One brow arched, Morgana studied the title. "Fame, Fortune and Romance: Candle Rituals for Every Need." She dropped the book into his lap smartly enough to make him wince. "I hope you didn't pay much for it."

"Six-ninety-five, and it comes off my taxes. You don't go in for this sort of thing, then?"

Patience, she told herself, slipping off her shoes and curling up her legs. The little red skirt she wore slid up to midthigh.

"Lighting candles and reciting clever little chants. Do you really believe that any layman can perform magic by reading a book?"

"You gotta learn somewhere."

Snarling, she snatched it up again, flipped it open. "To arouse jealousy," she read, disgusted. "To win the love of a woman. To obtain money." She slapped it down again. "Think about this, Nash, and be grateful it doesn't work for everyone. You're a little strapped for cash, bills are piling up. You'd really like to have that new car, but the credit's exhausted. So, light a few candles, make a wish—maybe dance naked for effect. Abracadabra." She spread her hands. "You find yourself getting a check for ten thousand. Only problem is, your beloved grandmother had to die to leave it to you."

"Okay, so you've got to be careful how you phrase your charm."

"Follow me here," she said with a toss of her head. "Actions have consequences. You wish your husband were more romantic. Shazam, he's suddenly a regular Don Juan—with every woman in town. But you'll be noble, and cast a charm to stop a war. It works just fine, but as a result dozens of others spring up." She let out a huff of breath. "Magic is not for the unprepared or the irresponsible. And it certainly can't be learned out of some silly book."

"Okay." Impressed by her reasoning, he held up both hands. "I'm convinced. My point was that I could buy this in a bookstore for seven bucks. People are interested."

"People have always been interested." When she shifted, her hair slid down over her shoulder. "There have been times when their interest caused them to be hanged, burned or drowned." She sipped her tea. "We're a bit more civilized today."

"That's the thing," he agreed. "That's why I want to write the story about now. Now, when we've got cellular phones and microwave ovens, fax machines and voice mail. And people are still fascinated with magic. I can go a couple of ways. Use lunatics who sacrifice goats—"

"Not with my help."

"Okay, I figured that. Anyway, that's too easy… too, ah, ordinary. I've been thinking about leaning more toward the comic angle I used in Rest In Peace , maybe adding some romance. Not just sex." Luna had crawled into his lap, and he was stroking her, running long fingers down her spine. "The idea is to focus on a woman, this gorgeous woman who happens to have a little extra. How does she deal with men, with a job, with… I don't know, grocery shopping? She has to know other witches. What do they talk about? What do they do for laughs? When did you decide you were a witch?"

"Probably when I levitated out of my crib," Morgana said mildly, and watched laughter form in his eyes.

"That's just the kind of thing I want." He settled back, and Luna draped herself over his legs like a lap rug. "Must've sent your mother into shock."

"She was prepared for it." When she shifted, her knees brushed his thigh. He didn't figure there was anything magical about the quick flare of heat he felt. It was straight chemistry. "I told you I was a hereditary witch."

"Right." His tone had her taking a deep breath. "So, did it ever bother you? Thinking you were different?"

"Knowing I was different," she corrected. "Of course. As a child, it was more difficult to control power. One often loses control through emotion—in the same way a woman might lose control of the intellect with certain men."

He wanted to reach out and touch her hair, but he thought better of it. "Does it happen often? Losing control?"

She remembered the way it had felt the day before, with his mouth on hers. "Not as often as it did before I matured. I have a problem with temper, and I sometimes do things I regret, but there is something no responsible witch forgets. 'An it harm none,' " she quoted. "Power must never be used to hurt."

"So you're a serious and responsible witch. And you cast love spells for your customers."

Her chin shot out. "Certainly not."

"You took those pictures—that woman's niece, and the geometry heartthrob."

He didn't miss a trick, Morgana thought in disgust. "She didn't give me much choice." Because she was embarrassed, she set down her cup with a snap. "And just because I took the pictures doesn't mean I'm about to sprinkle them both with moondust."

"Is that how it works?"

"Yes, but—" She bit her tongue. "You're making fun of me. Why do you ask questions when you're not going to believe the answers?"

"I don't have to believe them to be interested." And he was—very. He found himself sliding a few inches closer. "So you didn't do anything about the prom?"

"I didn't say that." She sulked a little while he gave in and toyed with her hair. "I simply removed a small barrier. Anything else would have been interference."

"What barrier?" He didn't have a clue as to what moondust might smell like, but he thought it would carry the same perfume as her hair.

"The girl's desperately shy. I only gave her confidence a tiny boost. The rest is up to her."

She had a beautiful neck, slim and graceful. He imagined what it would be like to nibble on it. For an hour or two. Business, he reminded himself. Stick to business.

"Is that how you work? Giving boosts?"

She turned her head and looked directly into his eyes. "It depends on the situation."

"I've been reading a lot. Witches used to be considered the wise women of the villages. Making potions, charming, foretelling events, healing the sick."

"My speciality isn't healing, or seeing."

"What is your speciality?"

"Magic." Whether it was a matter of pride or annoyance, she wasn't sure, but she sent thunder walking across the sky.

Nash glanced toward the window. "Sounds like a storm coming."