BEWITCHED, BOTHERED AND BEWILDERED

By

Maggie Shayne

Contents

Everything She Does Is Magick

Musketeer by Moonlight

The Con and the Crusader

Everything She Does Is Magic

Prologue

Midnight, October 31, 1970

A little Witch is born.

"Her name will beAurora ," Merriwether said firmly, staring down at the cradle she'd bought for her brand-new charge. The baby's mother, Merriwether's niece, had never embraced the secret ways of the Sortilege women. She'd rejected her heritage, turned her back on the ways of magick. Even claimed she didn't believe in it. Then she'd run away with a leather-bearing beast on a motorbike, shouting over her shoulder that her three aunts were completely insane, and ought to be committed because everyone knew there were no such things as Witches. Almost as an afterthought, she'd added that her aunts had best not be casting any spells to make her come back, or she'd hate them forever.

Nine months later, Melinda had the good sense to send her newborn daughter home to her three aunts, delivered to the front door by a social worker with the message that Melinda was "just not mother material."

Merriwether had known the child would end up in her care. She hadn't knownhow it would happen, but she'd never doubted it would, because she'd seen it in the stars. Aurora Sortilege was a special child, a child of destiny. And her aunts were here to see that she fulfilled it.

"Oh, yes,Aurora . It's perfect!" Fauna clapped her plump hands together near her rounded middle and gave a good belly laugh. Her face quivered with mirth, and her outrageous orange hair—frizzed from too many colorings and permanents—bobbed and bounced as if it were laughing, too. "It brings our little fairy tale full circle, don't you think?" she asked, still grinning.

"Our dear mother knew what she was doing when she named us after three benevolent—if fictional—fairies who care for a special little girl," Merriwether said, and she frowned a little at her younger sister's laughter. This was a serious matter—a great responsibility had been entrusted to them. But as she glanced at the child again, even her own stern expression softened. "Mother truly was gifted at divination."

Fauna smiled, and it dimpled her cheeks. "And so are we," she declared with a slap of her hand against one ample thigh. "OurAurora will be blessed with an abundance of magick."

"Magick even more powerful than our own," Flora added in her gentle, timid voice. Her tiny frame bent over the cradle, she was ticklingAurora 's chubby chin and eliciting a smile. "And a healing gift beyond measure."

"Oh, yes, indeed," Merriwether agreed. "But even then, it won't be as powerful asher daughter's will be."

"Only if we're successful." Flora frowned then, small face puckering, and paced away from the cradle in small, agitated steps. Leaning over the round pedestal table nearby, she peered into the misty depths of a crystal ball that reflected her face and snowy white puffs of hair. "Oh, so much hinges on this. What if we fail?"

"We won't," Merri assured her youngest sister in her firmest take-charge tone. "We can't. We all saw the prophecy at the same time. You in the crystal, I in the stars, and Fauna in the cards of the sacred Tarot. We've been entrusted by our ancestors with a great responsibility, sisters, and we cannot fail." She was putting on her drill-sergeant persona, and it fit, she knew, with her regal stature and steely gray hair. Her sisters called her imposing. But always with love in their voices. Andsomeone had to be in charge, after all. As the oldest, it had simply always been her.

But when she looked down at the baby, she deliberately gentled her tone. "Aurorais going to become the mother of the greatest Witch our family has ever produced. But it can only happen if we follow the instructions we've been given to the letter."

"Yes," Fauna said. She, too, had come to the table, and she'd already begun shuffling her Tarot cards. She did that when she was nervous. Shuffled and shuffled. "The child has to be fathered by little Nathan McBride, Daniel's boy, fromMulberry Street . And you're a lucky one, littleAurora , 'cause that boy's gonna grow up to be a looker." She shook her head and stifled a chuckle. Then she frowned. "How we'll arrange that, I'll never know. Merciful Goddess, the McBrides don't even know about the traditional magick of their ancestors, or the power of their bloodlines. They don't practice the ancient ways. They live like… likenormal folk." She grimaced after she said it, as if the words left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Not only that," Flora said, taking a hanky as snowy white as her hair from her pocket to polish her spotless crystal ball. "But he has to be a—a—avirgin when they… you know." She lowered her eyes and her cheeks flushed pink.

"We're all well aware ofthat , Flora," Merri said. "But there's just no help for it. We have to see to it that everything happens as it should." She glanced out the window above the baby's bed at the formation of the stars on this crystal-clear night, and frowned. "I've decided we should do this subtly, not come right out and tellAurora the plan." She turned to the baby again. "Because if she's even half as rebellious as her mother… well, she'll be determined to do exactly the opposite of what we ask."

"You're right," Flora said, nodding slowly. "Though it's a shame we can't tell her the truth about her destiny." She blinked up at Merri. "But we will tell her the truth, eventually, won't we?" Merri nodded, and the worry in Flora's face eased.

"What I want to know is how we're supposed to keep that McBride boy from… er…" Fauna grinned, dimples deepening. "Expending his affections on some other girl?" She blew a carrot-colored curl off her forehead and kept on shuffling.

"Thunderbolts, Fauna, he's only two years old!" Merri glared at her.

The shuffling stopped. "Oh, but have you seen him? The lad's going to grow, and with those dark brown eyes and thick lashes, and those raven's-wing curls of his… well, let's just see what the cards say." She fanned the deck and pulled one card. "Knight of Swords."

"Oh, my," the other two said in unison.

"I think we'll have our work cut out for us, sisters," Flora said.

Merri sighed and shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. Nathan McBride, even if he's the reincarnation of Don Juan himself, still won't stand a chance against three Sortilege Witches."

"So it's decided," Fauna said, nodding hard. "We keep him pure"—she grinned—"even if it kills him. For ourAurora ."

The three Witches smiled knowingly, while the baby looked on with what seemed to be a worried frown creasing her forehead.

October 31, 1973

Nathan McBride scowled at the dark-haired toddler. He was already in kindergarten and he couldn'twait to learn how to read. He loved books and it frustrated him to no end that he couldn't decipher the words inside.

And now, here were those very weird old ladies fromRaven Street , with their little kid who couldn't be more than three years old, and the brat wasreading . Not whole sentences, of course. But words. That tall, mean-looking aunt of hers with the steel-gray hair would hold up a flash card with letters on it, and the kid would say "Cat!" or "Dog!" or "Bird!" And then everyone at the neighborhood Halloween party would burst into applause. Like she was some kinda genius or something.

Aurora. Whoever heard of a girl namedAurora , anyway?

Everyone was so busy fussing over her that they'd barely noticed the Batman costume he'd spent so much time picking out. Nope, they only had eyes for the brat-kid with the strange black eyes.

Nathanhated Aurora Sortilege. And he vowed he always would.

October 31, 1980

It was Halloween. And more than that, it wasAurora 's tenth birthday. And more than that—this! She could hardly believe it.

"Mr. McBride has invited you to go trick-or-treating with Nathan tonight," Aunt Merri said. And her words madeAurora 's belly clench with excitement. EvenAunt Merriwether seemed excited. All of them did. "Do you think you'd like to accept?"

"Oh, yes! Yes!"

She hopped up and down, and could barely stand still while her three aunts helped her fuss with her Egyptian princess costume until she looked just perfect.

She'd had a wild crush on Nathan McBride forweeks now. But he was older, and he barely seemed to notice her. Tonight, he would, though. Maybe he liked her, too! Why else ask her along on tonight of all nights?

Tonight of all nights… She blinked up at Aunt Merri. "I don't want to miss our Samhain celebration, Auntie."

"You'll be back in time, sweetheart. We'll wait for you. You just go and have a good time with young Nathan."

"If you're sure it's okay."

Aunt Merriwether nodded. "It's okay."

And so she went. She skipped all the way down Raven Street, turned right at the corner onto Mulberry, and only slowed down and felt her nervousness return when his house loomed just ahead of her. It was a nice house. Newer than her own. Hers wasancient in comparison. And Nathan's father was pretty important in this little town. He owned the drugstore, and a couple in other nearby towns, too. And she was just… justAurora . She bit her lip.

Swallowing hard and whispering a tiny little invocation for courage, she marched up the walk and rang the front doorbell.

Nathan opened it. He was wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt. His dark hair was long. He liked wearing it long because the big kids wore it that way.Aurora liked it, too. It was curly and soft-looking. She thought Nathan was the handsomest boy in the whole town.

"Where's your costume?" she asked him.

"Very funny. I'm almost thirteen, you know."

"You're not dressing up?"

"Course not, 'Rora."

She wishedshe hadn't dressed up. Suddenly she felt like a big baby in her beautiful princess outfit. "But how can you trick-or-treat without a costume?"

He shook his head, and stepped outside, pushing the door closed behind him. "I'm not trick-or-treating. I'm babysitting you whileyou trick-or-treat."

Her heart felt as if something sharp had just pierced it. "B-babysitting… ?"

"Hey, it wasn't my idea. Something those wacky aunts of yours cooked up with my dad. So are they really Witches like everyone says?"

She opened her mouth, but she couldn't seem to say anything to him. She was so shocked and so hurt she could barely breathe, let alone talk.

"Are you one, too?" Nathan gave her Egyptian princess gown a teasing tug. "So how come you didn't wear a pointy hat and carry a broom then? Do you think you'll get warts on your nose when you grow up? I heard all Witches get big ugly ones, sooner or later. And that they—"

She whirled and ran from him, tears burning paths down her cheeks.

"Hey! 'Rora, wait up! I was just kidding around."

"I hate you, Nathan McBride!" She never slowed her pace until she got back to her house. And she managed to wipe the tears away before she faced her aunts. She lied to them for the fist time in her life that night. Told them she was too sick to stay out. And that year she skipped Samhain, as well.

October 31, 1986

It was Aurora Sortilege's sixteenth birthday, and her crazy aunts were having a Sweet Sixteen party for her. Up there at that crazy excuse for a house. The big old Gothic was older than this entire town, or so people said.

Nathan and Aurora had never gotten along. They tended to avoid each other like the plague. At school, if they were forced into it, they'd say hello and not much else. He didn't really care. He had a crowd of friends. She didn't have many at all. It was partly because everyone knew her aunts thought of themselves as Witches, and that made a lot of the parents nervous—some because they figured the three ladies must be nuts, and others because they figured the three ladies sacrificed children in naked moonlight rituals and worshipped demons.

Nathan had done a little reading on the subject. Just out of curiosity, of course. So he knew that none of that was true. And he really didn't believe in any of that Witch stuff anyway. But he still didn't like her.

The Witch thing was only part of the reasonAurora wasn't very popular. Mostly it was just because she was such a brainiac. Nathan was graduating this year. So wasAurora , two years ahead of schedule. And then he was heading off to college and she'd be shipping out to pre-med. She wanted to be a doctor. She'd make, a good one, too. He remembered a time two years ago, when a great big red-winged hawk had swooped down in front of his car, right after he'd gotten his license. It crashed into the windshield and then rolled to the ground.

Aurorahad been out walking and she'd seen the whole thing. Of course, she'd stomped over to the car screaming at him for being careless and stupid and a hundred other things. But then she'd knelt down on the road, and there had been actualtears in her eyes as she touched the unmoving bird. He'd walked over there to see if he could help. But he'd ended up just standing still and watching her as she'd started running her hands over the hawk, real slow, and, talking under her breath. Her eyes were closed, he remembered that. All the sudden, the bird twitched. Then it came to flapping, shrieking life, and hauled tail out of there.

It didn't go far, he recalled. It landed heavily in a tree along the roadside, and it looked back at him and Aurora, and then it let out a piercing cry.

"You're welcome,"Aurora had whispered. Man, he'd never forget that. He'd thought then she must be totally bonkers. Nathan had ignored her bright smile, and her whispered, "I did it." He'd told himself the bird was probably just stunned. He didn't believe all that Witch crap for a minute. And ifAurora was as smart as everyone thought, she wouldn't either.

Anyway, she'd had a nice touch with that bird, even if it had only been stunned. And she couldn't stand to seeanyone hurting. So he thought she'd make a pretty decent doctor. Not that he cared. Hell, he wouldn't even be going to this birthday party except that… well, word around school was that no one else was going to show. And he kind of felt sorry for her. So he'd bought her a pair of fairly expensive earrings with emeralds on them. Tiny emeralds, but heck, he was making only three-fifty an hour part-time at the greasy spoon in town. And he was going over there to that house onRaven Street . He'd grit his teeth and ignore the way she always managed to irritate the hell out of him, and he'd wish her a happy birthday.

When he got there, though, and saw her sitting on the front steps crying her eyes out, something happened to him. He went all soft inside for some reason. He walked up the steps and sat there beside her.

"What's the matter,Aurora ?"

She lifted her head, looking straight into his eyes with her black, shiny, wet ones. "You know. I can see that you know."

He shook his head in denial.

"No one's coming, that's what's the matter. And you knew it, Nathan. Why didn't you tell me?"

He blinked in surprise and glanced at his watch. It was still ten minutes before party time. How could she know already? Unless someone had said something. "It's early yet," he told her. "What makes you think… ?"

She sent him a look of exasperation. "Iknow things, Nathan. And I know this. And I know that you knew and you didn't tell me."

He lowered his head, unsure of what to say. Maybe she really did have some kind of… Nah. But when he looked up at her again, he noticed for the first time thatAurora was turning into one drop-dead beautiful girl. And he wondered why he had never noticed it before. She'd never cut her hair, so far as he knew. It hung to her waist like a black satin flag, smooth and shining. And her eyes had a very slight tilt to them that made them exotic, entrancing. And since they were as black as her hair, you couldn't tell the irises from the pupils. Just big black marbles. Onyx eyes. Deeper than just about any eyes he'd ever seen. Lashes like sable paintbrushes. Lips that used to seem too plump when she was little, now looked like they belonged on a cover model.

It surprised the heck out of him. But he suddenly realized that this girl, whom he'd spent most of his life disliking, was incredible. And unusual—and he supposed he found that just as attractive as everything else about her.

Did he… actually…like her?

He got to thinking about the possibility that maybe he did. Maybe hemore than justliked her; the more he thought, the more he realized that it was true. He lifted his chin and looked at her, sitting there beside him on the top step, so heartbroken. He was going to do it. He was going to ask the little Witch for a date. He could hardly believe it.

He smiled to himself, because he sort of knew she'd always had a crush on him. It would make her day. Make up for the birthday party not happening and her favorite holiday being a wash, and everything else.

She got to her feet slowly while he was still thinking. "I can't believe I got all dressed up for nothing."

And she had gotten all dressed up. But not for nothing. She looked great in her denim skirt and silky sleeveless blouse. Pretty. Feminine. Delicate.

"Maybe not for nothing," he said.

She looked down at him, and for the first time, he saw hope in her eyes. "Why?" she asked. "Have you heard something?"

Heard something? He just shrugged. "What if some good looking senior came over here and asked you to go to the drive-in with him?" he said, as suavely as he could manage. And then he waited for her eyes to light up.

And they did. Widened and lit and shone, and she started to smile.

"Youhave heard something, haven't you? Is it him? Is it Bobby Ridgeway? Is he really going to ask me out? I had a feeling he was, but I didn't trust my own… oh my Goddess, here hecomes !"

Nathan stood there feeling as if he'd just been dropped into a play where he didn't know the lines, while Bobby Ridgeway, the biggest jock in school, and until this very second one of Nathan's best buds, pulled up in his dad's station wagon and blew the horn.

"Hi, Bobby!"Aurora waved so hard that Nathan thought her hand would fall off, and went running down the steps to the car.

Nathan couldn't hear what they were saying after that. Just Bobby revving the Ford's motor once in a while andAurora 's deep, soft laughter. She didn't giggle. He'd never once heardAurora giggle. A minute later she got in the passenger side and the wagon roared away.

Bobby Ridgeway was no dummy. Apparently he, too, had noticed that there was more to Aurora Sortilege than an overdeveloped brain and an Addams Family upbringing. Onlyhe'd noticed a lot quicker than Nathan had.

The front door opened and Aurora's Aunt Fauna, five feet tall and three feet wide with blazing orange hair, stepped out looking heartbroken. "Oh, Nathan," she said—as if she knew. "I'm so sorry."

He wiped the stricken expression off his face and got up. "Hey, sorry for what? You oughta be happy. That niece of yours finally got a date. I was beginning to think it'd never happen." He turned to go, then turned back again and thrust the small, clumsily wrapped box into the woman's pudgy hand. "Give this to her when she gets back, will ya?"

"Of course I will. Thank you, Nathan. That was so thoughtful." He shrugged and turned to leave. Thoughtful, heck. It was a pity gift, just like it would have been a pity date. He didn't evenlikeAurora . Never had. Never would.

June 1987

Aurorawas valedictorian of the graduating class. She could have felt a little bad about that. Probably should have. After all, she was only sixteen, and was graduating early, and most of the other seniors thought one of them should have won the honor—that she should have been disqualified because she didn't really belong.

She'd never really belonged.

But she refused to feel guilty. Because the salutatorian—the sap who would have made valedictorian if not forAurora —was none other than Nathan McBride. And he'd been a lousy jerk to her all year long. Sure, they'd never really gotten along, but he'd been worse than ever this year. It seemed toAurora that it had begun about the time she'd started dating Bobby Ridgeway.

And she used to think Bobby and Nathan were friends!

Well, apparently not. But she didn't see why Nathan was taking it out on her. It had ended with Bobby, anyway. He'd pulled a hamstring at football practice in the middle of the season, and was going to have to miss an important game. So, being bound by oath and ancestral blood to help others whenever possible,Aurora had offered to work a healing for him.

He'd acted as if she'd claimed to have two heads. Said he didn't think all the talk about her being a Witch was anything more than gossip, or he'd have never asked her out. He called her a psycho and a weirdo and a dozen other names, and dumped her like a carton of sour milk. And as if that weren't bad enough, he went around telling everyone at school that Aurora really believed she was a Witch. As if it were impossible, for goodness' sake!

And then Mindy had tried to help. She really had. It wasn't her fault it backfired. Mindy had moved into town only last year, and she'd felt like an outsider, too, at first. Aurora, being who and what she was, had tried to make her feel welcome when everyone else had just ignored her. They'd become friends, and even when Mindy started hearing the gossip, she'd stuck by Aurora.

One day, Mindy heard some of the jerks scoffing about the Wallingford High Witch, and she jumped in their faces. Told them how Aurora had sped up the healing on her broken leg earlier that year, and how she'd been able to play soccer again before the end of the season, against the doctor's predictions and everyone's expectations.

But instead of helping, it only made matters worse. Everyone knew about her leg, and the unusually speedy recovery. But until then, no one knew the rest. And until then, everyone had ribbed and teased Aurora about the whole Witch thing, but no one had really believed it.

Now they did. And everything changed after that. When Aurora walked down the hall, conversations would stop, and wary eyes would watch her. Students, and even a few of the teachers, would step well out of her path to give her a wide berth. It was as if they were afraid of her.

Except for Mindy, of course.

Andlousy rotten old Nathan McBride.He wasn't afraid of her, didn't believe in magick anyway, and probably wouldn't have been afraid of her even if he had. He laughed at the kids who acted skittish around Aurora and kept right on teasing her just the way he always had. "Hey, Broom-Hilda," he'd yell, because he was too dense to know the name was Brynhild and that she was a Valkyrie, not a Witch. "Get your broom outta your locker and fly it over here, will ya? I spilled something," Or " 'Rora, you'd best get your butt into that science lab and turn the eighth period class back into humans again before somebody dissects them!"

Shehated that boy.

He'd always follow up by thumbing his nose at her, turning to his pale and wide-eyed companions, and saying, "See? I'm still in one piece. No warts, no locusts. I told you nothing would happen."

She figured he was probably tormenting her to prove she wasn't a Witch at all. Just a crazy teenager with delusions. And if she hadn't had the Witches' Rede drilled into her for most of her life, she might just have supplied him with whatever proof he required, the more painful the better.

But she couldn't do that. Wouldn't do it. She was a healer. She was going to medical school to become an even better one. If she went around causing harm, she might just lose the healing gift she'd been born with, and that would break her heart.

At the graduation ceremony, she delivered a short speech no one really wanted to hear, about kindness and tolerance and open-mindedness and freedom. And she wore a tiny pair of emerald earrings.

