‘No talisman? No philosopher’s stone?’

‘Life is not a Harry Potter novel.’

‘You and I both know it’s not as far removed as people might think,’ he said beneath his breath. ‘Okay, that’s lesson number one. You need something to feed your power through. Concentrating as hard as you can on something doesn’t work. It’s like trying too hard for an orgasm – the harder you work, the more elusive it becomes. You have to let go.’

She blushed. ‘I’m afraid you must be more of an expert at difficult orgasms. Are you talking about you or the women you sleep with?’

‘Actually, it’s pretty much a no-brainer for men. And with no false modesty I have to say that I’m very good in bed. Years of experience does wonders.’ He tilted his head. ‘I’m thinking more of young women with little experience who sleep with the wrong men.’

A crackle of energy, and a pair of narrow stiletto heels appeared on the scarred workbench. Hot-pink fuck-me shoes. Very interesting, he thought.

She grabbed the shoes and threw them under the workbench. ‘I really don’t want to be discussing sex with you,’ she said in a strained voice.

I know you don’t, he thought. But why? He took a step toward her, trying to forget about the very sexy shoes. ‘We need to find you a talisman…’ he began, automatically reaching for her hand.

The spark between them made him jump, and she let out a pained little scream. It wasn’t a sexual spark, not the disturbing current that he’d felt before when he’d put his hand on her shoulder and when he’d taken her hand to bring her back home – it was static electricity magnified a hundred times, and it hurt.

‘What was that?’ she demanded in a shaky voice.

He’d touched her ring. It was no wonder he hadn’t noticed – anything that tiny was easily overlooked. ‘It’s that pitiful engagement ring,’ he said. ‘Your body’s rejecting it.’

‘Give me a break,’ she said. And it’s not pitiful. Charles and I agreed it made more sense to put money into something that benefited both of us in the long run. This is merely a symbol.’

‘If that’s a symbol of your great love, then you’re in deep shit,’ Elric said. He stared at the nasty little thing in fascination. He wasn’t going to touch it again, not as long as it was on her finger.

‘I don’t want to discuss this with you,’ she said stiffly.

‘Fine. We won’t discuss sex and we won’t discuss your fiance, though if you’re that uptight about things it’s no wonder you’ve been screwing up in the workshop. People like us need to be comfortable in our bodies, not nervous and twitchy. It throws everything off.’

He’d expected her to argue again, but she looked momentarily distracted. ‘That would explain Dee’s problem,’ she said, half to herself.

‘What is Dee’s problem?’

‘None of your business.’

Elric bit back his irritation. He was going to have to immobilize Deirdre as well, plus the youngest, and he was going to have to do it without anyone realizing it. He didn’t have enough information; he only knew their gifts were backfiring. Now he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a grave mistake in coming here.

He dismissed it a moment later. The disturbances emanating from this area had been felt worldwide, and he’d known, with that instinctive sureness that had been with him most of his life, that this was where he was supposed to be.

‘Take off the ring,’ he said.

‘The hell I will.’

He blinked. She was looking very defiant, even though her voice had wobbled slightly, and he wondered if another pair of shoes were about to appear. Maybe they’d be combat boots.

He tried another tack. ‘The ring is interfering with the flow of energy through your body,’ he said patiently. ‘You said the fires and explosions were getting worse. Starting when?’

She glanced down at the tiny chip on her hand. ‘Around the time we got engaged,’ she said reluctantly.

‘I rest my case. The ring disrupts things when you try to channel your gift. Your body is fighting it – I’ll leave it up to you to draw whatever conclusions you want.’

‘Someone must have… hexed it or something,’ she said.

‘Take it off and I’ll tell you.’

She pulled at it, and it came off easily enough – a little too easily for a ring that wasn’t loose. She held it out to him, but he shook his head. ‘Put it on the bench.’

‘Chicken,’ she said, but she sounded relieved as she set it down.

He picked it up, half expecting another crack of painful electricity, but it was nothing more than a plain, cheap ring, devoid of power. ‘It’s just a ring,’ he said. ‘Harmless. Except if the wrong person wears it.’

She started to reach for it, but a sizzle of blue electricity danced between them, and she jerked her hand back. ‘You’re doing that,’ she said in a sulky voice.

‘Believe what you want. But you’re not wearing it until I leave. We aren’t going to get anywhere if we practically get electrocuted every time I touch you.’

