Above, a twinkling of stars could be seen through the skylights he'd opened to the night and the air. There were chairs and tables and stands, all of them looking as if they belonged in some medieval castle, rather than a modern home in Big Sur. On them she saw orbs of crystal, colorful bowls, scribed silver mirrors, slender wands of clear glass, and goblets encrusted with glittering stones.

She didn't believe in magic. Mel knew there was always a false drawer in the magician's chest and an ace of hearts up his sleeve. But standing there, in the doorway of that room, she felt the air pulse and throb as if it were alive with a thousand hearts.

And she knew that there was more, here in this world she thought she knew, than she had ever dreamed of.

Sebastian sat in the center of the room, in the center of a silver pentagram inlaid in the wooden floor. His back was to her, and he was very still. Her curiosity had always been strong, but she discovered something stronger—her need to give him his privacy.

But, even as she stepped back from the doorway, he spoke to her.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't." She toyed with one of the few buttons left on his shirt. "The music did. Or I woke up and heard it, and wondered…" She looked around, baffled. She could see no recording device, no stereo. "I wondered where it was coming from."

"The night." He rose. Though she'd never considered herself a prude, she found herself flushing when he stood naked in the candlelight, holding a hand out for her.

"I'm naturally nosy, but I didn't mean to intrude."

"You didn't." Her hesitation had him lifting a brow, then stepping forward to take her hand. "I needed to clear my mind. I couldn't do it beside you." He brought her palm to his lips, pressing them at the center. "Too many thoughts clouding the issue."

"I guess I should've gone home."

"No." He leaned down to kiss her, lightly, sweetly. "No indeed."

"Well, the thing is…" She backed away a little, wishing she had something to do with her hands. "I don't usually do this sort of thing."

She looked so young, he thought, and so frail, standing there in his shirt, with her hair mussed from love and sleep, and her eyes too wide.

"Should I say that, since you decided to make an exception with me, you do this sort of thing very well?"

"You don't have to." Then her lips turned up. She had done well. They had done incredibly well. "But I don't guess it hurts. Do you usually sit naked on the floor in candlelight?"

"When the spirit moves me."

More comfortable now, she began moving around the room, picking up objects. Lips pursed, she examined a centuries-old scrying mirror. "Is this supposed to be magic stuff?"

In that moment, watching her peer suspiciously at the priceless, he adored her. "That was said to belong to Ninian."

"Who?"

"Ah, Sutherland, your education is sadly lacking. Ninian was a sorceress, reputed to have imprisoned Merlin in his cave of crystal."

"Yeah?" She took a closer look, found it a pretty piece, then set it down to study a globe of smoky quartz. "So what do you use this stuff for?"

"Enjoyment." He had no need for scrying mirrors or crystal balls in order to see. He kept them around him out of an appreciation of tradition and a sense of aesthetics. It amused him to see her frown and squint at the tools of power.

There was something he wanted to give her, a small gift. He hadn't forgotten the fleeting sadness he'd seen in her eyes when she'd told him she didn't remember her father.

"Would you like to see?"

"See what?"

"To see," he said gently, and walked to her. "Come." He took the globe in one hand, her fingers in the other, and drew her back to the center of the room.

"I don't really think—"

"Kneel." He nudged her down with him. "Past or future, Mel? Which would you like?"

With a nervous laugh, she settled back on her heels. "Aren't you supposed to be wearing a turban?"

"Use your imagination." He touched a hand to her cheek. "The past, I think. You prefer taking care of your own future."

"You got that right, but—"

"Put your hands on the globe, Mel. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid." She squirmed a little, let out a long breath. "It's just a piece of glass. It's weird, that's all," she muttered as she took the crystal. Sebastian put his hands under hers and smiled.

"My aunt Bryna, Morgana's mother, gave me this ball as a christening gift. It was, for me, somewhat like training wheels on a bicycle."

It was cool in her hands, smooth and as cool as lake water. "I had this ball when I was a kid. A black plastic one. You were supposed to ask it questions, then you could shake it and this writing would float up toward this opening. It usually said something like, answer unclear, try again."

Again he smiled, finding her nerves endearing. The power was flowing into him, sweet as wine, easy as a spring breeze. This was a simple thing he would show her. "Look inside," he said, and his voice echoed oddly in the small room. "And see."

She was compelled to do so. At first she saw only a pretty ball with internal fractures glinting rainbows back at her. Then there were shadows, shadows within shadows, forms shifting, colors bleeding.

"Oh," she murmured, for the glass was no longer cool, but as warm as a sunbeam.

"Look," he said again, and it seemed his voice was inside her head. "With your heart."

She saw her mother first, but young, so young, and brightly pretty, despite the heavy use of eyeliner and a lipstick several shades too pale. It was the laughter in her face that brought the prettiness through the cosmetics. Her hair was blond, shoulder-length and straight as a pin. She was laughing at a young man in a white uniform, a sailor's cap perched jauntily on his head.

The man was holding a child of about two who was dressed in a frilly pink dress with black strapped shoes and lacy white socks.

Not just any child, Mel thought as her heart thudded in her throat. Me. The child is me.

In the background was a ship, a big gray naval vessel. There was a band playing something rousingly military, and there were people milling about, talking all at once. She couldn't hear the words, only the sounds.