And when it was over, and everyone threw their hats in the air, someone turned to hug her impulsively, and she impulsively hugged back. And then she realized it was Nathan, and backed away with a gasp.

He blinked and looked as surprised as she was. Then his gaze shifted downward just slightly, and he smiled. "You wore them," he said.

The crowds surged around them, tugging them apart. She was surrounded by her loving aunts, and he was being slapped on the back by his father and a bunch of relatives from out of town.

And that was the last time she saw Nathan McBride for a very long time.

Chapter 1

October 1997

Nathan McBride stared across the fancy restaurant's most secluded table into Elsie Kincaid's big blue eyes. The taper candle set her blonde hair alight with its golden gleam, and cast dark shadows into the depths of her cleavage. And he did meandepths . It was like Davy Jones's locker down there, and he was more than ready to go diving. The way she kept leaning over the table suggested she was ready, too.

And so what if those baby blues were a little vacant? It wasn't as if he were looking for a prospective brain surgeon here. He simply wanted to get laid. Period.

He felt a little guilty for that rather unenlightened thought, but damn, frustration would turn a red-blooded man into a chauvinistic beast pretty fast. He ought to know. He'd been frustrated for well over a decade now.

He pushed his plate aside, reached across the table, took her hand in both of his. "You ready to order dessert?" he asked her softly.

"Oh, Nate, I think youknow what I'd like for dessert."

He gritted his teeth and managed not to grimace when she called him "Nate," which he detested. It wasn't hard to ignore that minor irritant when her foot, minus its spike-heeled shoe, began running up the inside of his leg under the table.

Hot damn, this is it.

"So, um, can I take you back to my…" He bit his lip. "Your place?" No more taking chances by bringing a woman back to his place. He was beginning to think it was haunted. There was the night with that blue-eyed blonde, Suzanne, when the heating ducts decided to spew black smoke. And the time with that other blue-eyed blonde, Rebecca, when the air conditioner mysteriously caught fire. And don't forget the blue-eyed blonde, Anne Marie, and the SWAT team with the wrong address.

Nope. Not with… er… Elsie. Yeah. Elsie. With a chest to match the name, he thought. Then he realized he was turning into a real pig.

"Sure," she said. "My place is great." She slinked out of the chair and across the floor for his viewing pleasure, pausing at the exit to send a wink over her shoulder at him. She was very good at slinking. He fumbled for his wallet, dropped it twice, and fished out a handful of bills to pay for their meal. Then he got up and wandered out after her.

And the whole time, he was feeling very nervous. Glancing over his shoulder. Wondering what could possibly go wrongthis time.

She sat behind the wheel of his car, the Jag he'd spent a small fortune on because no man could drive a Jag and not have constant bouts of wild sex, right?

Wrong, as it turned out, but it had been worth a shot.

Elsie called out the window to him. "Can I drive it, Nate, sweetie? I'd be soooo grateful."

"Oh, yeah," he said, and stopped near the door to hand her the keys. She started the engine, and it gave its distinctive Jaguar roar when she revved it. Nathan smiled, about to turn and walk around to the passenger side.

He only vaguely heard the change in the engine's sound when she slipped the shift into gear. The way the tires spun when she popped the clutch was a whole lot louder, causing him to spin around in surprise. And of course, he was paying complete attention when the sideview mirror of his car plowed into him like a wrecking ball intent on castration.

Elsie screamed before Nathan ever hit the pavement. Then he landed like a ton of bricks. He heard those heels clicking toward him, heard her babbling about her foot slipping, saw her cleavage in his face as she bent over him and figured that was about as close as he'd ever get to it. He was going to die a virgin.

Then he passed out.

"Ooops!" Fauna said.

She and her sisters stood around the crystal ball, looking on, wide-eyed.

"Oh dear!" gasped Flora. "Did we kill him?"

"No, but we might have damaged something vital!" Fauna shouted. "Did you see where that bubblehead hit him?"

"He'll be all right." Merriwether stroked the crystal ball with her palm. "Aurora is on E.R. duty tonight. Now that she's finally come home, it's high time we see to the business of getting those two together."

"And not a moment too soon. I'm exhausted." Fauna fanned herself. "I vow, Merriwether, I've never seen a man so determined to get—"

"Fauna!" Flora's shocked voice and red cheeks stopped her sister's descriptive sentence.

Merri simply shook her head at the both of them. "You're overstating it, Fauna. Any man would be acting just the same."

"But he tries every night!"

"And every night we have to bring disaster crashing down on his head. You'd think he'd give up after a while, wouldn't you?" Flora asked softly, shaking her head and looking truly sorry for all the havoc they'd been forced to wreak on Nathan McBride's life.

"He isn't thinking with his brain, sisters," Fauna quipped with an impish grin.

"He just doesn't realize that he's been waiting for her all along. Er, with a little help from us. But once he does…" Flora's clasped hands pressed to her cheek, her lashes fluttering. "Oh, I wish I could be there to see it when their eyes meet across the room for the first time, and Cupid's arrow hits them right in their tender little hearts."

Fauna stifled a laugh, and snorted. "I'll admit it would be good to see that man hit withsomething besides his own car!" She and Flora burst into laughter at that, and while Merri sniffed indignantly at their irreverence, she had to battle a grin herself.

"Dr. Sortilege to E.R.," the hushed voice on the P.A. system repeated. Aurora hurriedly gulped the rest of her herbal tea and got up from the first break she'd had all night to rush down the hall to the emergency room, her senses pricking to full alertness and telling her all she needed to know.

It was not a life-threatening injury coming in. It was minor, but pretty painful to the victim. Her brain told her those things before she ever set foot inside the treatment room, just as it told her when things were not so good. It was nice, this gift she'd inherited from her ancestors. It gave her time to prepare, and more often than not, helped her make her patients well again.

She'd had the powers for too long to consider them odd. They were just a gift of heredity, like her jet-black hair and ebony eyes. Then again, she didn't broadcast the fact that she was a Witch, either. While she was at work, the gold Pentacle restedunder her white coat. But it didn't matter. Everyone in this town knew about those strange Sortilege women in the old house on the hill. She'd thought they might have forgotten while she'd been away, but no such luck. But for some reason, the whispers and gossip no longer bothered her. Maybe because she was an adult now, sure of herself, who she wasand what she was. Confident and proud of both. And maybe because of that change in attitude—or maybe because they'd done some growing up, too—the gossips were not as malicious or mean-spirited as they had been in high school.

Some of the locals looked at her oddly. Some were nervous around her, and simply avoided her. Some came to her asking for love potions or lottery numbers. But most of the longtime residents just shrugged off her family's weirdness. They'd had generations to get used to it, after all.

She stepped into the treatment room, quickly scanning the chart the nurse handed her. "Hello, Mr…" Her eyes found the name. "McBride?"

She blinked, and lifted her gaze to the man on the bed.

His eyes were closed as he lay there, hurting pretty badly, not looking back at her. But it was him. And she felt something. Some jolt. A psychic buzz. She swallowed hard and shook herself.

"Call me Nathan," he told her through gritted teeth. He turned his head toward her and opened his eyes, but they focused on the front of her lab coat instead of her face. His eyes widened with interest then, and his gaze slid down her body, over her legs to her toes, and back up again. "Call me anything you want, as a matter of fact."

"Nathan McBride?" She lifted her brows. "You're just as sleazy as you always were, I see."

He frowned, bringing his eyes up to meet hers at last. And then she saw the recognition in them. He glanced at the name tag pinned to her white coat. "Dr. Sortilege. Holy crap, Broom-Hilda's back."

"That's right," she said, and she lifted her chin and forced a smile. If no one else's opinions mattered to her anymore, then why did his lighthearted barb sting? "The little girl who used to play tag-a-long. You must remember. You said I was a pest, and that my aunts were weirdos and that I would probably grow up with warts on my nose."

Her patient's face went a shade whiter, and he licked his lips nervously. "You… have a real good memory, Aurora." He tried for a smile. "Do you hold a grudge as long?"

"Of course not," she said with a sweet smile, and then turned to a stainless steel tray full of instruments at the ready, picked up the longest, sharpest scalpel on it, and tested its edge with her thumb. "Nurse, bring in the cranial drill, will you?"

"Hey, wait a min—"

She looked at her patient and winked. The nurse, Meg, a friend of hers, burst out laughing while Nathan McBride, former jerk of the universe, sat in the bed staring from one of them to the other. "You ladies are brutal."

"No more than you were ten years ago," Aurora quipped. She handed the scalpel to Meg. "Get this sterilized, will you?"

Meg nodded and left the room. Aurora managed to stop smiling and leaned over the bed. "I guess you're hurting enough right now without me adding to it."

"Does it show?" he asked wryly. "And here I'm trying to impress you by being too manly to let a little pain bother me."

"You can't hide it from me, anyway, so don't waste the effort."

"Yeah, I forgot. You're a Witch."

"And a doctor," she reminded him, lest he forget.

"A Witch doctor? God help me."

"Watch yourself, Nathan, or you'll be sitting on a lily pad eating flies."

"Very funny." He lay back on the pillow, then eyed her. "Youwere kidding, right?"

" 'An it harm none, do what ye will,' " she quoted. "The most important line in the Witches' Rede."

"Lucky for me."

"You're damn right, it is."

He frowned at her, but she didn't elaborate. "So let's see if I have this straight," she went on. "Your date backed your Jaguar into your groin, is that about right?" She leaned over him and lifted his shirt away from his belly. He hadn't gone to pot. He had washboard abs that sent little tingles of awareness up into her fingers when she touched him there. Ignoring the shivers, she probed his abdomen gently. "Is this tender?"

"Yeah. A little bit."

She took her hand away, and held it, palm down, a fraction of an inch above his groin, and she closed her eyes.

"You preparing to grab me?" He sounded a little nervous.

She smiled slightly. "Shhhhh. Relax for a second."

He did. She felt the pain, the bruising, but nodded, reassured that the damage wasn't serious. She'd confirm her diagnosis in a more scientific manner, of course. But she always felt better knowing as soon as possible.

Opening her eyes again, she asked, "You hit your head when you landed?"

He nodded.

Aurora pushed his dark hair aside and looked at the bump on his head. She held her receptive hand over it and knew it was throbbing, but not dangerous. Mild concussion at the worst. She'd confirm that, as well, with a precautionary X ray. "You can feel better knowing there's nothing seriously wrong," she said. "Let's just be as thorough as possible, though. Don't want you suing me." And she pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then slipped her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans and began undoing them.

His hand landed atop hers instantly. "Hold on a minute!"

She couldn't pull her hand away, so she left it there. "Problem?"

"Yeah, there's a problem. What do you think you're doing?"

She smiled. "I always heard that men who drive Jaguars are trying to make up for having small genitals," she said sweetly. "I just wanted to check." His jaw dropped. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I'm examining you. I'm a doctor, Nathan. What do youthink I'm doing?"

"Ithink I'd like a doctor with a little less sarcasm, and a little more testosterone. Amale doctor, if you don't mind. And could you make him a few years older than Doogie Howser?"

She lifted her brows. "So itis true? About the small—"

"Dammit, Aurora, get me a male doctor or I'm outta here."

"You're as big a jerk now as you were ten years ago, McBride," she snapped. "And I hope your balls swell up and fall off."

"What happened to your phony line about harming none,Endora ?"

She smirked at his name-calling. "Hey, I didn't say I'd cause it, just that I'dlike it." She peeled off her latex gloves and tossed them onto his chest. "And before I go, I'll tell you what Dr. Stewart is going to tell you after a thorough exam and a few hundred dollars' worth of X rays. You probably have a mild concussion, which is amazing considering how hard that rock you call a head must be. Your family jewels will be sore for a day or so, but no damage was done. And you have a big purple bruise on your right elbow. That's going to bother you more than anything else, because you'll wince every time you bend the arm." She spun on her heel to head out the door, then stopped in her tracks and turned to face him again. "And one more thing—something Dr. Stewartwon't tell you. You're still a virgin."

He gasped. He sputtered. He stared at her as if she'd grown another head.

"Remember all this next time you feel like calling my abilities as a doctor—or as a Witch—into question, Nathan McBride."

Dr. Stewart examined him thoroughly and ordered a complete set of X rays. When all was said and done, he told Nathan that he had a mild concussion. That his groin was going to be sore but no serious damage had been done. And that the bruise to his right elbow would probably give him more trouble than any of the other injuries.

Hedidn't tell him that he was still a virgin, but Nathan didn't figure that sort of thing showed up in an X ray.

But Aurora had known. And how the hell did a skeptic like him explain that? How could she know something he'd never told another living soul?

Damn.

He felt invaded. Embarrassed. As if he had to explain or defend himself to her. It insulted his pride that she knew, that she must be thinking what she… must be thinking. And for God's sake, when had he ever given a damnwhat Aurora thought? Besides, it wasn't as if he'dchosen to be celibate. It was just that every time he got anywhere near scoring with a woman, some sort of disaster happened. It had been this way since college, and he was beginning to think it would stay this way for his entire life.

Hell, maybe he ought to join the priesthood.

It was as if he were cursed.

Cursed?

What if… She'd always hated his guts. So suppose she'd…

Nah.

He sighed and fell back on the bed. Dr. Stewart came in with release forms for him to sign, and Nathan took the pen and scratched his name across the bottom. "Tell me something, Doc, do you believe in curses?"

Dr. Stewart smiled. "I know you made her mad, son, but Aurora Sortilege would never go putting any curse on anybody. Wouldn't hurt a fly, that one. Don't be listening to gossip."

"That's easy for you to say." He shook his head. What he was thinking was really silly, because he didn't believe in that kind of crap.

"If someone put a hex on you, son, it wasn't Aurora." He winked then. "But I'd bet my last dollar she could help you get rid of it."

Nathan gaped. "You telling me youbelieve in all that… thatWitch stuff?"

Dr. Stewart drew a thoughtful breath, frowning hard. Then he sighed and sat down in the chair beside the bed, crossing one leg over the other. "Yesterday, Aurora and I were sitting in the doctors' lounge having coffee. All of the sudden, for no apparent reason, she dropped her cup on the floor." He shook his head. "Coffee all over the place. She got up and ran out of there like her chair was on fire. Next thing I knew she was pushing a crash cart down the hall. She stopped outside one of the patients' rooms… and about a second later, the man inside went into full arrest."

Nathan scanned the doctor's face to see if he was kidding. Didn't look like he was. "Did you ask her about it?"

"She said she heard the alarm going off on the man's heart monitor, but she didn't. There wasn't any alarm. We found out later that one of the nurses had left it unplugged. Damn thing never would have gone off."

Sure, and it's almost Halloween and I'll bet it's this guy's favorite holiday—next to April Fool's Day, that is.

"It wasn't the first time something like that's happened, either."

"Then youdo believe she's some kind of a Witch?"

"It's uncanny, boy. I'll tell you that much."

The man didn't seem like the practical-joking type. And Nathan got to thinking about some of the uncanny thingshe'd seen Aurora do, from the time she'd been pint-sized to a peanut.

"So… so if therewere some kind of curse on me…"

"Or even if it's just bad luck," Dr. Stewart continued, "Aurora would be the person to talk to about it. No doubt in my mind about that."

"Yeah," Nathan said. "Unless she happens to hate my guts."Or unless she's the one who cursed me in the first place . The possibility didn't seem quite so farfetched anymore.

Dr. Stewart chuckled deep in his gut as he got up and walked out of the room, shaking his head.

Well, Nathan thought, he really had nothing to lose. If he didn't figure out why the fates seemed to be conspiring to keep him from ever having sex in his life, he was going to lose his mind. And the embarrassing part—the part where he actually had to admit that he was still a virgin at twenty-nine—was already over. Aurora already knew. So maybe heshould try to get her to help him.

And maybe he should just stick hot needles into his eyes. First he had to decide which would be more unpleasant.

Chapter 2

Aurora ducked her head to miss the wind chimes that hung from every possible place on the front porch and kept the house sounding like an ice-waterfall all the time, and headed through the front door.

Aunt Flora looked up from where she'd been concentrating hard on two pink candles with heart shapes carved into their bases and rose petals scattered around them. And her athame was still in her hand.

"Sorry," Aurora whispered, pausing in her tracks. "Am I interrupting a ritual?"

"No!" Aunt Flora said, too quickly. Almost as if she had something to hide.

"Now, Auntie, it looks like a love spell to me." Aurora crooked a brow. "Hey, you aren't trying to conjure up some prince to come steal you away from us, are you?"

"Of course not, dear! Why, I would never. Oh, no, absolutely not, darling." She cleared her throat, muttered a quick, "As I will it, so mote it be," half under her breath, and snuffed her candles.

Aurora got a little queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, one that told her she was being kept in the dark about something. Before she could question Aunt Flora, however, Aunt Fauna came in from the back door, a basketful of freshly cut herbs and various roots over her arm. "Ohhh, you're home!" she exclaimed. "Merriwether, she's home!"

Aunt Merri's steps came from the second floor as she hurried to the top of the stairs. "Wait until you see what I bought you today, Aurora!" She waved the little box she held in her hand as she trotted down the stairs. Aurora winced, and quickly sent a protective wish out to her, to keep her from falling and breaking something. "I saw it and I just knew—"

"Oh, wait until you see it!"

"You'll never take it off!"

Her aunts were acting decidedly suspicious tonight. Aurora's warning bells were going off. Of course, she loved them with every cell in her body, and knew they'd never dream of harming her. But meddling was certainly not beyond them.

"Thank you, Aunt Merri," she said, taking the box warily and opening the lid. "Oh. My. Thatis beautiful." Aurora lifted the necklace from the box—a gold chain with a rose quartz stone suspended from it, and the Runic symbol for love etched onto the surface. "But, Aunt Merri, why this particular stone?"

"It spoke to me," Merri said. "Just felt right, you know. One of those impulse buys."

Aurora frowned. "You've never done anything impulsive in your life, Aunt Merri. Now why don't you girls tell me just what's going on here? Hmmm?"

They all shook their heads, muttering denials, and averting their eyes. Aurora's sense of foreboding grew stronger.

"Tell us about your day, dear."

"Oh, yes, do! Did you meet anyone interesting today?"

"Anyone new?"

She tilted her head, knew they were changing the subject, and decided to let it slide. For now. "The only new patient wasn't really new. The little brat who used to pick on me when I was younger. He grew into a bigger brat, and a chauvinist pig to boot."

"Why, whoever can you mean?" Flora asked faintly.

"Certainly not that sweet little McBride boy?" Fauna said, as Merri elbowed her in the ribs.

"Now how on earth could you know… ?"

"The cards, dear! The cards."

"I didn't know there was a Nathan McBride card in your deck, Aunt Fauna. Unless you're referring to The Fool."

"Oh, dear," Fauna said. "Then you did see the McBride boy today?"

"Only long enough to wish I hadn't," she said. "I swear I've never known a bigger jerk in my life. Demanded a male doctor. Of all the nerve…"

"Don't be too hard on him, Aurora," Aunt Merriwether advised. "Maybe he was just embarrassed."

"Or shy," Flora put in.

"Or nervous," Fauna added.

"Or an idiot," Aurora declared. "If I ever see him again, I think I'll… What? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Like what, dear?"

"Like you've done something I'm going to hate, is like what."

"Well… well, you see, we were under the impression that…" Fauna began.

"That you and Nathan McBride were old friends," Flora finished for her.

"So when his father called to say he'd heard you were back in town, and to ask how you were doing…" Merri's voice faltered. "We… well, that is, we…"

"You what?"

Merri swallowed, lifted her chin, and said with authority, "Invited him to dinner."

"Nathan and his father, that is," Fauna added quickly. "You know, his father, Daniel, he's always been kind to us. Always willing to order even the most obscure herbs, if we asked, and never once pried into what we could want with them."

"He's retired now, you know. Turned the chain over to Nathan," Flora said.

"Chain?" When Aurora had left, there had only been a handful of small drugstores.

"It's a rather impressive chain of pharmacies now, dear," Aunt Merri clarified. "Nathan has a head for business. And you mustn't be upset about this dinner. We just thought it would be nice to…"

"To be sociable," Fauna finished. Then she sighed and wiped her neon hair from her brow as if exhausted.

"When?"

"Why, tomorrow night, dear."

"Fine. I just won't be here then. I'll make something up and…"

"Oh, no you won't," Merri said, and for once her voice sounded a bit harsh, and even a little disapproving. "That would be not only deceitful, but rude, and we've raised you better than that."

