"I'm going to try to give you one. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before." Ana linked her hands tight in her lap. "I wanted to, but I could never find the right way."

"Straight out," he said as he dragged deeply on smoke.

"I come from a very old bloodline—on both sides. A different culture, if you like. Do you know what wicca is?"

Something cold brushed his skin, but it was only the night air. "Witchcraft."

"Actually, its true meaning is wise. But witch will do." She looked up, and her clear gray eyes met his tired, shadowed ones. "I'm a hereditary witch, born with empathic powers that enable me to link emotionally, and physically, with others. My gift is one of healing."

Boone took another long drag on his cigarette. "You're going to sit there, look me in the face and tell me you're a witch."

"Yes."

Furious, he flung the cigarette away. "What kind of a game is this, Ana? Don't you think after what happened here last night I deserve a reasonable explanation?"

"I think you deserve the truth. You may not think it reasonable." She held up a hand before he could speak. "Tell me how you would explain what happened."

He opened his mouth, closed it again. He'd been working on that single problem for more than twenty-four hours without finding a comfortable solution. "I can't. But that doesn't mean I'm going to buy into this."

"All right." She rose, laid a hand on his chest. "You're tired. You haven't had much sleep. Your head's pounding and your stomach's in knots."

He lifted a brow derisively. "I don't think you have to be a witch to figure that out."

"No." Before he could back away, she touched a hand to his brow, pressed the other to his stomach. "Better?" she asked after a moment.

He needed to sit down, but he was afraid he wouldn't get up again. She'd touched him, barely touched him. And even the shadow of pain was gone. "What is it? Hypnotism?"

"No. Boone, look at me."

He did, and saw a stranger with tangled blond hair billowing out in the wind. The amber enchantress, he thought numbly. Was it any wonder it had reminded him so much of her?

Ana saw both shock and the beginning of belief on his face. "When you asked me to marry you, I asked you to give me time so that I could find the right way to tell you. I was afraid.'' Her hands dropped away. "Afraid you'd look at me exactly the way you're looking at me now. As if you don't even know me."

"This is bull. Look, I write this stuff for a living, and I know fiction from fact."

"My skill for magic is very limited." Still, she reached into her pocket, where she always carried a few crystals. With her eyes on Boone's, she held them out in her palm. Slowly they began to glow, the purple of the amethyst deepening, the pink of the rose quartz brightening, the green of the malachite shimmering. Then they rose, an inch, two inches, up, circling, spinning in the air and flashing with light. "Morgana is more talented with such things."

He stared at the tumbling crystals, trying to find a logical reason. "Morgana is a witch, too?"

"She's my cousin," Ana said simply. "Which makes Sebastian—"

"Sebastian's gift is sight."

He didn't want to believe, but it was impossible to discount what he saw with his own eyes. "Your family," he began. "Those magic tricks of your father's."

"Magic in its purest form." She plucked the crystals out of the air and slipped them back in her pocket. "As I told you, he's very accomplished. As are the rest of them, in their own ways. We're witches. All of us." She reached out to him, but he backed away. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Rocked to the core, he dragged both hands through his hair. It had to be a dream, a nightmare. But he was standing on his own deck, feeling the wind, hearing the sea. "That's good. That's great. You're sorry. For what, Ana? For being what you are, or for not finding it important enough to mention?"

"I'm not sorry for being what I am." Pride stiffened her spine. "I am sorry for making excuses to myself not to tell you. And I'm sorry, most sorry of all, that you can't look at me now the way you did only a day ago."

"What do you expect? Am I supposed to just shrug this off, pick up where we were before? To accept the fact that the woman I love is something out of one of my own stories, and think nothing of it?"

"I'm exactly what I was yesterday, and what I'll be tomorrow."

"A witch."

"Yes." She folded her hands at her waist. "A witch, born to the craft. I don't make poisoned apples or lure children into houses of gingerbread."

"That's supposed to relieve my mind?"

"Even I don't have the power to do that. As I told you, all of us are responsible for our own destinies." But she knew he held hers in his hands. "You have your choice to make."

He struggled to get a grip on it, and simply couldn't. "You needed time to tell me. Well, by God, I need time to figure out what to do about it." He started to pace, then stopped dead. "Jessie. Jessie's over at Morgana's."

Ana felt the crack in her heart widen. "Oh, yes, with my cousin the witch." A single tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. "What do you think Morgana's going to do? Cast a spell on her? Lock her in a tower?"

"I don't know what to think. For Lord's sake, I've found myself in the middle of a fairy tale! What am I supposed to think?"

"What you will," Ana said wearily. "I can't change what am, and I wouldn't. Not even for you. And I won't stand her and have you look at me as if I were a freak."

"I'm not—"

"Shall I tell you what you're feeling?" she asked him as another tear fell. "Betrayed, angry, hurt. And suspicious of what I am, what I can do, or will do."

"My feelings are my own business," he shot back, shaken. "I don't want you to get inside me that way."

"I know. And if I were to step forward right now, reach out to you as a woman, you'd only back away. So I'll save us both. Good night, Boone."

When she walked off the deck, into the shadows, he couldn't bring himself to call her back.