He shrugged, then walked toward her. "I hate to point it out, but she twisted you around her finger."

A faint flush crept into her cheeks. If there was anything she hated more than being weak, it was being weak in public. "I'm aware of that."

Lifting a hand, he rubbed his thumb over her cheek to wipe away the faint smear of crimson Mrs. Littleton had left there. "I figured witches would be tough."

"I have a weak spot for the eccentric and the good hearted. And you're not a Sagittarius."

He was sorry he had to remove his thumb from her cheek. Her skin was as cool and smooth as milk. "No? What, then?"

"Gemini."

His brow lifted, and he stuck his hand in his pocket. "Good guess."

His discomfort made her feel a little better. "I rarely guess. Since you were nice enough not to hurt her feelings, I won't take out my annoyance on you. Why don't you come in the back? I'll brew us some tea." She laughed when she saw his expression. "All right. I'll pour us some wine."

"Better."

He followed her through a door behind the counter into a room that served as storage, office and kitchenette. Though it was a small area, it didn't seem overly crowded. Shelves lined two walls and were stacked with boxes, uncrated stock and books. A curvy cherry desk held a brass lamp shaped like a mermaid, an efficient-looking two-line phone and a pile of paperwork held in place by a flat-bottomed glass that tossed out color and reflection.

Beyond that was a child-size refrigerator, a two-burner stove and a drop-leaf table with two chairs. In the single window, pots of herbs were crowded and thriving. He could smell… he wasn't sure what—sage, perhaps, and oregano, with a homey trace of lavender. Whatever it was, it was pleasant.

Morgana took two clear goblets from a shelf over the sink.

"Have a seat," she said. "I can't give you very much time, but you might as well be comfortable." She took a long, slim-necked bottle out of the refrigerator and poured a pale golden liquid into the goblets.

"No label?"

"It's my own recipe." With a smile, she sipped first. "Don't worry, there's not a single eye of newt in it."

He would have laughed, but the way she studied him over the rim of her glass was making him uneasy. Still, he hated to refuse a challenge. He took a sip. The wine was cool, faintly sweet, and smooth as silk. "Nice."

"Thank you." She took the chair beside him. "I haven't decided whether I'm going to help you or not. But I'm interested in your craft, particularly if you're going to incorporate mine into it."

"You like the movies," he said, figuring that gave him a head start. He hooked an arm around the back of the chair, scratching Luna absently with his foot as the cat wound around his legs.

"Among other things. I enjoy the variety of human imagination."

"Okay—"

"But," she went on, interrupting him, "I'm not sure I want my personal views going Hollywood."

"We can talk." He smiled again, and again she understood that he was a power to be reckoned with. As she considered that, Luna leapt onto the table. For the first time Nash noticed that the cat wore an etched round crystal around her neck. "Look, Morgana, I'm not trying to prove or disprove, I'm not trying to change the world. I just want to make a movie."

"Why horror and the occult?"

"Why?" He shrugged his shoulders. It always made him uncomfortable when people asked him to analyze. "I don't know. Maybe because when people go into a scary movie, they stop thinking about the lousy day they had at the office after the opening scream." His eyes lit with humor. "Or maybe because the first time I got past first base with a girl was when she wrapped herself all over me during a midnight showing of Carpenter's Halloween ."

Morgana sipped and considered. Maybe, just maybe, there was a sensitive soul under that smug exterior. There certainly was talent, and there was undeniably charm. It bothered her that she felt… pushed somehow, pushed to agree.

Well, she'd damn well say no if she chose to, but she'd test the waters first.

"Why don't you tell me about your story?"

Nash saw the opening and pounced. "I haven't got one to speak of yet. That's where you come in. I like to have plenty of background. I can get a lot of information out of books." He spread his hands. "I already have some—my research tends to overlap and take me into all areas of the occult. What I want is the personal angle. You know, what made you get into witchcraft, do you attend ceremonies, what kind of trappings you prefer."

Morgana ran a fingertip thoughtfully around the rim of the goblet. "I'm afraid you're starting off with the wrong impression. You're making it sound as though I joined some sort of club."

"Coven, club… A group with the same interests."

"I don't belong to a coven. I prefer working alone."

Interested, he leaned forward. "Why?"

"There are groups who are quite sincere, and those who are not. Still others dabble in things best left locked."

"Black magic."

"Whatever name you give it."

"And you're a white witch."

"You're fond of labels." With a restless move, she picked up her wine again. Unlike Nash, she didn't mind discussing the essence of her craft—but once she agreed to, she expected to have her thoughts received respectfully. "We're all born with certain powers, Nash. Yours is to tell entertaining stories. And to attract women." Her lips curved as she sipped. "I'm sure you respect, and employ, your powers. I do exactly the same."

"What are yours?"

She took her time, setting her goblet down, lifted her eyes to his. The look she leveled at him made him feel like a fool for having asked. The power was there—the kind that could make a man crawl. His mouth went so dry that the wine he was drinking could have been sand.

"What would you like, a performance?" The faintest hint of impatience had seeped into her tone.

He managed to draw a breath and shake himself out of what he would almost have thought was a trance—if he believed in trances. "I'd love one." Maybe it was twitching the devil's tail, but he couldn't resist. The color that temper brought to her cheeks made her skin glow like a freshly picked peach. "What did you have in mind?"