"Oh, that we have," said the usually timid and soft-spoken Flora, shaking a forefinger. " 'Ever mind the Rule of Three. Three times what thou givest, returns to thee.' "

Aurora pressed her fingertips to her temples and closed her eyes. "All right, all right. I'll suffer through dinner with the idiot. But if you expect me to enjoy it, you'd better think again."

"Oh, darling, that's better. And of course you'll enjoy it. I'm sure Nathan's become a wonderful man." Merri smiled.

"No one's at his best when he ends up in an emergency room," Flora said sympathetically.

"You might be very pleasantly surprised, dear," Fauna put in.

"I'll be surprised if he has the nerve to show up," she retorted; then she made her way upstairs to her own suite of rooms to sit and ponder the possible reasons for such a terrible scourge appearing in her life right now, just when everything had been going so smoothly.

The place scared the living hell out of him.

First, it was old, and creepier than even he remembered. Then again, he'd never come all the way inside before. And the house was older now than it had been last time he'd come over here. But only by a decade.

It was Gothic in style, with tall narrow windows so ancient that the glass was thicker at the bottom of the panes than at the top. The house had been freshly painted, sure, and kept in good repair. But a weed patch that his father assured him was an herb garden took up half of the side lawn, and a dense flower garden, with a path that led to its center and enough trees and shrubs to keep that center hidden, took up most of the back. He'd always wondered what was hiding inside the depths of that garden. Then there were those wall-to-wall wind chimes lining the front porch, tinkling constantly. The place gave him the chills. He kept expecting bats to come flying out of a dormer window.

His dad had come down with a mysterious, hacking cough just before it was time to leave, and insisted it was probably his allergies acting up. He'd said Nathan had to go or the three old ladies would be insulted, and goodness only knew what would happen then.

Nathan didn't particularly want to think about what would happen then. He grinned self-consciously and reminded himself that he didn't believe in that stuff.

He rang the doorbell and it chimed with a deep and resonant tone. He grinned harder as he imagined Lurch coming to answer it.

But instead a tall, regal woman with steel-gray hair and piercing black eyes opened the door, and Nathan's smile died. "Hello, Nathan," she greeted him. "You probably don't remember me. I'm Merriwether. Do come in."

"Hello, Nathan," said another voice, this one coming from a body no bigger than a minute. She was four-eleven if he'd ever seen it, and weighed perhaps ninety pounds dripping wet. She had hair as soft and white as cotton, and the face of everybody's cookie-baking grandma. "It's so good to see you again, young man. I'm Flora, remember?"

"And I'm Fauna," called another, this one short as well, but as round as a pumpkin and with hair about the same color. This one he remembered.

"Good to see you again," he managed. "I'm sorry my father couldn't make it. He said to tell you how badly he feels for missing this." As he spoke and listened to their pat replies about being sorry that his father couldn't make it, Nathan looked past them. Butshe was nowhere in sight. There was plenty to look at, though. It smelled fantastic in here, and he spotted the source—incense burning in brass pots that looked Oriental and ancient. There were candles glowing everywhere. Mostly pink and red, he noted, wondering if the colors were significant in any way. Soft music was playing, sounding whimsical and Gaelic to him. Every window had a crystal prism suspended in front of it, and every shelf was lined with other stones—amethyst clusters and giant glittering geodes big enough for a small child to crawl inside. A tiny table sat in the window to the north, and there was a black iron cauldron sitting in its center, and various other items arranged around it: candlesticks, statuettes of mythical figures of some sort, wineglasses, an ornate silver hand mirror.

"And what is it that kept your father away, Nathan?" the tall one—Merriwether, he thought—asked.

"I think it's an allergy or something," he said, still distracted—still searching the place for Aurora, and wondering why he was. He didn't even like her. Didn't even like her type. He liked blue-eyed blondes with more bustline than brain. Not willowy raven-haired Witches with black eyes that could burn holes in solid rock. He still didn't see her. But there was a round table in the room's center with an elaborately decorated deck of oversized cards on it, and what he thought was a crystal ball in the center. Its base looked like pewter, and was made in the shape of a gnarled, clawed hand, long fingers grasping the crystal ball and holding it up.

A cold chill went up his nape.

"Oh, your father's ill?" tiny Flora asked with concern.

"Yes. Just allergies. Nothing serious. He's…" Nathan's voice trailed off. Aurora appeared at the top of the stairs, and he went utterly still. She was… man, she was mesmerizing. Okay, so maybe hedid like dark, spooky women. Maybe he'd just never realized it before. She just… she hadn't looked like this at the hospital, in that lab coat with her hair tied back and…

But now…

She came down the stairs in a black dress that hugged her arms from her wrists to her shoulders, dipped to cling to her breasts and her waist, snugged its way over her hips, and then turned into free-flowing rivers of satin that swayed around her legs when she moved. Her hair was long, very long, and gleaming in the candlelight like magic. And her eyes, they were almond shaped and more exotic than ever, lined and shadowed and as black as polished onyx.

For the life of him, Nathan couldn't figure out why she would take pains to look this good for a man she disliked as much as she disliked him. Why? He wondered if maybe Bobby Ridgeway was coming over later.

Why? For Goddess' sake, why did she go and dress up in her full-moon best for a man she didn't even like?

To punish him, that's why, she thought forcibly. To show him just what he's missing by brushing me off as too weird or too intelligent, too female or too young for his tastes. Let him see what he's missing and live the rest of his life writhing in agony over his foolish pride back at the hospital. And before, when she'd been younger, and he'd shunned her so often.

She told herself it meant nothing, that she had forgotten all about it long ago. But it was a lie. She'd adored him when she'd been a child, and he'd tossed her hero worship back into her face. Well, let him just take a good look now at what he'd rejected back then.

And if that's what she wanted, it was working, because he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.

"Aurora," he said in a choked voice.

"Hello, Nathan. How is your… elbow?"

"Still pretty sore," he said. "But amazingly enough, everything else seems to be back in working order."

"Who could have guessed?" she asked sweetly.

He lowered his head. "You could. And you did, and I was an idiot. Okay?"

She blinked twice, standing at the bottom of the staircase. "Was that an apology?"

"Maybe," he admitted, coming forward, crossing the room until he stood a foot from her, facing her. "Let's not forget, I wasn't the only one who was obnoxious in that emergency room."

"So, you're expecting an apology from me?"

He let his gaze dip lower, slowly, and brought it up to her eyes again. "I'll tell you what, Aurora. That dress is apology enough for me. What do you say we call it even?" He said it softly, for her ears alone.

She felt her face drain of color. "This dress is no apology to you, Nathan. I wore it because I'm too old to stick out my tongue and thumb my nose at you. But you're obviously too dense to get the message."

"The only message I'm getting from that number, honey, is 'come and get it.' "

"The only message this number is sending out,honey , is 'you can't have it.'"

"Hey, did I say I wanted it?"

"Your pants said it for you." She sent a meaningful glance at the changing shape behind his zipper and lifted her brows, daring him to deny it. "You were right. Everything seems to be back in working order."

It seemed he'd run out of comebacks.

She smirked, but only for a moment. It was when she saw her three aunts grabbing for their coats, and the little emergency tote-bag they kept near the door, that she felt her smugness turn to panic.

"Where do you three think you're going?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate.

"To see Daniel, dear," Merri announced calmly.

"Nathan's father, Aurora."

"He's ill. It's the least we can do."

"Yes, I have the best remedies for allergies like this," Flora added, running into the hallway where bundles of herbs hung upside-down to dry, and snatching a sprig of this and a pinch of that to take along.

"But… but… Aunt Flora, the manowns his own drugstores!"

Aunt Flora put a hand to her mouth and tittered delicately. "You're such a joker, Aurora. As if a drugstore compares to a Witch when it comes to remedies."

Aurora gave her head a shake. "Well then… what about dinner?"

"You'll have to play hostess tonight, dear," Aunt Merri chided. "It's your duty. You do right by our guest, and don't embarrass us."

"Everything's ready, Aurora," Fauna called. "It's all on the warming rack. Just take it out and eat."

"Enjoy!" Flora sang out as she headed through the door.

And that was that.

"Well," Aurora said, hands on her hips. She stared at the door they'd just exited for a long moment, then turned to face Nathan again. "I hate to tell you this, but I think we're being… fixed up."

"I thought my father's cough sounded a little overblown," he said wryly. "He must be in on it with them."

Aurora stared at him, eyes narrowing. "Was this your idea, Nathan McBride?"

"I like blue-eyed blondes. Glenda the Good Witch is my style. Morticia Addams does nothing for me."

She looked at his crotch. "Oh, I can see that. Shall we put it to the test? You want me to speak French and see what happens?"

"Go ride a broom, why don't you?"

"We don'tride our brooms, you idiot."

"Hey, don't tell me what youdo use them for. I don't think my heart can take it."

"I don't think your zipper can."

He sighed, looked at the floor, and shook his head. "Dammit, Aurora, I can't believe I came here thinking I could ask you for help when you're every bit as defensive and touchy as you ever were."

"You try growing up with half the local ignoramuses thinking you're some kind of satanic nutcase and see how defensive and touchyyou —" She blinked and stared at him. "What do you mean, you came here to ask for my help?"

"I never, ever thought you were satanic."

"I don't even believe in the devil," she told him.

"Well that's a relief. I was beginning to think you thought I was him."

"The way you teased me, back then…" she began. "I thought you were as superstitious and bigoted as…" She gave her head a shake and cut herself off.

"I was a kid. Kids are idiots sometimes. Hell, Aurora, I teasedall my friends." He frowned a little, and tilted his head. "I should have thought harder, though. I guess you took about all the teasing you could handle. My adding to it didn't help a bit, did it?"

"I don't see how anyone could think it wouldhelp at all." She blew air through her teeth. "Not that it bothered me in the least."

"Only enough so you're still angry about it."

"Do you want to eat, or what?"

"No. I want to tell you something."

She lifted her head, met his eyes, and thought he looked sincere. "What?"

"I think… I might have…" He closed his eyes briefly and clenched his jaw. "This is going to sound insane."

Frowning, she scanned his face. "Is this something physical? What do you think you have, Nathan?" The doctor in her was at full alert as she searched his face, mentally noting the healthy color of his skin, and the clarity of his eyes. Brown eyes, velvety brown, with darker stripes. Eyes that were looking into hers right now with…

She blinked and looked away.

He lowered his head. "Yeah, it's physical all right, but not the way you think. I think I might have some kind of curse clinging to me, Aurora. Does that sound crazy?"

She took a step away from him, watching his face, wary of a trick to make her look foolish. "A curse? I didn't think you believed in that sort of thing."

"I don't… do you?"

"Of course."

"So… did you?"

She frowned up at him. "Did I wh—" She opened her eyes wider and lifted her brows. "You want to know if I hexed you, Nathan?"

He only nodded.

She closed her eyes to hide the flash of pain she felt. Unexpected, unreasonable, but real. "I always thought…" Biting her lip, she shook her head and turned away.

"Aurora?" He touched her shoulder, bringing her gently around to face him again. "You always thought… what?"

"That you were the only one who wasn't afraid of me, Nathan. The only one who didn't seem to think that being a Witch made me some kind of monster." She shook her head. "I guess I was wrong."

His brows furrowed when she felt the barest hint of moisture burning in her eyes. He leaned closer, staring at it there, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"For the record, Nathan, I would cut off my hand before I'd hurt anyone. I don't even kill spiders, for Goddess' sake."

He looked slightly ashamed. But he offered no apology. "Hell, if you had a Witch who hated your guts living around the corner, combined with the kind of luck I've had lately, you'd probably think—"

"I'd think of asking for some help," she said. She walked past him into the dining room and sat down at the little round table with the crystal ball and the cards. "So what makes you think it's a curse? Maybe the things that have been happening to you are for the best, did you ever think of that? A lot of people think they're having bad luck… missing planes or appointments or having their cars break down—when in fact, the delays and such are really protecting them from disasters."

"Yeah, well this delay isn't saving me from anything but pleasure."

"Really?" She lifted her brows. "So you really believe it's a curse?"

He came closer, but didn't sit. "The evidence sort of makes it hard not to believe it."

"What evidence?" she asked him.

He sighed and met her eyes. "I can't get laid to save my life."

Aurora bit her lip. She gritted her teeth. She held her breath. Nothing worked. She burst out laughing uncontrollably. And she regretted it instantly when his face darkened with furious anger, and he whirled around and slammed out of the house without a backward glance.

Her laughter died slowly as she stared after him. And then she titled her head to one side, frowning. "My Goddess," she whispered. "He was serious." She went after him, called his name out into the night, but he was already slamming his car door and roaring the engine.

She thought about making it stall so she could go and apologize. But messing with his car wasn't a good idea, and it might be considered manipulative magick, not letting him leave when he clearly wanted to. A Witch mustn't mess with another person's free will. No manipulation. Then again, she wasn't supposed to hurt anyone either. And she had a hollow feeling that maybe she just had… badly.

Chapter 3

"Aurora Rose Sortilege, whatdid you do?" Aunt Merriwether looked very upset as she stood there with her hands on her hips, glaring.

"I didn't mean it," she said, and she knew she sounded like a six-year-old. "He was so obnoxious. He made me angry, and then he told me something and I thought… well, I didn't think, but I… well, I laughed at him." She drew a breath, cringing beneath the shocked expressions on her aunts' faces. "I know I shouldn't have done it, but it just came out. And then I realized he was sincerely asking for help, but by then it was too late. He was furious, and stormed out of here like the hotheaded childish brat he is."

"And I can't say that I blame him," Merriwether retorted.

"Oh, Aurora, men have such easily wounded pride, you know. You shouldn't have laughed." Fauna wrung her hands as if this were the most horrible of circumstances.

"Look, don't worry about it. I never liked him and he never liked me and we'll probably never see each other again, so—"

"I'm afraid that won't do, sweetheart." Flora said sadly. She looked at the others. "I think it's time we told her."

"Iknew it! What have you three been keeping from me?"

Tiny, delicate-looking Flora faced her, while the other two waved their hands wildly as if to tell her to keep quiet. "Darling, there's a secret the Sortilege Witches keep—the secret of our powers. The reason our magick is so much stronger than that of most other practitioners of The Craft."

Merriwether and Fauna stopped gesturing and frowned, as if they had no more clue what she was getting at than Aurora did.

"I thought…" Aurora said in confusion. "I thought it was just the bloodline. The power of our ancestors, and all that…"

"No dear. There's more to it than that. A secret you must vow never to tell… unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I never would have told it to you, dear, except perhaps on my deathbed. But now you must know."

Aurora leaned forward, brows lifting high. This sounded so… so dire.

"Every Sortilege Witch is destined to lose her powers, her gifts, her magick—on the day she turns twenty-seven, my child."

Aurora drew back as if her petite aunt had slapped her. She'd be twenty-seven in a little over twenty-four hours. At midnight on Halloween!Tomorrow ! "No!"

"Oh, yes. I'm afraid it's true."

"My… myhealing !"

"Well, you can still practice medicine, dear, but—"

"No. This can't be, Aunt Flora, please!" Panic was making her heart beat wildly in her chest. She couldn't lose her healing gift. Suppose some injured child was brought in, like the one last month with the ruptured spleen, who'd been wheeled past her in the hall after the physician on call had missed the diagnosis. He'd have died if her special sense hadn't told her…

"What can I do?" She gripped her aunt's shoulders, and searched her face. "There's something. Yes, there must be! You still have your magick. All of you do!"

She turned to Merriwether and Fauna, but they only shook their heads and nodded at Flora to go on.

"Yes, child. There's one way you can keep your magick. But I'm afraid you're not going to like it very much."

"I don't care! I'll do anything. Tell me."

Flora cleared her throat. "You have to have… er…relations … with a man before your twenty-seventh birthday, dear. And… the… the man, has to be… pure."

"Pure?"

"Unsullied," Fauna said helpfully.

"Oh for heaven's sakes," Merri put in. "A virgin. The man has to be a virgin.Now do you understand why we're so upset with you for driving Nathan off the way you did?"

Aurora stood still, gave her head a shake, but they were all still there, still looking at her expectantly.

"That has to be the most ridiculous bunch of…" She stared, wide-eyed, from one of them to the other. "But… you have to be joking. I mean, it makes no sense. I've never heard of anything so… so bizarre!"

"We're not joking, darling," Flora denied gently. "So I suggest you begin making amends with that young man. And the sooner… the better."

The reality of it hit her then. They were telling her she had two choices—lose her powers, or sleep with Nathan McBride.

"Wait," she said, racking her brain. "There must be some other male in town who's still a virgin."

"Of course, dear. Over at the high school, perhaps, but they'd arrest you for that."

"Aunt Merri! I didn't mean—" She pushed her hands through her hair and began pacing. What was she going to do? What in the world was she going to do? "There has to be another virgin! Anyone but him!"

"Even in our day, we had trouble finding them, child," Merriwether explained. "It's long been tradition for… yes, for the older women of the family to see to it that one young man remained… chaste, so that when the time came…"

Aurora's eyes widened until she felt they would burst. "It wasyou ? You three are the ones who hexed Nathan?"

"We didn'thex him, dear. We just… interfered a bit. A little binding spell. A little spying in the crystal. A little…"

"Aunt Merri, you ran him over with his own car! I wouldn't call that little!"

"Thatwas anaccident ! We'd never hurt the boy… well, not deliberately."

Aurora pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes. "I'm going to my rooms," she said. "I have to meditate."

"Flora, that was positively ingenious," Merri exclaimed, hugging her small sister hard. "How did you ever come up with it?"

"Well, she was going to blow the whole thing. We couldn't let that happen, could we?"

Fauna shook her head. "It was awfully mean, though. And where did you come up with that deadline? By her birthday?"

"If we don't hurry, that young man will kill himself trying to get past our spells to get… well, you know."

"Halloween's a good date anyway," Merri said practically. "It's going to work out perfectly. You picked the one thing she would never risk losing—her healing gift. It was brilliant."

"But poor Aurora. This isn't going to be easy for her. And I hate that we had to lie to her like that," Flora fretted.

"We'll tell her the truth later. She'll understand. And she won't mind, once she falls in love with Nathan."

Fauna, though, was still shaking her head. She paced to the table, picked up her favorite Tarot deck, and drew a single card. "Two of Swords. Ladies, you're forgetting. Our divinations told us Nathan was to be the father of Aurora's little girl. But not that they'd ever fall in love. There's a good chance they won't."

"Not fall in love?" Flora asked in dismay.

"Have a child and not be together?" Merri added.

"It's possible."

Merri wrung her hands and began to pace. "Oh, my. Oh, dear. Wecan't have that."

Aurora didn't sleep all night. She couldn't even lie still. Mostly, she paced as various scenarios played out in her mind. This couldn't be true. It was too ludicrous to be true. Her aunts must be playing some horribly cruel trick on her. But why? They were eccentric, yes. And meddlesome. But this…

Maybe this was just a matchmaking scheme gone too far. Maybe they were just trying to set her up with the man they perceived to be perfect for her.

Perfect for her? Nathan McBride?

She groaned softly and paced some more. She supposed it was possible they were matchmaking.

But what if they weren't? What if she really would lose her healing gift?

Closing her eyes, Aurora realized she couldn't risk that. Even sleeping with Nathan would be better than that. And besides, she'd only have to do it once. Right? Just one night with Nathan, and she could relax. She grimaced and shuddered a little. One night with Nathan. Maybe if she got really drunk first…

For just a moment, she pictured Nathan trying to rid himself of his virginity all these years, with her aunts constantly interfering. The thought made her smile, and then made her laugh softly. Poor Nathan. No wonder he thought he was cursed.

But this wasn't funny, and her laughter turned sour. She didn't have any choice here. She was going to have to make nice with Nathan. She was going to have to… she bit her lip and made a face…seduce him. Oh, Goddess, if this did turn out to be a trick she was going to strangle those aunts of hers!

Meanwhile, though, she was just going to have to straighten her spine, grit her teeth, and get through this thing. She was strong. She was a Sortilege Witch, for goodness' sake. She could do it.

Unless, of course, Nathan wasn't willing.

Nathan, twenty-nine and still a virgin. So frustrated he'd actually made himself come to her for help. Mercy, he'd be more than willing.