‘I don’t see why you need to touch me,’ she protested.

He closed his eyes in momentary exasperation. ‘Didn’t you have any training at all? I can help you channel your energy – you don’t have to start getting paranoid.’

‘That’s right, your mind isn’t clouded by lust. If it was I’d be able to make you do what I want.’

He wasn’t about to argue with it. His mind wasn’t clouded with lust – he’d been able to compartmentalize it very neatly. Yes, there was a strong, deep attraction that made no sense, and it was entirely inconvenient and, as far as he could tell, completely one-sided. So he’d banished it with the ruthless efficiency he’d perfected, never to think about it again until he was far enough away from her that it wouldn’t be a danger.

He put the ring back down on the workbench. ‘You can have it when I leave. In the meantime, I’ll show you what I mean.’

He had no idea why he did it, when he’d just been thinking how dangerous she was. Maybe he hadn’t banished that errant strain of lust as efficiently as he thought. He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder, as he had before, but for some reason it slid up the side of her neck, cupping her face, and there was no snap of static power between them. Instead it was a pulse, strong and powerful, flowing between them, awash with color and the heartbeat of the universe. And without thinking he moved his head down to kiss her.


Danny James opened the door to the Greasy Fork and ushered Dee in. Dee couldn’t think of anyplace more platonic to have her one drink with Danny than the Greasy Fork, the epitome of the smalltown diner with its scarred Formica and Coke-and-hamburger menu. Plus no alcohol. She’d be safe there.

She led him through the bustling early-dinner crowd over to her favorite booth by the front window where she could see the town square, the river, and the cliffs beyond that were her favorite haunt. The sun was low, throwing a golden wash over the red brick buildings and limning the trees. Dee sighed. What the hell had she been thinking? She needed to be outside in that perfect light. Not here. Not with Danny James, for God’s sake.

She’d laid in a few brushstrokes of burnt sienna along the lines of his throat, where the warm sun had left shadows.

Dee shook her head, feeling oddly bereft. Damn fantasy. ‘Nice place,’ Danny said behind her with a suspiciously dry voice.

‘Did I tell you the drink choices here are Coke, Coke, and coffee?’ she asked as she tossed her briefcase onto the seat and slid in.

Danny looked around. ‘Yeah. I can see that.’

‘No, no,’ the waitress said as she bustled over. ‘It’s your lucky day. We got a liquor license. I know how much you like a good martini, Dee. How ‘bout it?’

‘Wonderful,’ Dee said faintly. ‘Thanks, Maxine.’

Without taking her eyes off Danny, Maxine dug into her pocket, where she usually kept her order pad. ‘And you, sir?’

‘I’ll just have a longneck,’ Danny said with another one of those killer smiles as he settled across from her.

Every person within a four-booth radius turned their way. Maxine headed off to get their drinks, making it a point to wait until she was out of Danny’s line of sight before vigorously fanning herself for Dee’s benefit. Yeah, Dee thought. He’s all that and more. She just wished she knew what that more was.

He looked like a yuppie exec on casual day, his oxford shirt open and rolled up to his elbows, his hair just that much disordered, his shoes tasseled. He smelled like the male animal. Dee recognized the scent from her times as a fox. Musk and power and salt. The clean hint of soap, and something that was particularly Danny James. Something deadly she couldn’t quite identify. Probably the uncut scent of pheromones. And she was sitting across from him in hundred-weight wool and a pool of sweat. Very attractive.

She was feeling flushed again. Just who’d thought this would be a good idea? Across from her, Danny pulled a tape recorder from his jacket pocket and set it on the booth.

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Dee said, stone-faced.

He gave a wry shrug and put it away. ‘You can only say no.’

‘I could beat you into insensibility with your own equipment.’

She could change into a wolverine and chew his face off. But it was too nice a face.

‘Oh, you don’t want to do that,’ he said without looking up. ‘I have such a nice face.’

Dee went very still. Just which bit of vitriol had he been responding to? And if he was letting her know that he’d heard her thoughts, why wasn’t he flashing her an ‘I know what you are’ smile?

She surreptitiously took another sniff. Again, she caught the man scent, the soap. And… ah, hell. She should have known. That mystery scent hadn’t just been pheromones. It held the tang of ozone before a storm. The crackle of electricity. Whatever else this guy was or wasn’t, he was one of them. He smelled like psychic power.