" he said gently.

Her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him through half-opened eyes. "Max?"

He hushed her. "It's okay. Just sleep." He waved his hand over her forehead and she fell back to sleep.

Toweling his now-clean face, Michael emerged from the bathroom. Max stood and pulled his sister into his arms.

"Get the door, would you?" he asked. He had a feeling by tomorrow - if not already - she wouldn't remember any of this.

When they returned home, Max lowered Isabel to her bed. She stirred, shivering, and brought her knees up to her chest.

"Max?"

He leaned over her. "Yeah?"

"I'm so cold," she said, her teeth chattering.

He reached over and touched her forehead - she was burning up. "Okay. It's okay, Is." He went to the end of the bed and retrieved her afghan and comforter and pulled them over her.

She reached out and grabbed his wrist. He had to fight the urge to pull away from her for fear she'd try to hurt him again. "Stay with me," she pleaded.

Max complied, crawling into bed with her and wrapping his arms around her so she could absorb some of his body heat. "Go to sleep," he commanded gently, kissing her head. He waited until she was asleep, then cautiously formed a connection with her.