Chapter 4

It was Halloween, and Nathan had decided to take the day off and sleep in for a change. Hell, he'd earned it. Last night's humiliation had taken quite a lot out of him. Not to mention that he was still a bit sore—mostly that elbow, though. The rest of him was already back to normal. Not that it mattered, he supposed. The parts of him that were better would probably never see much use, anyway.

He'd like to strangle Aurora Sortilege. Coldhearted snake of a woman.

He was plodding through the apartment in his boxers, heading for his first cup of coffee, when the doorbell sounded. Pushing both hands through his hair, he stopped in midplod and turned. Probably his father. He'd promised to do some work at the house today, hadn't he? He was going to mow the lawn and take a look at that sticky window in the back.

He strode to the door and yanked it open, only to see Aurora standing on the other side. She looked at him. Huge ebony eyes, wide and a little uncertain. Satiny hair framing her face.

He took a single step backward and started to close the door.

"Hold on! I brought a peace offering!" She held up a big white bakery box, and he caught a whiff of fresh doughnuts. Blueberry filling, if he wasn't mistaken. His favorite. He wondered for a minute if she knew that because he'd told her, or because she'd been reading his mind.

Hell, no. If she could read his mind, she wouldn't be here without an armed bodyguard.

He pulled the door wider again. "What's this about, Aurora? What are you up to?"

This time her almond gaze slid from his, traveling slowly downward, and he squirmed a little, realizing he was standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers. Her eyes widened and she jerked them up again. "Maybe this was a bad idea." It was her turn to take a step backward.

He reached out fast, not quite sure why he did it, but sure enough, his hand was wrapped around her wrist and she was looking slightly alarmed.

He shook his head and let go. "Come on in, Aurora. Rest assured, if I get the slightest urge to try anything, my apartment will catch fire. You're perfectly safe with me."

She lowered her gaze quickly. Guiltily? What the hell… ?

Sighing in resignation, she came in. He closed the door. "There's fresh coffee in the kitchen," he told her as her eyes once again slipped lower. "I suppose I'd better put some clothes on. You sure as hell aren't here to see me naked."

As he turned to go, she muttered something that sounded like, "A lot you know," and he spun around frowning at her, and asked, "What's that?"

"Nothing," she told him quickly. "Go ahead. Get dressed."

There was something different about her, he realized while he was searching her face. Something more than just the fact that she seemed nervous and less hostile than usual. And then it hit him. She was wearing more makeup than he'd seen her wear before. Subtle, but there, shadowing those black eyes with mystery. Clusters of silver moons and golden stars dangled from her ears, and he thought he caught a whiff of exotic perfume mingling with the coffee and doughnut aromas. He looked her over more thoroughly than he had before, his curiosity piqued. She wasn't dressed for the hospital. Short black skirt and a semisheer blouse to match. He could see the dark sports bra she wore underneath. The nylons were black, too. And the shoes were open toed, with heels four inches high.

What the hell was she doing here, dressed like that?

He took a step toward her, forgetting for a second that she was the woman he'd been fantasizing about murdering, and entertaining a few more pleasant fantasies instead.

Her eyes met his and widened. "I th-thought you wanted to get dressed," she stammered.

He stopped, the fantasy shattered. Who was he kidding? It wasn't going to happen. Hell, as much as he disliked her, he didn't think he wanted it to. No matter how deprived he was. He shook his head and turned to go into his bedroom.

When he came back, he found her in the kitchen, sitting at his small round table, staring into space with an unfocused look on her face, and stirring her coffee into a small caramel-colored whirlpool. The box of doughnuts sat in the middle of the table, unopened.

Nathan walked past her, poured himself a cup, and sat down opposite her. She seemed to pull herself together, and looked at him. "You didn't shave."

"Didn't know it was required," he responded. "I never shave on my day off."

"Oh."

He ran one hand over his stubble. Hell, some women found the unshaven look sexy. Or… so he'd thought. It looked to him like it just made this one nervous. More nervous than she'd already been.

"So are you going to tell me what you're doing here dressed to kill, Aurora, or am I supposed to guess?"

She started, and glanced down at her attire. "What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

"Nothing."

"Then why—"

"What are you doing in my kitchen, Aurora?"

She licked her lips. Drew a breath. Stirred faster. "I wanted to apologize. For last night."

Aurora? Apologize? Tohim ?

"I shouldn't have laughed at you. I just… I didn't realize you were serious, you know? You're always teasing me. I half expected you to follow it up with some lewd proposition or smart remark."

He didn't say anything—just sat there, watching her, waiting for her to cut to the chase.

"I wasn't laughingat you, Nathan, I was laughing with you. I thought you were joking—about the curse, not the… other thing. I mean, I know you. I figured if you'd been celibate all this time it was because you had a good reason to want to be. I mean, come on.Look at you. Any woman would want…" She clamped her jaw as if to stop herself, and her eyes widened.

Nathan felt himself smile, just a little. So she did like the unshaven look after all, did she?

"That's not the part I have trouble with." He took a long, slow sip of the hot coffee, then lowered the cup. "Them wanting me, I mean. But something always happens. Just like this last episode with what's-her-name…" He stopped talking and shook his head. "Why the hell am I even discussing this with you?"

"Because I can help you," she said. He met her eyes. She looked away, reaching for a doughnut he had a feeling she didn't want.

"I doubt that." He watched her face. "I don't know why I thought of asking you in the first place, Aurora. You know damned well I don't believe in your hocus-pocus bullshit."

Her eyes narrowed, and anger reddened her cheeks. Her head came up fast, and her lips parted to deliver the scathing comeback he fully expected.

But it never came. She caught herself, drew a breath, closed her mouth.

"You can at least let me try."

Nathan leaned back in his chair, frowning at her. Now this was one hell of an interesting turn of events. Since when did she resist an opportunity to slam him? "How?"

"Well… this woman who ran over you… you don't even remember her name."

"So?" He reached for his coffee, took another sip.

"So… have they all been like that? Women you barely knew, just wanted to sleep with?"

He pursed his lips and thought about it. "Yeah, pretty much."

She shrugged, a delicate lift of one shoulder. "So maybe that's the problem. Maybe you're subconsciously sabotaging yourself because you know you don't really want to sleep with a stranger."

His frown grew. "You sound more like a shrink than a Witch."

She tilted her head. "Maybe you'd be okay if your first time could be with someone… someone you know. Someone… you've known for a long time."

"Yeah, right. Like who?" He took a big gulp of coffee this time. Bitter and black and strong, just the way he liked it.

"Like me."

The coffee spewed from his mouth like a geyser, showering the table, the doughnuts, and the front of that sexy blouse she was wearing. The cup fell to the floor, spilling what was left. And Nathan bent over the table choking on the small amount he'd managed to swallow.

Aurora came around the table to pound on his back, which any doctor should know was totally illogical, but was the instinctive reaction anyway.

He drew a few wheezing breaths and managed to sit up straight again, as he lifted his head and stared into her eyes. She was joking. She must have been joking.

She stared back at him, dead serious.

"Hell, you're not joking, are you?"

"I…" She took her hand off his back, and shrugged. "I was just trying to help. If it seems so ludicrous to you, then just forget it."

She turned around and headed for the door.

He leaped out of his chair as what might be his only chance at sex seemed about to flee. "Wait a minute! Hold on, for crying out loud."

She stopped, her back to him. And he stopped, too, looking her up and down from behind, liking what he saw, and shaking his head. This was too strange.

"You took me by surprise, that's all. Look, if you're willing… well, hell, Aurora, I'd be nuts to say no."

He saw her stiffen her back, square her shoulders, and slowly turn to face him, looking like Joan of Arc turning to face the stake. "All right then."

"All right then?"

She nodded, her face grim, and lifted trembling hands to the tiny buttons at the front of her blouse. "Let's get this over with."

Nathan stood there, feeling as if she'd just dumped ice water on him. "I can tell you're really looking forward to this."

"Don't get any ideas, Nathan. This is nothing personal." She unbuttoned another button. And then another. Crisp and efficient, she removed the blouse and stood there in a sports bra and a miniskirt, looking like every man's fantasy.

"So you don't really want me," he said flatly.

"Of course not."

"You're just doing this as a favor."

"Naturally." She reached behind her to unzip the skirt, pushed it down over her hips, and stepped out of it when it slid to the floor. The nylons were not panty hose—they were stockings, black and silky and held up by lacy red garters. The panties she wore were red, too, and skimpy. And her belly was smooth and tight, and her breasts round and firm behind that black scrap of spandex that covered them. He wished he liked her at least a little bit.

He swallowed hard. It looked as if she'd come here for the sole purpose of bedding him. It made him nervous as hell. "And what do you get out of this?"

She shrugged again. "Nothing you need to know about. Are you going to stand there gawking or get naked?"

Good question. Nathan wasn't sure he wanted a woman who didn't want him back. But… what if she did? "Come here, Aurora."

He saw the alarm flash in her eyes, followed by resignation and stoic resolve. She stepped closer, then still closer, like the village virgin stepping up to the mouth of the volcano.

Nathan slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her against him. She was warm, trembling slightly. He bent his head and touched her lips with his. She gasped and drew away.

He pulled her close again. "Come on, Aurora. If you're afraid to even kiss me, how do you expect to do anything else?"

"I'm… n-not afraid."

"No?"

She shook her head.

"Prove it then. Kiss me like you mean it. Maybe even pretend to enjoy it." He didn't give her time to answer. He kissed her again.

It was slow, her reaction. Her lips relaxed bit by bit as he worked them, and even parted a little. Her arms went around him, palms pressed flat to his back, softly. Nathan touched her lips with his tongue, traced their shape lightly, then slid between them.

And she shivered.

A delicious little shiver. It made him shiver a little himself.

He cupped her bottom with his hands and pulled her hard to him, arched his hips so that he pressed tight into her, bent her backward, and proceeded to kiss the living hell out of her.

And surprise of surprises, she started kissing him right back. He felt her hands moving upward, threading into his hair—felt her body press against his. She tipped her head back and opened her mouth to him, and her tongue danced with his and tangled and fought.

He lifted his head slowly, staring down into her face. "I can't believe it," he said softly. Her eyes were glittering, her face flushed, her lips parted as short, shallow little breaths rushed in and out between them. "You want me. You little fraud, you've wanted me all along."

"In your dreams," she whispered in a voice so sexy it sounded like an endearment.

He let his arms fall to his sides and stepped away from her. "You're a liar."

"I—" She followed him with her eyes as he bent to pick up her blouse, then her skirt, and turned to hold them out to her. "What… ?"

"Put your clothes on, Aurora. I don't accept pity sex, so if that's what this is, you can forget it." It wasn't, though. He knew damn well it wasn't. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he wasn't going to do her unless she admitted it.

"But—"

"But nothing. I know you want me. And if you're honest with yourself, you know it, too. So why don't you just come back when you're ready to admit that, and then we'll see."

Her eyes rounded, gleaming with a slow burning anger and maybe just a hint of the humiliation he'd felt last night when she'd laughed in his face. Good.

"You arrogant, egotistical,stupid —"

"Yeah, yeah."

She pulled on her blouse in angry, jerky movements, and yanked the skirt up in much the same way. "You're going to regret this, Nathan McBride!"

She spun and slammed out of the apartment.

"Hell, Aurora," he whispered after she'd gone. "I already do."

Chapter 5

Aurora couldn't believe it. She was humiliated. She was disgusted. She was…

She was turned on.

By Nathan McBride, for Goddess' sake!

It wasn't as if she were some blushing, clueless virgin being assuaged by unfamiliar urges, either. She'd had men before. In college, in med school. Not many, but enough to know her way around.

So why had a single kiss from the man she'd spent her entire life detesting sent her senses spinning out of control? Why did it feel as if he'd made love to her more thoroughly than any man ever had, when all he'd done was kiss her?

Why had he turned her down?

"I'm pathetic," she whispered.

She'd made a fool of herself with Nathan just now, and she kicked herself for it all the way home. But as she walked up the front steps in the early-morning breeze, she knew that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was that she still had to make him sleep with her. Somehow. She had to. And she had to do it before this day ended. Because today was Halloween. At midnight tonight she turned twenty-seven. There was no getting around it. She had to sleep with him.

But if that meant admitting to the creep that she might have decided it wouldn't be a totally revolting experience, it would never happen. She'd die before she'd do that.

She stood there, not wanting to walk in and face her aunts, debating whether she could get away with sneaking off for the day, when the front door burst open. Aunt Merri stood there, her face chalk-white, her eyes wide.

"Aurora! Thank goodness! We've been calling…" Her voice trailed off and she blinked at moisture gathering in her eyes.

Something terrible was happening. She knew it with every cell in her, and not just because of her aunt's stricken face.

Flora. It's Aunt Flora.

"Where is she? What happened?" Aurora followed quickly as Merriwether turned to hurry back inside.

Aunt Flora lay on the sofa, looking for all the world as if she were sound asleep. It was only Aurora's keen healing sense that told her otherwise.

"We can't wake her up," Fauna whispered, looking up into Aurora's eyes, her own red-rimmed and puffy. "She just came in here, lay down, and closed her eyes. And now we can't wake her up."

Aurora stared down at her beloved, fragile aunt, lying so still, and her heart tripped over itself in her chest. Vaguely she heard squealing tires as a car skidded to a stop out front, and then heavy steps thudded into the living room.

"Aurora?"

She turned. Nathan stood braced in the doorway, looking worried. "How did you—" she began.

"I called him, looking for you," Aunt Merri interrupted. "But you'd already left."

"Never mind that," Fauna said, and her voice was a plea. "Aurora, what's wrong with her? What—"

"I don't know." Her hands trembling, Aurora reached to her tiny aunt's throat to feel her pulse, soft and too slow. Her breaths were slow, too. And shallow. Her skin was clammy to the touch. Her Aunt Flora… her precious Flora. So fragile, even in the best of health. "I… I can't…" Aurora battled tears, but they came anyway.

And then she felt Nathan's hands on her shoulders, a gentle squeeze. "Merriwether, call the hospital and tell them we're bringing her in. Fauna, will you get us a blanket? It's still chilly outside."

The two nodded and scurried to obey the calm orders he gave. And his hands were still on Aurora's shoulders, so he must feel her sobs.

"You can help her, Aurora. You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment."

"What do you know about my emotions, Nathan?"

"Nothing. But I know what I saw when I was sixteen and hit that red-tailed hawk with my Mustang. You remember?"

She closed her eyes. How could she forget? It had been the first time she'd actually tapped into this power she'd been born with. She opened her eyes and looked at Nathan. "You don't believe in my… 'hocus-pocus bullshit.' Isn't that what you called it?"

"So maybe I lied." He was kneeling now, beside the sofa, hands still on her shoulders. "And maybe it doesn't matter what I believe. It's what you believe that counts, here. So pull yourself together, Aurora. Your aunt needs you right now."

Something passed into her. Some calming, strengthening energy flowed, and she was too in touch with the vibrations around her not to be fully aware of it. The warm force moved from Nathan's hands, into her body where he touched her, and it filled her.

His own power. The power he didn't even know he had. Still alive in his blood and somehow infusing her with courage. She closed her eyes, and he started to move his hands away from her. But she caught them with her own and held them to her shoulders, and felt the energy building until she brimmed with it. She'd drawn in before the powers of Mother Earth and Father Sky and even the energies of the moon to empower her magick. But never the essence of another human being…

She pulled the power into her, centering it, feeling the pulsing golden glow of it in her solar plexus. And then she took Nathan's hands away and turned to her aunt. She lifted her hands, palms down, and moved them slowly, hovering a hair's breadth above Flora's small body, head to toe, feeling her aura, searching for the invader that was making her aunt so ill.

And finding it. A red throb, pulsing against her palm from Flora's left ankle.

Quickly, Aurora grasped Flora's ankle, pushing up the leg of her pants, bending closer.

"Aurora?" Nathan asked.

"Snake bite," she whispered, and she spotted the tiny marks and the red swelling around them.

"But… we don't have any venomous snakes around here. Are you sure it's—"

"Rattlers. We have rattlers. Not many, but every once in a while…" Her senses told her she was right. "Aunt Merri," she called, louder now, and her aunt poked her head in from the kitchen, the phone still held to her ear. "Tell them to get some antivenin. It was a rattlesnake. And then come to the hospital. We have to hurry." As she spoke she was yanking the silk scarf from Flora's head and twisting it around the leg, above the bite.

"Get her to the car, Nathan," she said softly. "You drive."

He didn't believe it. Okay, he'd told her he did, but he'd only said it… hell, he didn't know why he'd said it. To snap her out of her momentary panic, he supposed. To give her some kind of strength so she'd do what needed doing.

And oddly enough, it had worked. When he'd picked up the phone after she'd stormed out of his apartment—when he'd heard her aunt's frightened voice on the other end—he'd had this feeling that he should come over here. That Aurora… needed him. Stupid. Ridiculous, really.

But then he'd touched her, and it was almost as if she really had. As if his hands on her shoulders, his being there with her, had helped her somehow. As if she were drawing something from him…

He shook his head and paced the waiting room some more. He'd driven like a maniac to get here while she'd worked on the snake bite in the backseat. He'd slowed down once—only once, and she'd snapped at him for it.

"The light's red, Aurora—I have to—"

She'd glanced over his shoulder, waved a hand toward the light. Green. It had turned red two seconds ago, but when she did—whatever the hell she'd done—it turned green. "Don't worry about the lights," she'd told him. "Just drive."

He hadn't hit another red light all the way to the hospital. Just roared right up to the red ones without even slowing down, and every last one turned green before he got to it.

He frowned slightly, glancing toward the doors to the treatment room where Aurora and her aunt Flora were. "Weird," he muttered.

Merriwether and Fauna came running in, rushing up to him, wide eyes full of questions. He opened his mouth to tell them he didn't know anything yet, wishing he could say something more reassuring, but before he spoke, the doors opened. Aurora stepped out, leaned back against the door she had closed behind her, and met their eyes one by one. She nodded and smiled tiredly to reassure them of dainty Flora's well-being.

God, she looked wiped out.

"She's going to be okay," she said. "You can go in…"

She never finished. Her two aunts rushed her, nudging her gently aside and hurrying in to see their sister, the doors banging closed behind them.

Nathan took a step toward Aurora. "What about you?" he asked her gruffly. "You going to be okay?"

She smiled weakly, nodded once, and sank toward the floor as if her legs had just melted beneath her. Nathan lunged, grabbing her before she landed and pulling her into his arms to keep her upright. She only leaned against him as if she were made of water, so he turned her and scooped her up, carried her into the first empty room he came to, and lowered her to the bed there.

She didn't pass out. She was conscious, shaking her head, blinking. "I'm okay. Really, I'm—"

"The hell you are." He kept her from sitting up by gently pressing her down to the pillows. "Just lie down for a minute and tell me what happened."

She did lie down; she closed her eyes, then closed them tighter, and a tear slipped from beneath them to run slowly down her cheek. "I almost lost her. For the love of the Universe, Nathan, I almost lost her."

The tears came then, fast and furious, and she sobbed so hard it broke his heart to see it. He sat on the edge of the bed, gathered her small body close to his, held her hard against him, and felt her trembling in his arms. "But you didn't. She's okay, Aurora. You saved her life. I've never seen anything like what you did today."

Her arms crept around him and she clung there, crying. "But if… if I hadn't known what was wrong…"

"You did know," he said softly. "I don't know how, but you did. And she's going to be okay now."

"I know," she whispered. "I know, but…"

He straightened away from her, but she clung. "Hold me, Nathan. I need you."

He held her. He couldn't believe what she'd just said, but he'd heard it, loud and clear. She needed him. Holy crap. She was so soft, so vulnerable, so tortured right now. And Nathan was overwhelmed with the need to make it better.

God, how had he ever thought he disliked Aurora Sortilege? Right now, he didn't think he'd ever want to hold anyone else.

I need you.

"I'm here for you, then," he told her. "Aurora, I'm right here, okay?" He stroked her hair. "Anything you need, you just say the word and I'll do it."

She sniffed, sat up a little straighter, wiped at her eyes, and stared into his. "I hope you mean that." Her voice was hoarse.

He smiled gently at her, as he reached up to brush his thumb over her tear-stained cheeks. "Hell, Aurora, it surprises me as much as you, but I do. I mean it."

