Free And Eternity by Piers Anthony

“We’re going to work off this high, or low, as the case may be.” She forced the limbs to move and the flaccid stomach muscles to contract.
    The host groaned and sat up. Jolie felt the spinning of the senses and the pounding at the temples. This was definitely a low! But she pressed on, making the host rise unsteadily to her feet and stagger to the grubby toilet nook. She ran water and splashed it on the face. Vita had vomited recently, by the taste of it, and there were bruises on her body: someone had been hitting her.
    Jolie decided to go the whole route. She stripped off the dirty clothing, then stepped into the shower cubicle. Cold water blasted down, shocking her body. She gritted her teeth and washed both body and hair as thoroughly as possible without heat. The discomfort was more important than the cleanliness, at the moment.
    When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she got out. The water cut off automatically. Shivering, she went to stand before the pane of glass that served as a full-length mirror.
    This host was nubile, with hips and breasts that would have been on the way to provocative fullness had bad eating and bad living not interfered. The hair, too, could have been lustrous, but seemed to have been hacked off at shoulder level and otherwise mistreated. Bruises showed on the arms and shoulders. By the feel of it, the men this prostitute served had been urgent and rough and had not necessarily confined their ardors to the genital region. There were no scars or punctures on arms or legs, but of course that proved nothing; there were oral, nasal and optic variants of the drug.
    The lethargy of incipient withdrawal remained. Jolie spread the bedsheet on the floor and tried exercises: sit-ups, leg lifts, curls and stretches. The body protested, way out of shape for this, but again, the point wasn’t health but effort. Could exercise bum off the traces of the drug? She was going to try it.
    Actually, this was helping Jolie, too, for she was not used to living flesh. She had been seventeen when she died, and though that was considerably older then than it was today, she had been long out of body. Gaea lent her body for special occasions involving their common interest, but the body of an Incarnation was in stasis and invulnerable, not truly mortal. Vita’s body was all too evidently mortal, with the discomforts and weaknesses of mortality. Jolie had to accustom herself again to keeping the body balanced when she stood, so that it would not fall over, and to the needs of ongoing processes.
    That thought clarified one problem. She walked back to the toilet and used it. Ghosts had no natural functions, but mortals had to be constantly aware of input and outgo, or their systems got into trouble.
    Then she went to the food-storage section to find something to eat. That was a waste of time; there was nothing. Evidently this girl ate outside.
    Jolie checked next for money. There was none of that, either. Then she tested the door. Sure enough, it was locked, and she had no key or admittance card. She was a prisoner.
    She wished she had paid more attention to the nature of mortal life in the slum sections. As it was, she had little notion how to proceed. How had this host come to such an involuntary situation?
    Jolie tried to contact Vita, but the girl’s mind was satisfied to let someone else do it. The drug had dulled her awareness, but that was only part of the story; Vita had little interest in facing reality. Perhaps that was just as well, for now, because had she objected to Jolie’s control, it would have done her no good. The soul in charge of a host had command and could not be involuntarily displaced. Had Vita not been in a stupor, Jolie could not have taken over.
    She checked next on Orlene. The case was similar there. Jolie remained on her own; if she didn’t do something,neither of the others would. Still, there might be something to be gained here.
Orlene, this is Vita, your host
, she said internally,