"You don't even like me."

He shrugged. "You were never my number one fan, either, as I recall." She lowered her gaze. He hooked his forefinger under her chin, lifting her head until she looked at him again. "But what if we forget all that?"

She frowned, searching his face. "Can we? Can we really do that?"

"Hell, Aurora, I think we already have." He smoothed her hair away from her face. "I like you now."

She closed her eyes, almost as if she felt guilty. "You saved Aunt Flora's life," she said softly.

"All I did was drive. You're the one who—"

"No." She opened her eyes and looked right into his. "You did it, Nathan. I was standing there falling apart, and you… you helped me. You knew it. You felt it, too, didn't you?"

Nathan battled a shiver. "I felt… something. I still don't know what it was."

Aurora nodded, but said nothing. After a moment, she pushed herself up straighter. "I should go, see about Aunt Flora, talk to—"

"I want to see you, Aurora." He blurted it without even realizing he was going to. And then he added, "Tonight."

She bit her lower lip. "I don't know…"

"Because you still don't like me?" he asked, only half kidding.

"No," she whispered, and she reached out and touched his face. "Because I do."

Chapter 6

Aurora paced the house, wringing her hands. This whole thing would have been easier if she'd kept on hating Nathan. But now…

Now, she liked him. And maybe she always had. And maybe it was a little more thanlike that she felt for him, and had been all along.

And so she was going to use him. Sleep with him for the sole purpose of preserving her powers. She felt like a slug.

But what choice did she have? Suppose something like this happened after tonight, after she lost the gift? Suppose she was unable to help one of her precious aunts when they needed her? Or one of her patients?

Oh, what was she going to do?

She couldn't eat. Aunt Flora was spending the night in the hospital, just as a precaution. Aunt Merri and Aunt Fauna refused to leave her side. They insisted on spending the night with their youngest sister. Aurora wasn't worried about them, not even Flora. She was fine. The three of them were probably organizing a senior slumber party and ordering pizza by now.

Tonight was Halloween. At midnight she would turn twenty-seven. She had to make a decision, and make it fast.

Looking skyward, Aurora whispered, "I need help. I don't know what to do."

And like the whisper of a breeze, she heard, "Yes, you do."

"Yes," she said softly. "I do."

An hour later, Aurora sat outside bathed in moonlight. The circular spot in the center of her aunts' flower and shrub garden was sacred ground. They'd made it so, and so it was, surrounded by blossoms—this late in the fall, mostly oranges and yellows, sunflowers, marigolds, and daisies. She reclined on the grassy ground in the center, where a large flat stone of dark granite held court. She lit the candles she'd placed on the stone, then the incense. And then she rose and lifted her arms out to the sides, head tipped back. Slowly, she drew her arms in again, crossing them over her chest, lowering her head.

Aurora stood still for a moment, feeling her energies gathering, ready to do her bidding. She opened her palms, cupped in front of her, and visualized a tiny ball of pulsing white light swirling in her hands. A ball of purity and goodness and power. A ball where only positive forces could exist, and where time and space did not. A meeting place between the worlds. When she couldfeel it there, when she couldsee her ball of light, she parted her hands and let it fall to the ground. And when it hit, it exploded. The bubble of white light expanded on impact, filling the tiny spot in the center of the garden, and surrounding Aurora completely. Above and below, continuing beneath the earth's surface. Around and about, creating a place of magick.

This done, Aurora sat down. "And now," she whispered, "Ancient and Shining Ones, tell me what I must do." got no answer at the front door. He hadn't really expected to at this time of the night, but he couldn't sleep. He was worried. Not about Flora. That eccentric old Witch would be just fine. He hadn't left the hospital until he'd been assured of that. He wasn't even all that worried about Aurora, though he had been for a short while. Falling apart in his arms wasn't exactly typical behavior on her part. Then again, neither was offering to sleep with him.

Couldn't quite get that part off his mind, could he?

Figured. He was nothing if not obsessed.

Well, he'd tried the door, and she hadn't answered, so either she was sound asleep or she didn't want to see him. He turned to go, then paused as a stray breeze carried a whiff of something smoky and exotic to his nose. He inhaled, frowned. There. A thin tendril of smoke, and it almost seemed to crook like a finger, beckoning him to follow. Dumb idea, of course, but as it receded around the corner of the old house, he followed it anyway.

And then he came to a stop in the backyard. Because there was a glow coming from the hidden center of that mysterious flower garden. A flickering dancing glow, as if of candles… and something else.

He walked closer, slowly, and for some reason he couldn't even begin to understand, he followed the path that had frightened him as a kid—followed its twisting, snakelike course, to a place at the center, a clearing amid the greenery, in the shape of a perfect circle. And he stood there, frowning at the sight of Aurora in its center. She wore some sort of robe, hooded and black and gleaming like satin. She'd been sitting when he'd first spotted her, but she was standing now, moving in graceful patterns that seemed almost like a dance. The moonlight beamed down on her. But the light was more than that, as well. It seemed to surround her—a shimmering, surreal kind of opalescence bathing her like the glow of a spotlight. Or was it radiating outward from somewhere inside her?

She went still, head tilted as if she were listening to something. Or someone. And then she turned, and she saw him there.

He held those black eyes of hers, unable to look away. And he could have sworn someone gave him a shove from behind to get his feet moving. He walked up to the very end of the path through the flowers, and stopped at the edge of that circle of light that surrounded her, not quite sure why, not even sure it was real.

She smiled very softly, as if she approved of something he'd done. She didn't say a word, just came forward and knelt down, pointing her finger at the ground near his right foot. She rose, tracing an arch in the air, up one side of him, over his head, and down the other. And damned if it didn't seem to him that the odd glow, the one that couldn't be real, vanished in the spot she'd outlined. It was like a… a doorway.

She took a step backward, still not speaking. He swallowed hard, not quite sure what he was getting himself into. A little bit afraid.

This time he wassure someone shoved him. A hard hand seemed to slam into his back, and he lurched through the imaginary doorway, swinging his head around to see who was back there. But there was no one. And the hairs on his nape were beginning to stand upright and bristle with electricity.

Aurora seemed unperturbed, though. She moved past him to the spot he'd just come through, knelt again, and drew with her finger… a line this time, right to left, along the bottom of that doorway that wasn't really a doorway.

And the glow filled the area once again. Nathan blinked and rubbed at his eyes, but it wasn't going away. This spot, this one circular area, looked different from everything else around it. And itfelt different, too. Warmer. Even a hint stuffy. Like he was inside instead of out.

Dumb.

"Take off your shoes, Nathan," she whispered, and her voice was soft and deep. "This is sacred ground."

Sacred ground. Right. Okay, he'd definitely entered the Twilight Zone. But he took off the shoes, all the same, and peeled off his socks, too, just for good measure. He tossed them without thinking, expecting them to sail right on out of this unearthly glow and into the darkness of the garden beyond. But they didn't. It was as if they hit a wall and bounced back, falling soundlessly to the ground.

He stared at them. But Aurora was moving again, and that drew his attention back to her. And then he was pretty sure that his heart stopped for a second. Because she was slipping that black satin robe down off her shoulders, and it fell to the ground like a pool of black water. And she wasn't wearing a single thing underneath, except for a mystical-looking pendant and a pair of emerald earrings.

The ones he'd given her? He glanced away from her, toward the flat stone, and saw a bit of paper lying there, with the candle flames on either side casting shadows that danced over the crude line drawing of a face. A man's face. Remarkably like his own.

He looked back at her again, a little chill dancing up his spine. "A-a-a-Aurora?"

"I needed you, Nathan," she said softly. "So I brought you to me."

He stared at her, still far too unsettled by the nude work of art standing before him to give his full attention to her words. "Brought me," he parroted.

"Manipulative magick is not something I'd normally use. But I was careful," she said, explaining herself to him as calmly as if every word she said made perfect sense—which, of course, they didn't. "I made sure the words I composed couldn't interfere with your free will," she went on. "I said, 'If he wants me, let him come to me now.'"

"I see." But he didn't. All he saw were a pair of perfect breasts, as round and firm as his fondest fantasy. And a waist he could fit his hands around. And a triangle of curls between her legs that was as shiny black as her hair.

"And you came."

He swallowed hard. Not yet he hadn't. But maybe he would before the night was over. He just hoped there wasn't going to be an earthquake or flash flood within the next hour or so. His gaze slid upward, meeting her eyes, seeing the mystery he'd always noticed there, the darkness, the night itself, glimmering back at him. Okay, then. Make that the next several hours.

She said nothing—just looked back at him, slowly turned, and from the big flat rock in the center, reached for a jeweled dagger that looked as deadly as it did beautiful. Facing him again, she pressed its hilt into his hand, with the blade pointing downward. She squeezed his fist tight around the weapon, then drew his other hand to close on it, as well.

Turning away from him again, she picked up a fat three-legged cauldron of black cast iron. And when she faced him she held it, one palm pressed to either side, arms outstretched as if she were offering it to him.

But she wasn't, because his hands were both occupied with holding the dagger. He didn't know what—

"Your ancestors performed this rite for centuries, Nathan," she whispered. "Close your eyes and open your heart. Listen to the power that still lingers in your blood. The voices of your ancestors. They're here tonight. They live… in you."

Something made him close his eyes. And he didn't feel like Nathan McBride, owner of a chain of pharmacies and frustrated sex maniac. He felt… different. Liberated. Strong. Fierce. Powerful. Male.

"As the cauldron is to the Goddess," Aurora said softly, "so the athame is to the God." Nathan blinked his eyes open, saw her holding the iron pot up to him, saw the dagger in his own hands, blade pointing down at it. Heard her whisper, "And together, they are one…"

Very slowly, he lowered his arms, gently plunging the dagger into the cauldron, knowing somehow that this was what he was supposed to do. And as he did, Aurora's head tilted backward and her eyes fell closed. There was something… some surge of energy shooting through him, into him from where his fists clenched around the dagger's hilt, rushing up his arms and infusing his body until he felt as if he must be glowing.

He lifted the blade again, blinking his eyes open, seeing the stars and the moon above in a way he never had before. They were brighter, clearer. They seemed…alive .

Aurora gently took the blade from him and replaced the cauldron and knife on the makeshift table. Nathan couldn't take his eyes off her. It was as if he'd wanted her all his life. As if being with her were suddenly a force of nature raging inside him—something that could neither be denied nor controlled.

Aurora faced him, and he saw the same kinds of passions swirling in her eyes. "Now—"

"Now," Nathan said, gripping her shoulders, "this." He pulled her close, bent to kiss her, fed from her mouth, and hungered for more. And he knew this was right. It was right, and perfect, and he couldn't live without it. He adored her. Didn't know why or when it had happened, or what was making him realize it now. But he did. He adored her, and he didn't care if she wouldn't admit she felt the same way. She did. He knew she did.

She kissed him back as if she did.

Her hands threaded into his hair. Her body strained against his, warm and naked and wanting. He moved his hands down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine, then filling his palms with the swell of her buttocks and squeezing and lifting.

Her mouth tasted of honey. Her tongue was moist silk, stroking his, tasting him, driving him mad. And then her hands were there between them, working his clothes free, tearing his shirt in her eagerness to rid him of it, yanking with fierce and frightening determination at the button and zipper of his jeans. And before he knew it, he was stepping out of them, kicking his shorts aside, feeling his shirt fall at his feet. Her hands explored now, and he relished every touch, every gentle pinch and tender raking of those nails.

She turned him, and he went. She pushed him and he fell, sitting now, sucking in a quick surprised gasp when his backside came to rest upon the chill of the granite boulder. But her mouth still fed, and her hands still worked, and he couldn't notice the discomfort of the cold on his flesh for more than a moment. He felt her hands again, pressing his chest, and he lay back, and the chill sent shivers up his back as her lips did likewise to his front.

Her hungry little mouth devoured his chest, bit by bit, small white teeth nipping, plump lips working, pointy tongue tormenting. She moved over him, straddled him, leaned down so that her breasts dangled just above his face, and he leaped at them, capturing one with his teeth and torturing her the way she'd done to him. Her hands were in his hair, holding him, soft pleading sounds coming from her throat. He gentled his mouth, sucking at her breast, feeling her relax, and then nipping her again, pinching her nipple gently between his teeth and hearing her moan in anguished pleasure. His hand moved into the warm wetness between her legs, to explore her there as his mouth applied the exquisite torture to her breast. His fingers parted, probed, hunted, and found. Invaded and stroked. And her hips arched to ask for more.

So he gave her more. Taking his hand away, he nestled his hips against hers, and slid himself inside her, as slowly and as reverently as he had lowered the athame into the cauldron. And as he did, she tipped her head back again, closed her eyes, and the sigh that escaped her was one of pure ecstasy as she tilted her hips to slide lower over him. And he wrapped his arms and legs around her, and rolled them both over, pinning her beneath him. Her hands closed on his backside, drawing him closer, pulling him deeper inside her. And he knew he'd never felt anything as intense as this. And likely never would.

He wanted, with everything in him, to take her hard and fast. But he denied those desires, because he wanted to see her face when she came. He wanted to feel her muscles convulse around him in pleasure. So he took his time, moving slowly, withdrawing to the very tip of him before pushing deeper, loving her with long, slow thrusts so exquisitely unbearable that his entire body quaked and shuddered.

Her breaths came faster; her hands slid upward, nails dragging over his back and then suddenly sinking into his shoulders. Her hips snapped up to meet his, faster and more demanding each time, and she breathed his name, again and again.

At her signals he moved faster, ending the tight hold he'd placed on himself, freeing his body to obey its own urges and sending his conscious mind scurrying into oblivion. There was only sensation now. Her body beneath him, her heated flesh surrounding him, holding him, her mouth, her hands, her hair, the sounds she made, the way she smelled.

And then even those things vanished in a haze of pure feeling because his body was tightening and clenching as he neared the climax he'd been longing for all his life. The one he would share with her. With this woman.

He opened his eyes, determined to know it would be as incredible for her, desperate to see and feel her own release as well as his. And he did. Her eyes met his, and he saw the feelings swirling in the onyx depths. Her jaw worked as she held his gaze and moved with him, and she seemed to know what he wanted. To see when it happened for her. And her gaze never wavered, even when she cried his name in a voice choked with pleasure. Even when her eyes widened, and her hands gripped and her nails sank deeper. Even when he thrust himself harder and faster into the depths of her beautiful body, and exploded inside her, feeling his world shatter around him. Their eyes still held. Even when he whispered, "I love you, Aurora. Dammit, I love you."

She stiffened suddenly, pushing him upward, her palms flat to his chest, and staring up at him in what looked like shock. "You… ?"

"Never mind," he told her. "Come here," and he drew her to him again, stroked her hair. "It's after midnight," he whispered. "Happy birthday, Aurora."

Chapter 7

Aurora tried not to think about what he'd said, and focused instead on what he did. On whatthey did. On how he made her feel in a way she'd never felt before, and how no one else could bring her to this point of what felt very much like a melding of two souls. Far more than just sex.

At some point she got up, focused her energies, sat very still with her palms cupped, and willed the magick that formed her circle to shrink and concentrate itself, until it was once again that glowing orb in her hands. A swirling ball of light and energy.

As she stared down at it, she heard Nathan gasp, and glanced up to see him gazing, wide-eyed, into her palms.

"I can't believe this," he muttered.

She frowned. "Do you mean… you can see it?"

And it was his turn to frown. "Shouldn't I? I mean… you see it, don't you?"

"I see it because I'm a Witch."

But his attention was on the energy sphere again. Tentatively, he reached out with a forefinger and touched the glowing ball she held.

"Hold out your hands, Nathan," she told him. And looking at her a little uncertainly… he did.

Gently, Aurora transferred the energy into Nathan's hands. And he gazed down at it in wonder. "What is it?" he whispered.

"It's magick," she said simply. "The magick you don't believe in. And if you can see it, Nathan, that proves you're just a big fraud."

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"They say seeing is believing, Nathan, but they have it backward. You have to believe in something first,before you can see it." He started to look up at her, but she shook her head. "Concentrate or you'll lose it."

He focused again on the glow in his hands. "W-what do I do with it?"

"I usually give leftover magick back to Mother Earth, for healing."

"How?"

She smiled. He was so wary of the power he didn't even know he had. He was a Witch, too. He just hadn't realized it yet. "Kneel down. Press your palms flat to the ground, and in your mind, see the light sinking into the earth and spreading there, spilling its healing, loving glow all through the planet."

Nathan did as she told him. When he rose again, he was looking at his hands as if he'd never seen them before. "That was incredible." He moved closer to her. "Youare incredible."

"I'm selfish," she told him. And she meant it. She hated what she'd done to him tonight. Loved it. But hated it. She'd used him. And only when he'd blurted that he loved her had she realized just how deeply all of this might hurt him.

She didn't want to hurt Nathan.

She should tell him the truth. Now, before…

Nathan swept her into his arms and kissed her again, scooping her up and carrying her around the house and then inside, straight up the stairs to her bedroom—his lips never leaving hers on the way, his hands never leaving their job of caressing her body to look for a light switch. He was entirely focused, it seemed, on driving her out of her mind with wanting him again, even though she knew it was wrong. She'd done what needed doing. She'd done it in time. She wouldn't lose her powers now.

And yet she wanted him all the same. So when he tumbled with her into her bed, she didn't object. And they were still there when her aunts returned home in the morning.

Nathan saw the panicked expression on her face when the door slammed downstairs and the voices of her aunts came floating up to them. "Oh, no!" She sat up, clutching the sheet, head swinging this way and that frantically as she looked for clothes.

Footsteps pattered up the stairs. Someone called her name. She gripped his shoulder, pointed toward the bathroom door, and hissed, "Hurry!"

"Okay, okay!" Nathan jumped out of the bed, taking the sheet with him, and made it into the bathroom just as he heard a perfunctory tap on her bedroom door, followed by the creak of its hinges.

"Didn't you hear us calling, Aurora? We're home! And oh, so excited over what we found when we arrived!"

"What you—"

"These!" one of the aunts—Merriwether, Nathan thought—announced. And he wondered what prize she was showing off.

He crouched low to peer through the keyhole, first spying Aurora's pale face and stunned expression, then locating her tall, imposing Aunt Merri, arms outstretched and holding a bundle of clothes.

Hisclothes.

Oh, boy.

"Am I wrong in assuming these belong to Nathan?" the woman asked, while the other two, including Flora, who seemed in perfect health again, stood looking on.

"No, Aunt Merri. But—"

"Then you did it!" She clapped her hands together. "You did it and now you're—"

"Your powers are safe," Aurora's Aunt Fauna interrupted. He glanced toward the bed and saw Aurora frantically waving a hand as if to shut her aunt up. Just as he'd sensed Fauna had jumped in to shut her sister up. Very strange. What wasn't being said here was almost as interesting as what was. But Fauna rushed on. "You slept with a virgin before your twenty-seventh birthday, just as we told you you must. You won't lose your powers after all. And that's all you need to know, for now."

As she spoke, Aurora, clinging to a blanket for cover, lunged from the bed to silence her aunt, but Fauna had finished her little speech before she ever reached her. And Nathan felt as if he'd been hit between the eyes with a mallet.

Aurora went still, halfway between her aunt and the bed. Her head bowed slowly.

Nathan rose, wrapped the sheet around him, knotting it at his hip, and opened the door, more humiliated and angry and… and he didn't know what else… than he'd ever been in his life.

The three aunts gasped, but Aurora only stood there. She couldn't even look at him.

"Well, at least now I know why."

"Oh, dear," Fauna said in distress. "No, you don't, dear boy, not really. I was only—"

"Please leave," Aurora said, turning to her aunts. And nodding quickly, they did, backing out of the room and muttering apologies all the way. Aurora turned to him and opened her mouth.

"Don't bother," he told her coldly. "Hell, Aurora, I've seen what you can do. I suppose you'd have slept with the devil himself to keep that… that whatever it is."

"I don't believe in the devil. And it wasn't why I—"

"Don't lie, okay? At least give me that much." He shook his head, and reached for the clothes Merriwether had dropped on Aurora's bedroom floor. "Man, I made a real fool of myself last night, didn't I? How many times did I tell you I loved you, Aurora? A dozen, at least. What an idiot. All the time I was just part of… of one of yourspells ."

"That's not true. I—"

He shook his head, jeans in place, shirt draped over one arm. "Save it. I suppose that was the reason for the damn curse, as well, wasn't it? You… or those nutty aunts of yours, or all of you together—you made sure you'd have your virgin lover intact when the time came."

"You're right," she admitted. "But their intentions were good, Nathan. They didn't mean to hurt anyone."

He shook his head in disgust. "So am I right in assuming their damned hex has been lifted now that you have what you wanted from me?"

Lowering her eyes, she nodded.

"I don't know how you people sleep at night."

He yanked the door open and slammed out of the room, taking the stairs almost blindly, ignoring the sorry looks the other women threw him as he strode out the front door to walk home, struggling into his shirt on the way.

Aurora was miserable. And she didn't know why. She should be happy. She'd done what was required. She would keep her powers. And yes, she'd hurt Nathan's feelings in the process, but how many times had he hurt her feelings in the past? Their whole lives he'd been hurting her.

"Why do you think that is?" a soft voice asked.

Aurora sat up in her bed, where she'd been spending most of her time. Oh, she went in to the hospital and worked her shifts, but then she came home and returned to this room, and more often than not, she shed a few tears as she tried to make sense of her misery.

Flora stood in the doorway, looking at her sadly.

"Why do I suppose what is?" she asked her aunt.

"Why do you suppose Nathan McBride has hurt you in the past?"

"Because he's a jerk, that's why."

Flora smiled gently and came in to perch on the edge of the bed. "A lot of people are jerks. But they don't hurt you. Because you don't care. No one is capable of hurting you, Aurora darling, not unless you care very deeply about them."

Aurora blinked and sat up straighter. She sniffed twice, swiped her eyes dry, and nodded. "You're right. I know it. I've known it for a while now. I do care for the idiot." She closed her eyes. "I care a lot."

"You hurt him," Aunt Flora said softly. "And if you're capable of hurting him, then…" She lifted a hand, palm up.

"Then he cares, too," Aurora said. "But I knew that, too. It's past tense, though. He did care. For a while. But not anymore. Not now that he thinks I only used him."

"He's still hurting, sweetheart. So he must still care."

Aurora lifted her eyes to her aunt's and felt a tiny flutter of hope try to come to life in her chest. "I love him, Aunt Flora."

"I know, dear. So tell him. No matter what happens, just tell him. And when you do, he's going to say, 'I love you, too, Aurora Sortilege.'"

"I hate you, Aurora Sortilege. Detest you and despise you. I do not love you. I do not, not,not love you. Never have, never will. And that's final."

Nathan paced the floor of his living room whispering these reassurances to himself over and over again. Because he had a pretty little thing named Bobbie Lou or Sally Jo or something like that, waiting for him to perform, and his body was utterly unwilling. She'd shown up on his doorstep an hour ago. A stewardess he'd taken out once before. She said she remembered how strangely that night had ended and thought she'd give it another shot, as long as she was in town. And did he want to take her to dinner. And he did.

No, I don't. I don't want to take her anywhere. I want Aurora.

Bull. He most definitely wanted the bimbette with the copper-colored curls.

Or were they brown?

She was in his bathroom now. Freshening up, as she put it. And as he paced, she called, "If you don't feel like going out, Nate, honey, we can order in. It would be cozy, don't you think?"

Why the hell didn't she squelch that ear-splittingly irritating whiny voice so he could think?

"Nate? Sweetie?"

"Don't call me Nate," he snapped.

Her head popped out of the bathroom and she glanced at him questioningly. Copper. The curls were copper. Practically metallic.

"Sorry," he said. She smiled and stepped out farther. And there she was, wearing a skimpy black teddy and looking like a centerfold.

Nathan looked at her. Then he looked down at himself. Nothing was happening. He was having no physical reaction whatsoever. He shook his head. "Sorry, Betty Ray," he said. "But this isn't going to work. Why don't you get dressed and go home?"

Her lower lip thrust out. "It's Becky Lynn. Jerk." She slammed the bathroom door, presumably to dress.

As the door shut, there was a tap at the door behind him, the one that led outside, and he turned just as it opened. And then his heart flipped over. Because Aurora stood there. He felt a thousand pounds float away from his shoulders. He felt as if he could fly. He was stupid. He should be mad as hell.

"You told me the curse was gone now," he muttered. "But you're still messing with my head, you and those nutty aunts of yours. Aren't you, Aurora?"

She pursed her lips. "I didn't come here to fight with you. Or to listen to you rant. I came here to tell you something, and I'd appreciate it if you'd shut up and let me get it said."

He lifted both hands, palms up, and raised his brows, giving her the floor with the gesture.

"Okay," she said. She paced a few steps, pushed a hand through her glorious hair, and faced him again. "Okay. This is it. What happened between us wasn't just because of what you overheard at my house. I mean… it started out that way, but then…" She closed her eyes and straightened her spine. "Hell, you said it to me, and I can damn well say it to you." Eyes opening wide, she strode right up to him, stared right into his eyes and said, "I am in love with you, Nathan McBride, and I imagine I probably have been for most of my life." She drew a deep breath and blew it out. "There. I said it."

Nathan gaped. He searched her face and tried to stop his heart from palpitating. She meant it. She actually meant it. He lifted his hands to frame her face. "Aurora, I—"

"Here," Becky Lynn shouted, and flung something at his head. "Keep that as a souvenir, creep!" And she stormed out the door.

Aurora backed away suddenly, and as he peeled the thing away from his head, he saw her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, hell. Aurora, wait. This isn't what you think."

But she was shaking her head, backing away. "You… and she… you… after what we…"

He reached out for her, belatedly realizing he held a black teddy in his hand. He tossed it to the floor. "Dammit, Aurora, nothing happened with her. I couldn't—"

"But you wanted to. You were going to. You… that's why you said what you did, about the curse, and—" The tears spilled over and Nathan's heart cracked. "How could you, Nathan?" And she turned and ran the same way Becky Lynn had. With one major difference.

When Aurora left, he cared.

Chapter 8

Oh, no. Oh, for crying out loud, he blew it! He had her, right there, knowing damn well that he loved her beyond belief. And she'd stared up at him with those big ebony eyes of hers and told him that she loved him, too.

And he'd blown it all to hell. Why had he even let Becky Lynn in the front door? Why hadn't he borrowed a page from that old antidrug campaign and just said no? He should have realized it wouldn't work, anyway. It never had.

Not until Aurora. And frankly, after that experience, he really didn't think he cared to do any comparison shopping. Nothing could be the way she was. The way they were. And she loved him. And now she was crying because he was an idiot.

Well, he had to find her. He had to fix this. There must be a way.

Okay, he'd grovel. He'd beg if he had to. He'd buy her pretty things and write sonnets and turn handsprings if that's what it took, but he wasn't going to let this incredible woman slip through his fingers. No way in hell.

He had to find her. Yes, and when he did, he'd give her something that would leave her with no doubt in her mind as to just how much she meant to him. Okay. So first, the jewelry store… and maybe the bank. And then he'd track her down.

Aurora knew he was looking for her. He called so often there was no doubt, but she wouldn't talk to him. He came by, but she refused to see him. He'd even shown up at the hospital a few times this week, whenever his schedule and hers allowed it. But she'd managed to duck him.

She stopped counting how many days and then weeks it had been since that magickal night in the circle where they'd made love. But she never stopped thinking about it. Remembering. Wishing. Even aching for him.

And then her world fell apart, the afternoon her aunts, the three of them, came to her in her room and stood around her looking sheepish and guilty.

"What?" she asked them, her spine tingling with warnings. They were up to something.

"The girls say I'm the one who has to do the talking, Aurora," Merriwether said strongly. "So I'll just come right out with it. We lied to you."

Aurora blinked. "You lied to me?" The three nodded. "About what?"

"About the reason you had to… er… that is, you and Nathan…"

"The reason I had to have sex with a virgin?" She felt her eyes widen. Again, the three nodded. And Merriwether said, "You see, it couldn't have been just any virgin. It had to be Nathan McBride."

"Yes," Fauna piped in, "and you wouldn't have lost your powers if you hadn't done it."

Aurora gaped and felt her legs buckle. She sank onto the bed. "I don't under… I can't believe…"

"You're going to be upset at first, dear," Flora said softly, patting Aurora's hand. "But all of this was foretold, after all. Now I'm sure you'll want to confirm it with a doctor, but you can take my word for it. You're almost certainly pregnant with Nathan's child."

"Pregnant?Pregnant ?" Aurora's head swam. And then she did something she'd never done before in her life. She fainted.

Nathan was immersed in the stacks of books and photographs and journals he'd hauled out of his father's attic. Aside from this new obsession he'd developed for Aurora, he seemed to have discovered another powerful interest.

His family history.

And it was a rich one. It had been Aurora's words about his ancestors, that night in that magick bubble of light that had made him wonder, and now he understood.

Nathan McBride came from a long, long line of Celtic Witches. And now that he knew it, he felt oddly drawn to his heritage. He wanted to know what it meant… to him. He wanted to learn about and study the beliefs of his forebears.

So when he wasn't constantly trying to get a moment alone with Aurora, he was delving into the old diaries and books, and finding a wealth of information he'd been clueless about before. And it was as he was intently reading one such diary that his telephone rang, and an elderly female voice said, "If you hope to run into Aurora, try the drugstore. Not yours, your competitor's. On Main Street." That was it. The caller hung up.

Nathan frowned. Aurora hated him so much that she was shopping at the competition? Or maybe she just wanted to avoid any chance of running into him. But she knew he ran the stores from a corporate office downtown. She knew that, right?

So what was she doing in his rival's store? Hell, who cared what she was doing there? This was his chance to finally make her understand.

He got to his feet, pulled on a jacket, double-checked the pocket for the tiny box he'd been carrying with him everywhere he went, and headed out. Pouring rain. Great. He turned up the collar on the coat and ducked his head.

Aurora hoped no one would recognize her. She was a doctor, for crying out loud. But this wasn't something she dared to do at the hospital. It was too private. Too personal. Too unbelievably stupid.

She was a doctor. A doctor knew better than to get pregnant. What the hell had happened to her that night? Why had she totally neglected to even consider…

Oh, hell, if her aunts were telling the truth—and Aurora was fairly certain they were—then sheknew why. If this was meant to happen, the way they said it was, then all the protection in the world wouldn't have worked, anyway. So why kick herself?

Her eyes felt gritty and hot. She knew they were red and puffy. And she knew her hair was more mussed than combed, and that she probably looked like a drowned rat incognito, skulking through the drugstore aisles in her rain-spotted trench coat with the Druid-like hood pulled up and a pair of great big sunglasses on her nose, despite the gray skies.

She'd cased the aisle three times, and knew exactly where the stupid little home pregnancy test kits were located. She could swoop by and snatch one without anyone knowing the difference. Paying for it was going to be another matter, but she'd just have to do it. Stealing went against her belief system. So she'd muddle through and figure it served her right.

She looked around, saw no one in the aisle, lowered her head, pushed her sunglasses up on her nose, and hurried forward. Her hand flashed out and scooped up the box and she never missed a beat. She kept her quick pace up right to the end of the aisle…

… where she collided with a broad, strong chest and a familiar scent. A pair of hands she'd missed desperately came up to her shoulders to steady her.

She looked up and shoved the box she'd just grabbed into the deep pocket of her raincoat.

Nathan frowned at her. "Shoplifting, Aurora?"

"Of course not."

His brows rose. "So what is it you're buying that you don't want me to see?"

She licked her lips, took a step backward, and lowered her eyes, no longer able to look into his.

Then she noticed the tiny box that he held in his own hand. Oh, Goddess! It looked like—

He saw her looking at it, and swept it behind his back. Then his free hand came out as he hooked a finger under her chin and tipped her head back so he could stare into her eyes. He grimaced and plucked off the glasses. Then his frown creases deepened. "Aurora, honey, you look terrible."

"Thanks bunches."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You've been crying." She turned away. But he caught her and turned her around, very gently. "So maybe it's not too late after all… if you still care enough to cry over me."

She swiped self-consciously at her sore eyes. "Don't be so sure it's you I've been crying over."

She meant it as a barb, but worry clouded his eyes so fast it pricked her conscience. "Is something else wrong? Is Aunt Flora—?"

"No, Nathan. Aunt Flora's fine. Really." She realized her voice had softened toward him. But his genuine concern for her aunt touched her—that he could still feel that way after what those three had pulled on him… well, that touched her even more.

He sighed in relief, but just as quickly scanned her face with worry in his eyes. "You sure you're okay?" When he said it he touched her face with his palm, and she closed her eyes because it felt so good to feel him again.

She wasn't okay, hadn't been okay since the last time he'd held her in his arms, but she nodded anyway.

"Aurora, let's go somewhere and talk." His voice had softened to a raspy whisper.

She almost nodded, then remembered the pregnancy test kit in her pocket. She couldn't tell him about that, not yet. And she couldn't even think straight until she knew the results. "I can't, Nathan."

He lowered his head. "You're still angry with me… about what you thought you saw at my apartment."

That reminder pricked a sore spot, and Aurora bristled. "What Ithought I saw?"

Nathan nodded. "Yeah. But all you really saw was a perfectly gorgeous woman failing to interest me in the least, no matter how she tried."

Aurora narrowed her eyes and peered up at him.

"I didn't want her. That's why nothing happened, Aurora. I never wanted any of them, not really."

"You didn't?"

He smiled gently and stroked her hair. "No. I'm just beginning to catch on. All this time… it wasn't about spells or curses or your three crazy aunts. It was about you, Aurora. I've never been able to settle for any other woman… because the only woman I ever wanted is you."

His words took her breath away. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her knees turned to water. She sagged a little, but his strong hands came around her waist, and she clung to his shoulders and managed to remain upright. But there was still too much space between them.

"You told me you loved me, 'Rora. I'm hoping that's still true."

She searched his face, hesitating, and finally, bit her lip and nodded. "I've loved you since second grade," she whispered. "Maybe longer than that."

He smiled, but it was shaky, uncertain. "Then…" He let go of her long enough to retrieve the small box from a back pocket, and then he opened the lid. "Then marry me, Aurora."

Aurora caught her breath. The ring was a flawless diamond surrounded by emeralds glittering up at her. Its facets sparkled and shot fire even through the tears that suddenly filled her eyes.

"It will match those earrings I gave you for your sixteenth birthday," he said. "The ones you've kept all this time."

"I… I didn't think you remembered."

"I remember everything about you, 'Rora. Everything about the two of us, and how every time we got close I did something to screw it up. Something to hurt you."

"It wasn't only you," she argued, but he silenced her with a gentle forefinger to her lips.

"I'm never going to hurt you again, Aurora."

She wanted to speak, but she couldn't. And he lifted a thumb to wipe the tear from her cheek.

"So what do you say, 'Rora? Will you be my wife?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his closed around her waist, but when he pulled her close, the box in her pocket pressed insistantly between them, and Aurora remembered that he still didn't know the whole truth.

Stepping slightly away, she sniffed, reached up and stroked his hair. "It depends."

His eyes looked almost panicked. "On what?"

"How you react to what I have in my pocket."

He frowned at her, and tilted his head to one side. Then he reached down, dipping his hand into her pocket, closing it around the box. She willed herself not to close her eyes so she could watch his face as he pulled the box out and scanned the label.

Then he stared at her, wide-eyed. "You…" He looked at the box. Looked at her face again. "You think… ?"

"I'm almost sure," she said.

"We're having a baby," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. And then he smiled and said it again, louder this time. "We're having a baby!" His arms wound around her waist and he lifted her off her feet, holding her tight to him and spinning her around. And then he lowered her down, and bent to kiss her more tenderly than any man had ever kissed any woman. And without breaking that kiss, he took the ring from the box in his hand and slipped it onto her finger.

A smattering of applause made them draw apart suddenly, only to see that every patron in the drugstore had crowded together at the end of the aisle to watch them. Aurora wiped the tears from her face, too happy to be embarassed. He still wanted to marry her. She stared down at the glittering ring in wonder, then up into Nathan's shining eyes.

He closed his hand around hers. "Come on." As he drew her past the registers, he pulled a twenty from a pocket, tossed it on the counter and said, "Keep the change," and then they ran together out into the pouring rain toward his car.

But before they got to it, he stopped and turned to face her. Rain dripping off his nose, he said, "You didn't say yes."

He seemed so vulnerable right now, all his joy on hold, awaiting her answer, the look in his eyes telling her that his very life depended on it.

She swept one hand through his wet hair and stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his, right there on the sidewalk in the pouring rain. And then she whispered, "Yes."

Epilogue

Nathan paced the living room of his small apartment, and wondered how the hell Aurora could be sitting so calmly on his sofa. He glanced at his watch, then at the clock on the wall, and then at the oven timer clicking madly on the coffee table.

"Is it time yet?" he asked her, for good measure.

She looked up at him, smiled gently, shook her head, and bent again to her perusal of the old books and diaries Nathan had left sitting out. "So are you going to tell me what all this is about?" she asked him.

He frowned at his watch.

"We have time."

He nodded, went to her, sat beside her. "I was curious. About my ancestors and… and about Witches in general, I guess."

She smiled. "You are one, you know."

Nathan's brows rose. "No. I couldn't cast a magick circle the way you did that night—wouldn't know where to begin conjuring elemental forces or any of that."

"Youhave been reading, haven't you?"

He gave her a sheepish smile, nodding once.

"But those things aren't what make you a Witch, Nathan. They can be learned. I can teach you. It's the magick that makes you what you are." She reached up to stroke his cheek. "And that's something you're born with. It's inside you. I felt it that night."

"You think so?"

She nodded, and he wondered if she could be right. He'd felt something, too. "That orb of energy would have been invisible to someone void of magick."

Her eyes danced over his face, their touch palpable. And he knew he'd always believe every word she said to him, even if she said the sun would rise at midnight.

"I hope I'm not going to have to sleep with a virgin to keep it," he said with a grin. Her gaze fell, so he leaned forward to kiss her nose. "Hey, that was a joke."

"It was a lie, Nathan. My aunts made it up. I was never really in danger of losing my magick."

"Then why—"

"This baby. They claim it was foretold. They say that you and I are supposed to give birth to—"

"To the most powerful Witch ever," he finished for her. "A little girl."

"How did you know that?"

Nathan gave his head a shake to clear it. This was all a bit too much to believe. But believe it he did. He riffled pages from one book and another until he found the passage he'd read in one of them. "My great-great-grandmother wrote it down, right here. She said that one day a McBride would father the child who would grow to be…" He stopped and shrugged, and instead of telling her, pushed the book into her hands so she could read it for herself. He remembered the passage. It had struck him as more moving, more memorable than anything else he'd read. It went on, about the healing gift the girl was to be born with, and how the cures for many of humanity's most dire illnesses would be discovered because of her work and her magick.

The timer pinged. Aurora closed the book, and her eyes met Nathan's. They were dark and wide and half afraid. "It'll be all right," he told her. And he glanced at the testing kit visible in the bathroom from here. "Do you want to look? Or should I?"

"I already know what it's going to say," she whispered.

He went into the bathroom, lifted the stick, and examined the shape clearly defined there. "Aurora?"

She rose and looked at him. Nathan smiled at her, and she ran into his arms. He kissed her mouth, held her close, relished the very fact that she was here with him, like this, and finally, lifted his head. "I hope she looks just like you," he told her tenderly.

Musketeer by Moonlight

Chapter 1

It was Halloween, and she was a prisoner in her own office. Hell, what made her think she could get the goods on an organized crime boss, anyway? She was getting a swollen head. Believing her own press. M. C. Hammer, big-city private eye. Right. The truth was that she couldn't remember a time when she'd felt more like plain old Mary Catherine Hammersmith, small-town girl.

She paced the office, pausing to glance through the smeared window at the street below. No colors down there. It was as if Newark had gone black-and-white and shades of gray—as dismal as the sky above it. The wind blew bits of paper and clouds of dirt over the pavement. The dark sedan was still parked out there. If M.C. tried to leave, its driver would follow. If she went to the safe-deposit box where she'd stashed the tape, he'd get her when she came out. If she went home… she shivered. The thought of that dark stairway up to her lonely apartment was not appealing. They could grab her there just as easily. She wasn't even sure it was safe to get into her car. One twist of the key might make a hell of a noise and litter the streets with bits of a certain lady detective she'd grown kind of fond of.

Hell.

The phone rang. She snatched it up. "M. C. Hammer Investigations."

"Ms. Hammer?"

"This is her secretary." She said it automatically. Made her sound bigger than she was. Besides, the woman on the other end could be anyone. One of the bad guys, maybe.

"I need to speak to Ms. Hammer," the woman said. "I'm in trouble; I need help."

"Join the club."

"Excuse me?"

She calmed her voice. "Sorry. Ms. Hammer's out of town indefinitely. Look, try Ace Investigations over on Fourth and Main. They're good—they'll help you out."

The caller rung off without saying good-bye. M.C. felt bad. They always called, and they always needed help. Up to now, she'd been pretty good at providing it. She'd earned a reputation in the city. They called her a tough cookie, the working woman's hero, that sort of thing.

Right about now, she thought she could use a hero of her own. But she'd been too busy playing hero to bother looking for one. She'd never expected to face a situation she couldn't handle. She was facing one now, one she'd stumbled into unintentionally. She was only supposed to get the goods on Guido de Rocci's illicit affairs, so his wife could get a decent divorce settlement out of him. Instead she'd wound up with a tape of a phone call ordering a gangland hit, one that left no doubt who was in charge. Guido himself. And stupidly, she'd told the wife. Sylvia de Rocci went soft, and ratted her out to Guido. Seemed she got all mushy inside to learn her hubby wasn't cheating on her after all. No, he was just running the mob and killing people. What a sweetheart. So now Syl and Guido were a pair of happy lovebirds, and Mary Catherine was a sitting duck with a half dozen hit men standing between her and the tape.

She could call the cops—but her phone was probably bugged, and she'd be dead before they ever got here. Besides, everyone knew the mob had a few cops in its pocket. How could she be sure the cops who showed up wouldn't be on de Rocci's payroll?

She wandered to the window again. A bus pulled up at the stop, right in front of the entrance to Sal's Bar downstairs. People got off. People got on. An idea took form.

The slug in the sedan was watchingher front entrance, and her car. But no one could see what she did inside the office. She could take the stairs down to her own front door, but instead of going out, slip through that side door that led from the entry hall into Sal's place. Maybe slide out the bar's entrance instead of her own private one, and onto the next bus before anyone was the wiser.

"Sounds like a plan to me," she muttered. She did a quick scan of the closet. It often came in handy to have a change of clothes or two at the office. Quickly, she shed the skirt and heels she'd worn this morning and replaced them with jeans and sneakers. A leather jacket instead of the tailored blazer. A baseball cap to hide the telltale riot of dark curls she fondly referred to as a black rat's nest. A pair of John Lennonish sunglasses.

Glancing in the mirror, she thought she could pass for a guy. A scrawny guy, but a guy. The purse would give her away though. She emptied it, filling her pockets with the essentials, including her .38 special. Great. This was it then. There would be another bus shortly. They were in and out at this stop all day. Usually drove her nuts. Not today, though.

She took her time, moved slowly into the hall, saw no one, took the inside stairs down to the landing, and tapped on the door that led into the bar. No one ever used it, and it was locked as usual. But Sal opened it in a second, and she sauntered in like she belonged there as he gaped at her. When Sal gaped his double chin turned triple.

"Is that you, Mary Ca—"

She stomped on his foot and he shut up. "I'm not here," she told him. "You never saw me. I mean it, Sal."

Sal's silver eyebrows bunched up and he wiped his hands on his bulging white apron. "You in trouble, kid?"

"You could call it that."

"What can I do?"

"Gimme a stiff drink, and pretend you don't know me from Adam."

He shook his head, but nodded toward a vacant stool and reached for a shot glass. As he poured, he muttered, "One good man is all you need."

"So you keep telling me." She took the stool and then the drink, sipped it as she eyed the patrons in search of goons.

"If you had yourself a husband you wouldn't be in this mess."

"How do you figure that?" No goons in sight. She turned back to Sal, downed the whiskey, and set the glass on the hardwood.

"You'd be home takin' care of him, instead of out playing cop-for-hire."

"Woman's place is in the kitchen, right, Sal?"

"Worked for a hundred years, kid."

"Well, not for me. I've never needed a man around cluttering things up, and I don't plan to start now. Never met one worth the trouble anyway." She heard the squeal of air brakes and twisted her head. "That's my bus. Gotta go."

"Whereto?"

She worked up a grin for him, though her heart was in her throat. "I could tell you, Sal, but then I'd have to kill you. Later." And she hopped off the stool and hurried to the bar's front entrance. The bus blocked her from the view of the goon across the street, and she joined a handful of others waiting to climb aboard. But she didn't breathe again until she was in her seat, and headed out of town.

The bus was headed to Hoboken, but since she didn't know a soul there, she got off at the terminal and caught one heading in the other direction. There was really only one place for her to go now. Her parents' place in Princeton was out of the question. First place those thugs would check. Nope, there was little choice. She had to go to Aunt Kate's house of horrors. That's what she'd called it as a kid. A gothic mausoleum way out in the sticks. They'd never track her there. Aunt Kate was an outcast, black sheep of the family. Mostly because she refused to go Christian, and kept up the traditions of the best-forgotten branch of the Hammersmith clan. Witchcraft, to put a name to it. She had an old spell book that had been in the family for more generations than anyone could count. Mary Catherine had seen it once. Dusty and faded, with a padded cloth cover that was threadbare with age.

Briefly she wondered if one of Aunt Kate's spells could help her out of this mess. But then she chased the silly thought away. All that she needed was time and clear thinking. A way to get to that tape, and get it safely to the cops without getting her head blown off. She wouldn't be safe until she did. Even if she turned it over to Guido, he'd figure she knew too much to risk letting her live. She knew the way thugs like him thought.

Aunt Kate's then. She shivered at the thought. It was All Hallows' Eve, and she'd be spending it in that spookhouse sideshow. She shook away the chill that danced up her nape, and tried to relax on the long bus ride to Craven Falls in upstate New York.

"Hello, Aunt Kate."

Kate Hammersmith stood inside the arched, stained glass door and blinked slowly. She wore a long black dress with shiny moons and stars all over it. Homemade. Probably sewn together with spiderwebs, Mary Catherine thought glumly. Her hair was long and still dark, cut to frame her face. It made her look far younger than she was. She wore a necklace with a hunk of quartz on the end that must have weighed five pounds, minimum. "You could poke your eye out with that thing," Mary Catherine observed, just for something to say.

"You sound like your mother. What are you doing here, M.C.?"

"Aren't you even going to invite me in?"

Kate lifted one brow, then stepped aside and let Mary Catherine in. The place hadn't changed much. Muted lighting, nothing glaring or bright. Antique furniture. M.C. was no expert on guessing what period this stuff was from, but everything seemed to have clawed feet and satin. The place reeked of incense and the hot waxy aroma of recently snuffed candles.

"Well?" Kate asked, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.

M.C. licked her lips. "Well. I need a place to stay for a few days."

Kate's eyes narrowed and she suddenly looked way less irritated at the unannounced visit. "Are you in some kind of danger?"

"Nothing I can't handle. I just need to hang out until things cool down."

"Left in a hurry, did you?" Kate eyed her when she lifted her brows. "No luggage," she explained.

M.C. shrugged. "You look like you were on your way out. I didn't mean to mess up your… er… plans." It was Halloween. Probably crazy Kate's biggest night of the year.

Kate tilted her head. "Samhain is important, dear, but not as important as your safety. I'll stay—"

"No way, Aunt Kate. I'm fine. Honest. Not a soul in the world knows I'm here. You go on. I'll curl up on the couch and watch some TV. Maybe thumb through that old book of yours and look for spells to turn bad guys into toads. You, uh… still have it, don't you?" As she said it her gaze strayed to the table in the corner where the dusty tome lay open.

Kate touched her shoulder, drawing her gaze back again. "The grimoire is not a toy, Mary Catherine. The spells are powerful, particularly tonight. An amateur could cause a complete disaster by making some simple mistake—particularly if she were a neophyte with as much Pagan blood in her as you have."

A little tingle danced up Mary Catherine's spine, but she only smiled at her aunt. "I was just kidding. Don't have a cow, okay?"

Kate studied her, her eyes probing, then shook her head, making her dangling earrings—all six pairs—jangle like bells. "If you want a spell of protection, darling, just ask. I'll take care of it for you."

"You know I don't believe in that stuff," M.C. said, her gaze straying to the book again.

Aunt Kate sighed. "You're sure you'll be okay alone?"

"Sure. You go on. I'll be fine. Really."

Looking worried, Aunt Kate nodded and turned toward the door.

"Hey," M.C. called. "Aren't you forgetting your broom?"

Kate glared, but when M.C. sent her a wink, she smiled instead, waved good night, and left her alone.

M.C. wandered the living room, flicked on the TV, searched the channels. An old black-and-white version ofThe Three Musketeers was playing, and she watched that for a while, but her gaze kept straying back to the dusty book on the table. Surely it wouldn't hurt to just peek?

No. She'd promised Aunt Kate.

Glancing back at the screen, she shook her head in disgust. How could any man hope to hold his own in a fight with those silly ruffles hanging from his sleeves? And those hats! For crying out loud, were they supposed to look heroic with puffy plumes jutting out of their hats? She decided the Musketeers must have all been gay, and further judged she'd far rather have her .38 in hand during a crisis than one of those fragile-looking swords that seemed like they'd break in a strong wind.

Despite the ridiculousness of the film, though, she felt her heart twist a little when D'Artagnan leapt between his lady fair and the evil villain, vowing to protect her with his life.

Too bad heroes like that weren't around these days. She wouldn't even mind the stupid hat.

The book called to her again, and this time Mary Catherine got up and wandered over to it. She reached out to touch it, drew her hand away, then reached out again and gently flipped some pages. And she paused when she read, "Spell of Protection." The thing looked pretty simple. You were supposed to be in a spot where the light of the moon fell on you, during its first quarter. Light a white candle. Envision the protection in whatever way worked for you—a bubble of white light or a strong stone wall around your body were given as examples. Then, keeping that thought in mind, you just repeated the invocation written on the page.

Hmm.

Mary Catherine glanced sideways at the tall window, and saw a thin beam of moonlight peeking between the heavy velvet curtains. Hmm. She meandered over there and opened the curtains, and sure enough the moonlight flooded the room. It wasn't a quarter moon. But wouldn't a full moon be even better?

Ifyou believed in any of this nonsense to begin with, which she did not.

She casually walked back to the table, where the moonlight spilled brightly over her and the book. Two candles sat there, one on either side of her aunt's precious old grimoire. One was pink and one was red. No white ones in sight. But a candle was a candle, right? And a long wooden match was laid there just begging to be lit. What the hell.

She struck the match and lit it, touching its flame to both candles because, hey, two candles were better than one.

She grinned. This was kind of a fun way to spend Halloween.

Okay, next steps: envision protection, and say the chant. She tried to imagine a bubble of white light surrounding her, and then tried picturing a bulletproof wall. But her mind kept straying back to that scene in the movie, where the Musketeer had vowed to protect his lady with his life. Cornball bunch of crap.

She read the words on the page, and heard the clock singing backup to her chant by striking midnight.

Without warning, something exploded and a ball of smoke enveloped her. Coughing, she waved it away, and suddenly she had the distinct feeling that she wasn't alone in the room anymore.

Chapter 2

Alexandre sat up and rubbed his head, eyes closed tightly. He wasn't certain what had happened. He'd been in the midst of a minor skirmish, setting to rights an insult to the king of France, when he'd heard a lady calling to him from afar. Fair damsels in need of aid were nothing new to Alexandre. He was sworn to protect the king, of course, but there were plenty of Musketeers available to the king at all times. Alexandre often got sidetracked protecting ladies in distress. He didn't mind the task at all, especially considering the delicious ways the fair maids often expressed their gratitude. He must have been clubbed on the head while distracted by the odd cadence of this particular lady's voice.

At any rate, he heard nothing of his enemies now, and imagined they'd fled, as his opponents often did before he'd finished with them. Clutching his rapier in one hand and righting his chapeau with the other, he got to his feet and peered through the odd smoke that surrounded him.

And then he went still and blinked in shock. He was no longer in the Provencal village where he'd faced off against the three ruffians only moments ago. He was inside a chateau, and staring into the very wide and frightened eyes of a beautiful—if oddly dressed—young woman.

He gave his head a shake and looked again. She was still there. Frightened as if she were looking at a ghost. Her eyes gleamed like dark sapphires in the moonlight, and her hair was a delightful mass of raven curls he imagined would feel like silk twined round his fingers. Never mind the odd clothing, or the odd feeling in his head. A beautiful woman like this one certainly took precedence over such trivial worries.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he whispered, quickly removing his chapeau with a flourish and bowing deeply. Sheathing his sword, he gripped her small hand and drew it to his lips. Ah, warm salty skin, and a telltale tremble. She liked him already.

The hand in his jerked away fast. "Who the hell are you?" the fair lady demanded. "Wha-what are you doing here?"

He straightened, smoothed the luxurious plume, and then replaced his hat. "So it is English you prefer," he said. " 'Tis well I speak it fluently. I am Alexandre, one of the king's finest Musketeers, my lady."

"Get real," she said. "You are not."

"But I am." He took a step closer. She backed up, and it surprised him. "Do not fear me, pretty one. I am… a bit disoriented, but believe me, I have only come to help you."

"He-help me?"

"Oui, ma petite . I heard you calling out for help—a protector, a hero I believe you cried for." He rubbed his perfectly pointed beard with his fingers. "It is a bit of a blur, but I do recall that much."

She shook her head back and forth slowly, taking another step away from him. "This is crazy. This is nuts. You can't be here; this can't be happening."

He shrugged, smiling to himself, quite familiar with the power of his presence on females. "Many a lady has been overwhelmed by my charm, little one. Do not be concerned. It is not a dream,ma belle . I truly am here. At your disposal." He let his gaze stray lower, to her lips, which looked full and tempting, and added, "Anything you need, pretty one, I assure you, I can provide." As he said it he moved closer.

The lady whipped a tiny weapon, which vaguely resembled a black powder pistol, from somewhere beneath the clothing she wore, and pointed it at him. "Don't you come one step closer, mister."

Amused, he reached out to snatch the toy from her hands. "What is this silly thing?" He gazed down the barrel, fingers grazing the trigger. The lady lunged forward, knocking the rounded end upward, away from his nose, just as the small device exploded in his hands. He felt his chapeau sail from his head and heard the looking glass behind him shatter. Alexandre dropped the weapon to the floor. "Man Dieu!"

"You nearly shot yourself, you idiot!" she shouted. "Or did you?" Gripping his shoulders, she scanned his face, hands running up and down his arms in a most familiar fashion.

His fear faded quickly, and his notorious smile returned. "Ah, do not fear for me, lady. I am unharmed. But… eh… you may examine me further, if it would reassure you." He took advantage of her closeness to clasp her waist and pull her tight to him.

She drew back and punched him in the jaw so hard that Alexandre staggered backward and wound up landing on his derriere. But he never stopped smiling at her. "So," he said, rubbing his jaw, "you are shy,non ?" He retrieved his hat from the floor, frowning at the neat round hole in the front of it.

"I'm the farthest thing from shy, Al. Touch me again, and you'll wish I were."

He was quite confused by her reluctance. Never had any lady sought to withhold her favors from him. They tended to swoon at a mere glance. But he'd already noticed this one's strangeness. Perhaps her mind was unbalanced. Pity. She was truly magnificent. He shook his head, sighing in disappointment but resigned to defeat. His first. Perhaps she'd come around yet, but for the moment he sensed it might be best to stop trying. "Very well,ma chérie . I will not touch you again. Until you request it, at least." He got suavely to his feet, smoothing one hand over the long, wavy locks he wore and brushing at his breeches.

"Don't hold your breath."

"Nonetheless, never let it be said that Alexandre failed to come to the aid of a lady in need."

"What I need is to know who does your hair. Captain Hook?"

"Why were you calling for help?" he asked, ignoring her puzzling question.

She looked at the floor, shook her head. "This is unreal."

"I can see you are greatly distressed. Has some rogue insulted your honor, then? Shall I call him out, teach him a lesson he will not soon forget?"

She closed her eyes and he noticed how thick and dark her lashes were, resting upon her fair cheeks. "You're the one who's gonna be distressed. I think I—I think I messed up."

"It is understandable,chérie . You are only a woman, after all."

Her head came up, eyes narrow. "Watch it, Al."

"I am only saying that whatever is wrong, I can make it right. So, tell me now, what has befallen you?"

"It's what's befallen you we have to worry about," she said.

He frowned at her. "I do not understand."

"Do they have Witches where you come from, Al?"

He lifted his brows. "Oui , but they are not a problem. If they get out of hand, we simply hang them." Then he frowned. "You are not a Witch, are you, lady?"

"No. Not… exactly. But… well, maybe you'd better sit down."

"If you wish it." He tucked his damaged hat under his arm and walked to the settee, but he didn't sit until she did. "Now," he said, "tell Alexandre what troubles you… but first,ma chérie , tell me your name."

She blinked. "Oh. It's Mary Catherine Hammersmith. But I go by M. C. Hammer. It's… sort of a joke."

"My lady Hammer," he repeated, lowering his head respectfully. "Now, why are you so troubled, eh?"

She looked decidedly sheepish. "I got into trouble. I needed help. And I found this… old book… with a… an incantation…"

"A Witch's spell?"

She nodded. "Right… a spell for protection. And I said the words out loud… and I must have messed it up, because the next thing I knew, you were here."

He smiled slowly, and lifted a hand to gently pat her head. "Poor Lady Hammer… you truly believe that you have brought me here by witchery?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure of it."

"What makes you so sure, little one? Perhaps I simply heard your lovely voice asking for protection, and followed the sound to find you here."

"Well, that wouldn't have been possible, Al. See, you… you sort of… traveled… through time."

He studied her face. Poor, disturbed beauty. Surely he could find a way to pull her from her delusions! He must. She was entirely too beautiful to be a lunatic.

"You don't believe me, do you? This is the future, Al. The year is 1998."

"Oh, sweet Lady Hammer. Sssh." He ran his hand through her hair. "You will be all right. I will find help for you, I vow it."

She closed her eyes, poor little thing. "I can prove it," she said.

"Oh?" He so wanted to help her get well. He wasn't certain, but he didn't think it would be quite chivalrous to seduce a lunatic. So until he cured her…

"See that little box over there?" she asked, pointing.

He followed her gaze and nodded. She picked up a smaller item, thumbed a button, and the box came to life all on its own. "Sacre bleu!" he shouted, leaping to his feet as tiny Musketeers, his own comrades, battled their enemies, all the while held captive inside the box! He drew his sword and lashed out at the thing, but its face was impenetrable.

The poor S.O.B. was still swinging his sword at the television set when the front door burst open and Aunt Kate appeared. Mary Catherine sank a little deeper into the sofa cushions at the glare her aunt sent her. She just stood there, looking from Al to M.C. and back again. Then, hands going to her hips, she shouted, "Mary Catherine Hammersmith,what did youdo ?"

Chapter 3

Poor Al. He'd just sat there looking stunned as Aunt Kate explained what happened to him. He hadn't believed it at first, of course. But by the time they'd shown him the electric lights, the microwave, and Aunt Kate's smoke-belching Buick, he'd pretty much accepted the truth.

Now, Kate paced while Mary Catherine sat beside Al on the settee. She felt like a kid called into the principal's office. "You should have listened to me," Kate muttered. She went to the book, glancing down at it. "Is this the spell you used?"

Getting up, Mary Catherine went closer and peered over her aunt's shoulder at the book. "Yeah, that's it."

"This spell specifically calls for the moon's first quarter. I can't believe you'd use it during a full moon! And on All Hallows' Eve, of all nights!"

M.C. shrugged. "I didn't exactly expect it to work."

"Work? You quadrupled its potency!" She glared. M.C. looked at the floor. "And what about the white candle? I don't see one here." Kate looked at the candles on the table. "Red and pink? You used these, didn't you?"

M.C. nodded. "Is that bad?"

Kate eyed Al, then M.C. again. "Red is for passion. Pink brings true love. Honestly, Mary Catherine, what were you thinking?"

Again M.C. shrugged. "Mostly aboutThe Three Musketeers ," she muttered. "It was on TV."

Kate frowned. "Well, that explains it. You wanted protection. You got yourself a protector—in exactly the form you were envisioning." She rolled her eyes, shook her head. "Goddess preserve us from neophyte Witches."

"I am not a Witch," M.C. said flatly.

"I think Alexandre would disagree with you there."

Al looked up at the mention of his name. He'd been sitting, pretty much ignoring them. But now he seemed to straighten his spine as he got to his feet and came forward. "Can this… this spell be reversed?"

Aunt Kate looked at the book again, drumming her painted fingernails on the page. "I think so. It will take some research, but…"

"Well, that's just great," M.C. muttered. "Meanwhile, I'm right back where I started, with the biggest criminal in seven states out to do me in."

Kate blinked. Al gaped at her. M.C. realized she hadn't told either of them just how much trouble she was in. Nor had she intended to. She wasn't a whiner, and she certainly didn't want to drag either of them into this mess. "Forget I said that. It's nothing I can't handle. Go on, Aunt Kate. Figure a way to send Al back where he belongs."

Kate tilted her head. "I can't do that, M.C. The only one who can reverse your spell is you. I can help, but—"

"Non!"

At his declaration, Kate and M.C. both turned toward Al in surprise. "Whaddya mean, no? You have to go back," M.C. said.

He stared straight into her eyes, and his were very dark, very deep. If it weren't for the long, crimp-curled hair, pointy beard, and stupid hat, she thought, the guy might actually be attractive.

"I am a Musketeer," he said, still holding her with his penetrating stare. "You brought me here to help you, Lady Hammer, and help you I shall."

Lowering her eyes, she shook her head. "It's not like there's much you could do, Al."

When she looked up again, he wore a knowing smile. "You know very little about what I can do, pretty one. Besides, no Musketeer would leave a lady in this situation. This criminal… he means to murder you, mow?" She shrugged, and Al shook his head. "I will stay," he said firmly. "And when I've dispatched the villain, only then will I allow you to send me back… if you can."

Sighing heavily, M.C. lifted her chin. "What do you plan to do, Al? Challenge him to a sword fight? Look, I know you think you're some kind of superman, and maybe you are, in your own time. But you wouldn't stand a chance against this guy. He has weapons you haven't even imagined. Machine guns, and a dozen goons to do his bidding. You couldn't begin to—"

"Enough!" Al spun around, putting his back to her, arms crossed at his chest.

"Now you've gone and insulted him," Aunt Kate scolded. "I swear, M.C, didn't your mother teach you a thing about tact?"

M.C. threw her hands in the air. "I'm just trying to keep him alive, for crying out loud!" He didn't face her. He tapped his foot on the floor, waiting, she figured. She cleared her throat, moved closer, put her hand on his shoulder. "I apologize, Al. I didn't mean to insult you or question your… abilities. I just… well, hell, I dragged you here by mistake, and I feel bad enough about that already. If you go and get killed, I'll never be able to live with myself."

"And if I return, leaving you behind, never to know whether this… this goon person succeeds in taking your life… I would not be able to live with myself,chérie ."

She nodded. "I guess I can understand that."

Slowly he turned to face her again. "It is a question of honor, lady. I cannot leave you to face a killer alone. It is that simple."

M.C. tore her gaze from his and sought assistance in Aunt Kate. Kate sighed, shaking her head. "You won't be very successful in sending him back if he doesn't want to go. Besides, there are consequences to working magick on people against their will, Mary Catherine. It just isn't done."

Lowering her head in defeat, M.C. surrendered. "Okay. You can stay. But"—she looked him over again, head to toe—"but we're going to have to give you a makeover. I mean, the boots are cool, but the rest of this getup…" Kate elbowed her, and she realized she was on the verge of insulting him yet again. She cleared her throat. "It would be better if we dressed you in clothing more typical of what people wear in this day and age."

He rubbed his pointed beard thoughtfully. "I see. Yes, it is obvious people dress… quite differently today." This with a disapproving glance at her jeans and T-shirt.

M.C. looked at him with raised eyebrows. Then she reached up and removed his hat, eyeing the elegant, wavy locks underneath. "We'll have to start by chopping off this hair."

His smile was slow and almost… sexy. "No need." He reached up and removed the offending hair. "Frankly, my lady, I find the wig as offensive as you obviously do. I wear it only when I must."

"Sort of like me with panty hose," she said, grinning. Underneath, his own hair was dark, pulled behind his head and tied there with a thong. She wondered how long it was, and impulsively reached around his head to tug the thong away. Then, without thinking, ran her fingers through his hair to shake it loose. But her hands froze in mid-motion as his eyes, darkening, met hers.

"Maybe we should still cut it," Aunt Kate suggested.

Unable to look away, M.C. shook her head. "No. No, I think it's… it's fine." Why was her voice all hoarse?

"At last, something about me you like," he said softly.

Remembering herself, she drew her hands away from his hair. "You… um… you should shave."

His dark brows drew closer. "Men of this time do not wear beards?"

She averted her eyes. "Some do."

She didn't look up, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "But you would prefer to see me without mine?"

"I really don't care one way or the other. It was just a suggestion." She peered up to see him studying her. He was entirely too convinced of his own appeal.

"Come, Alexandre," Aunt Kate said. "I'll show you to the bathroom and explain how everything works. M.C., while we're up there, you run next door and ask Mrs. Johnson to loan us something for our guest to wear. He looks to be about Mr. Johnson's size."

Al started up the stairs. M.C. headed for the door. But before she left, she saw her aunt gazing worriedly at the red and pink candles on the table, a perplexed frown between her brows. She shook herself, though, and hurried up the stairs.

M.C. got the clothes, along with a curious glance from Mrs. Johnson, delivered them to her aunt, and then waited. She spent her time checking the cable listings, thinking she might be able to give Al a few lessons on life in the nineties by letting him watch television tonight and explaining things as they went along. She figured she'd best get him a gun, too, and teach him to use it. She really didn't see how the man was going to be any help to her at all. In fact, worse than that, he was an added burden. Now she had to worry about keeping him alive as well as protecting her own skin. Hell, things had gone from bad to worse, and they showed no signs of improving soon.

Aunt Kate cleared her throat, and M.C. turned, then jumped off the couch as if someone had goosed her.

Al stood at the foot of the stairs. The faded jeans fit him like a surgical glove, and the T-shirt strained to contain him. The guy was built like Stallone. Broad chest. Big shoulders. Biceps to die for.

Even when she could finally drag her eyes away from his body, she still couldn't catch her breath. His hair gleamed, neatly pulled back again. The beard was gone, and underneath it he looked like… like… he belonged on the big screen. A leading man to make the actresses' pulse rates go up.

He smiled then, and M.C.'s stomach convulsed. The man was absolutely, drop dead gorgeous.

"Oh, dear," Aunt Kate murmured.

He sent her a puzzled glance, but focused on M.C. again, moving forward. "Will I blend in now, do you think?"

"Not in this lifetime," she muttered, suddenly conscious of the fact that she hadn't run a comb through her tangles in hours. He looked worried. She bit her lip. "You look great, Al. You really do." He looked better than great. He looked like a Grade A hunk with a French accent. He looked like aPlaygirl cover in search of a home. Her throat went dry.

His smile got bigger. "Good. It feels strange… but comfortable. Far more so than the dress of my day. Although I see nowhere to fasten my sword."

She looked across the room to where he'd left his weapon standing upright in a corner. The ornate handguard glittered and she wondered if it was real gold. "Men don't carry swords these days. I. thought I'd teach you to use a gun."

He frowned. "If you're referring to that volatile toy you pointed at me earlier, I think not. A sword and my own wit are all I need."

"But the men we're up against will have guns, Al. And—"

"You can carry all the…guns … you need, my lady Hammer. For me, my rapier will be sufficient."

She clenched her jaw. "You're very stubborn, you know that?"

He only smiled.

"It's autumn," Aunt Kate commented. "We'll get him a longish coat to wear, and no one will notice the sword at all. It's not a big deal."

"It will be a big deal if he gets a forty-four-caliber hole blown through that magnificent chest of hi—" She cut herself off, bit her lip.

Al moved forward until they were standing very close to each other, nose to… magnificent chest. "Something else about me that meets with your approval,non ?"

"I'm only saying I would like to keep you in one piece, you arrogant, feather-hatted, Don Juan wanna-be."

"Ah. All the same, I am glad you find my… chest to be…magnifique , Lady Hammer. And I promise… I will remain in one piece, for you."

She swallowed hard, and told herself she was not the sort of woman who would respond to such outrageous, ego-based flirting. So why were her knees so weak?

"You can't keep calling me Lady Hammer, either," she said.

"What shall I call you then?" He touched her chin with a forefinger, lifting her head slightly so he could search her eyes. "Sorceress? Enchantress?La Belle Femme ?"

"M.C. will be fine," she rasped.

"It does not suit you. I will call you Mary Catherine, as your aunt does. A lady as beautiful as you are deserves a name equally so."

Her throat was dry.

"Did the women of your time really fall for these lines, Al? I know perfectly well that I look like hell."

His fingertips brushed a curl from her cheek. "If this is what hell looks like, my lady, then I shall resolve to sin far more often."

Her cheeks heated. She couldn't believe it. She was blushing!

Beyond him, Aunt Kate sighed heavily, snatched up the pink and red candles, and tossed them into the garbage pail.

Chapter 4

M.C. settled onto the settee beside Al—not too close, of course—and thumbed the remote. The set came to life, and Al shot it one startled glance before regaining his calm and eyeing her instead.

"So, now you will tell me the secret of the little box with the tiny Musketeers trapped inside,non ?"

She closed her eyes and prayed for patience. "There are no tiny people inside it, Al. It's just pretend." He cocked one eyebrow at her. "Make-believe," she said. He still frowned. "It's just moving pictures of people in costumes. Like a play."

The frown vanished. Wonder replaced it, and he stared again at the set. "But the players… they are so small."

"That's only a picture of the players. They aren't really there. See…" She sought an explanation he could understand, but found none. Then she glanced up when her aunt came in from another room, carrying her Polaroid with her.

She handed it to M.C. "Maybe this will help."

"Perfect. Sit still, Al." She pointed the camera at him and pressed the button. He jumped to his feet when the flash went off, then rubbed his eyes. "Sorry about that," she said. She took the photo the camera spit into her hand and watched it, waiting. In a few moments the image came clear. Al, looking like some lonely woman's fantasy come to life. Every inch the modern-day hunk. He didn't look a thing like a Musketeer now in his jeans and T-shirt. He could fool anyone—until he opened his mouth.

But what an attractive mouth it was.

Stop that!

She lifted her gaze from the photo, only to encounter the real thing, staring at her curiously. "Here," she said. "See? This is called a camera, and it takes pictures of people. Look."

He took the photo from her hand, then blinked down at it. "This… this amazes me."

"It's a photograph," she told him. "A similar kind of machine takes moving pictures of actors, and then the pictures are sent into the television set for our entertainment. Understand?"

Again he looked at the screen. Finally, he nodded, still staring. "And what sort of play is this?" he asked, pointing.

M.C. took the photo from him, tucked it into her back pocket, and then glanced toward the TV. "Oh, that's just a game. Two teams competing to see which wins. It's called football. Waste of time, really." The camera cut to a group of cheerleaders. Al gaped and nearly fell on the floor. M.C. snatched up the remote and changed the station. "Here's a movie. A story, you see? If we watch together, I can explain things to you as we go along, and maybe you'll understand the modern world better."

"What… what sort of… story?" he asked, his gaze riveted to the screen as the opening credits ofCasablanca scrolled past.

M.C. sighed as she always did when Bogie was nearby. "A love story. Sit down, Al. Relax. This is a terrific movie."

"A terrificold movie," Aunt Kate said, shaking her head. "Surely you don't expect him to learn about the modern world by watching this?"

"Sssh! It's starting." M.C. sat down again, thumbing the volume up a few notches.

Kate rolled her eyes. "He should be getting some rest. It's late and—"

"Aunt Kate, go on up to bed. Al and I will be fine."

Kate eyed her. "Star Trekis showing on channel 12." She said it without much hope in her voice. M.C. ignored her. "Indiana Jonesis on 26… or maybe the late news would be—"

M.C. sent her aunt a quelling glare.

"I found the… er… ball of foot game to be interesting," Al suggested.

M.C. looked at him with raised brows, then turned to her aunt. "He's becoming a nineties guy already." She got to her feet, pointing at Al with a decisive forefinger. "You are going to sit here and watchCasablanca . And you," she said, turning to Aunt Kate, "are going up to bed before you fall asleep on your feet."

Kate put her hands on her hips. "And what are you going to do, young lady?"

M.C. smiled. "Make popcorn. What else?"

She sauntered into the kitchen to do just that, and when she returned, Al was alone, riveted to the TV screen, Aunt Kate having finally surrendered and gone to bed.

Al dug into the popcorn with delight, and M.C. explained the film as it went along. The cars, the guns, the airplanes, the war. But when it ended, Al turned to her in confusion.

"He let her go," he said, shaking his head.

M.C. sniffed and rubbed at her eyes. "I know. It's a beautiful story, isn't it?"

"Beautiful?" He searched her face. "But you are crying! I thought you said this was not real! Make-believe,non ?"

"Of course it's make-believe." She averted her face, rubbing the tears from her lashes briskly.

"Then… why do you cry?"

"Because it's so sad!"

"And yet you love it all the same? Though it makes you cry to see it?"

She nodded. Al frowned. "You are a foolish woman, Mary Catherine. And that… that story is foolish as well. He should not have let her go."

M.C. tilted her head and studied Al's face. "Well, I'll be… You were as moved by the film as I was, weren't you?"

"Non!" he said. "I told you, it was foolish. He loved her. He should have taken her away with him and let the war be damned."

He said it with such passion that she found herself staring at him in surprise. "You feel pretty strongly about it, hmm?"

Al nodded hard, then met her eyes. "Nothing is more important than love, lady. Not war, nor peace, nor marriage. Nothing."

Lowering her gaze, she said, "You sound as if you've been in love yourself."

Al shook his head slowly, but his gaze remained riveted to her face. "I have known many women,ma belle , but I have not loved. Some of them… claimed to love me, but it was my position, my sword, not me. The romantic image of the Musketeer. One day, I will find a woman who will love the man, rather than the colors he wears and the rapier he wields."

"I'll bet you will," she said softly.

He nodded, more gently this time. "And when I do,chérie , I will not let her go the way your foolish Rick of the magic box did. I will fight for her. I will die for her. I will even… even surrender my sword for her."

She blinked, amazed at the way her heart tripped at his words.

"You think I am foolish," he said, lowering his eyes.

"I think," she said, "that this woman… will thank her lucky stars."

He smiled, and handed her the television guide her aunt had been perusing earlier. "Another play," he said.

"Aren't you tired?"

Staring deeply into her eyes, he said, "I am more awake than I have ever been,ma petite ."

She felt her cheeks heating, so she averted her face, burying her nose in the magazine, flipping pages. She didn't think she'd ever met a more hopeless romantic in her life. Who'd have guessed the French flirt was really such a softy? "Oh, here's one. This time you'll get to see what I do for a living as well as learn about life in the nineties." He frowned as she set the book down and turned to channel 8, whereV. I. Warshawski was about to begin.

Alexandre was amazed at the strength and independence of the woman on the screen, and slowly realized that Mary Catherine was like her. He had no idea how to deal with such a woman. And yet, as the film progressed he understood better the kind of danger she must be facing.

When it ended, he turned to M.C. "Like the woman, you feel you have no need of a man to protect you,non ?"

"Right," she said. And she said it firmly.

"Yet, you must have been afraid. For you sought help from the book of magic."

She shrugged her small shoulders. "I… was only playing around. I didn't expect it to really work… certainly didn't expect a Musketeer to show up."

She smiled, and as it had before, her smile touched him on some very deep level. Made his stomach clench tight like a fist.

"I think you were afraid. Are you still, Mary Catherine?"

She lowered her lids to hide her eyes, and he knew she was. But thought herself too strong to admit it.

"Tell me about this trouble you are in," he said.

Nodding again, she began. And when she had told him all of it, he found himself amazed at her cleverness in having eluded her pursuers for as long as she had. At disguising herself and escaping even as they watched her every move. She was truly an unusual woman. Unlike any he'd known.

"You do not have to go back," he suggested. "You could go far away, leave this… this evidence behind."

"I can't do that," she said. "Guido de Rocci is a killer, Al. If I don't put him away, he's just going to hurt someone else. I can't let that happen."

He stared at her for a very long moment. "Finally, something about you I understand," he said softly.

"Do you?"

He nodded. "It is… a matter of honor, is it not?"

She stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment. "Yeah," she said. "I guess it is."

"Then I shall help you to retrieve this evidence."

She blinked as if surprised. "But how? I told you, they're watching the bank. Oh, they might let me get in and grab the tape, but there's no way I'll get out of there once I have it."

"Oui, they are watching. But they are watching for you, Lady Hammer. Not me."

Her brows bunched together, creasing her forehead. "Not… you?"

"I shall go into this… this bank, and retrieve the tape for you. It is simple, mow?"

Her frown eased. "Itsounds simple." Then she caught her lower lip in her teeth, shaking her head slowly. "So why do I have the feeling it won't be?"

"You worry for nothing,ma chérie . I am a Musketeer. This is only a small task, and barely worthy of my skills."

She thought for a long moment, even got to her feet and paced the floor. But finally she turned to him and nodded. "All right, we'll try it. But you have to understand, Al, it's going to be dangerous."

"I am not unfamiliar with danger, Mary Catherine."

She searched his face. But he got the feeling she didn't quite believe him. "You'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a big day, and you'll need to be on your toes."

He frowned at the unusual turn of phrase. "A wise suggestion," he finally said.

"Come on, I'll take you to the bedroom." She reached for his hand, quite without thought, he was certain. But when his closed around hers, he felt the shudder that worked through her. And more. The warmth of that small hand nestled within his larger one. The pull of a longing that seemed to well from somewhere deep inside him. The tingle of an attraction more powerful than any he'd known. And he realized then what she wanted.

"There is one thing I must tell you, lady, before I rest."

She tugged her hand gently, but he only drew it to his lips and kissed its silken flesh before finally releasing her. "Go… go ahead," she said, but her voice trembled just as her hand had when his lips had caressed it.

He sighed. "I am a Musketeer, and as of this moment, my mission is to protect you, and to see to it that your pursuers are dealt with. This is my task, Mary Catherine, and until it is done, it is where all my attention must lie."

She tilted her head to one side. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

He nodded. "I am being unclear. What I am saying is that as long as I am your protector, I cannot make love to you."

She blinked twice, and then her eyes opened wide. "Wh-what?"

"I am sorry,ma chérie . It is a part of my personal code of conduct, you see. I cannot be distracted, even for a moment. Not until you are safe, and my task complete."

She gaped for a moment. Then snapped her jaw shut. "Of all the nerve! I swear, Al, I've never met a more conceited, cocksure, arrogant—"

He surged to his feet, and in one smooth motion swept her into his arms, dipped her backward, and bent over her to kiss her mouth, because he knew how badly she wanted him to. She went stiff in his arms, but as he worked her lips with his, her body melted, and her mouth relaxed, and he made love to her with his tongue until she trembled all over.

Then he straightened, careful not to release her until he was sure she wouldn't fall. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her breaths quick and short. "Do not be angry with me, pretty one. I, too, find it difficult to wait. But for now, you must go to your chamber alone, and I will rest here… and dream of the time when my job is done and I can give you what we both desire."

Her faced flushed, still panting, she clenched her fists and glared at him. "The only thing Idesire , Al, is to get this tape to the police, Guido de Rocci behind bars, and you back in your own time and out of my life for good. Understand?"

He smiled very gently. "Oui, ma petite. I understand,perfectly ."

She made a growling sound like that of a lion about to spring, then whirled and stomped away from him and up the stairs to her room. Alone, and angry at him for denying her. He lowered his head, shaking it slowly. Poorpetite . It frustrated him as well. And for the first time, Alexandre was tempted to forgo honor, deny his own code, and give in to the rapture he would find in her arms.

But no. He was a Musketeer.

He laid his rapier beside the settee within easy reach, and curled onto the cushions for a night he was certain would provide little rest.

Chapter 5