“If a woman’s first thoughts fail to tell you what you wish to know, you simply listen to her fantasies and she turns wanton for you?”

“Absolutely.” Bram flashed his signature grin. “I spent a great deal of time developing that skill.”

“Stay out of Morganna’s head.”

“Marrok, I don’t think she is Morganna. Why would her signature be so weak? My grandfather told me you could see her coming a mile away, all molten purple and iridescent.”

“Rubbish. When was the last time you saw any le Fay alive and walking?”

Bram nodded, conceding the point. “It’s been several hundred years, yes. But her son took human lovers by the hundreds who bore children. It’s possible—”

“But equally probable that she disguises herself. There have long been rumors that Morganna could shape-shift. Perhaps she made herself into a young witch and muted her signature.”

“Normally, I’d say not, but with Morganna, anything’s possible.” Bram sighed. “If she is back and luring you into her life, she can want only one thing.”

The Book of Doomsday. It had once been her greatest source of power. When Merlin banished her centuries ago, the book had mysteriously locked itself. It remained closed to this day.

“The Doomsday Diary has extraordinary powers.”

Marrok knew that personally. In the past centuries, he had been unable to open the book, shred it, deface it, or destroy it. Within moments, the little volume would regenerate, humming with power again. How could an object retain so much magic so long after its mistress had left this earthly realm?

“You have it. Save yourself whatever agony is headed your way and give it to me. I will protect it.”

“Piss off.” His long strides ate up the sidewalk.

Bram followed. “I popped in this morning because I want to help. Not that I believed you’d ask for or accept it.”

“Wise man.”

Bram jumped in front of him. Marrok was forced to stop or collide with the bastard.

“The book must be guarded by magickind. If it falls into the wrong hands, it could mean the destruction of every witch, wizard, and youngling. You don’t have the ability to protect it.”

Fifteen centuries as the book’s guardian said otherwise.

Marrok needed the book—and the le Fay woman to unlock it—to end his curse. Then he’d consider giving it to Bram…right after a blue moon on the twelfth of never.

“If Morganna reacquires the book,” Bram said, “she could begin centuries of suffering and torture. And if my vision comes true and Mathias gets it, whatever Morganna would do will seem pleasant.”

Bram headed for the car again. Marrok followed and slid inside, clenching his fists. He hated these contraptions. Where was a good horse when you wanted to go from point A to point B? Worse, Bram’s driving would give even the stoutest warrior a heart attack. He buckled his seat belt.

Bram raised a golden brow. “You can’t die. Why bother?”

“You do not drive a great deal, do you?”

“No,” Bram admitted wryly. “I prefer teleporting.”

“It shows.”

Bram threw back his golden head and laughed. “Two jokes from you in one day. I might pass out from the shock.”

“Unfortunately, you will recover.”

After the engine roared to life, the strains of a harsh alternative rock song shook the car. A raspy-voiced male ground out a chorus about the animal he had become. Marrok winced. Bram ignored him and revved the car away from the curb. Not just any car, but a red Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano. Nothing subtle about Bram.

“Nice vehicle for someone who dislikes driving.”

“When you must, why not do so in style?”

“You can appear and disappear at your leisure. Why have a car?”

Bram smiled. “When I need to take a taciturn immortal warrior to London, does he want me teleporting him?”

“By God’s blood, nay!”

“Exactly. The humans also get agitated when we pop in and out. Not a great way to keep magickind a secret…”

“Can you turn that racket down?” He gestured to the sleek car stereo.

“The music? It rocks, old man.”

“It makes my head pound. How can you think with that shouting rattling about your ears?”

Bram turned it down. A little. Very little.

Stopping the car at a red light, Bram leveled Marrok a stare of such gravity, he was taken aback. “Mathias will be back soon, and we must take action. I’ve already warned the MacKinnetts. Fools. They’re certain being Privileged means no one would dare harm them.”

Marrok shuddered as images from the wizard’s vision pelted him again, haunted him.

Gunning the sleek red vehicle, Bram screeched away from the red light. “Our most important task is protecting the book. Magickind, perhaps even mankind, is at stake.”

Of course, throw in his race, too, so he had a personal reason to care. Tricky sod…

“The possibility of Mathias returning is troubling. However, if you seek information about the book, Ms. Gray knows far more than I.” Marrok paused. “Perhaps you should let me talk to her.”

“You just stormed out on her.”

“Temporary insanity,” Marrok pleaded with a shrug.

“All right, then. Talk to her. If she is Morganna, you must be careful. Her magic—”

“Is significant, aye. But so is yours.”

“Not enough to thwart millennia-old power. Besides, I’d rather not tangle with Morganna. My grandfather’s dealings with her would predispose her to dislike me. And as his writings point out, she is one scary bitch.”

It was not a good omen that Bram had a healthy respect for Morganna’s powers. Marrok cursed his randy nature for ever inducing him to lie with the she-devil.

“To talk to her, I need some means of neutralizing her. I cannot endure her hexing me again. As much as I abhor immortality, spending the rest of eternity as a toad or something equally loathsome appeals even less.”

Watching the traffic intently, Bram tapped the steering wheel with his thumb in time to another head-banging alternative rock song.

“My grandfather left a few things in my possession. One in particular he designed just for Morganna. Something with a laggagh stone. You can make use of it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not as good with the old language as I should be. Short attention span for dull subjects.” Bram sighed. “According to Merlin’s notes, it weakens her. The minute it touches her, it will block her magic. But there are side effects.”

“Are they unpleasant for her?”

He frowned. “I should say so.”

“Perfect.” What did he care if he caused Morganna a little pain after the centuries of hell she had put him through?

Bram slanted him a harsh stare. “Be careful. If Olivia is, in fact, Morganna, she will be a dangerous adversary. And since I know she cursed you with the diary, I have no doubt you’ll refuse to hand it over until you’ve exhausted all hope of ending her charming little hex.”

“I never said I have the book.”

Bram shot him a tight smile and shoved something into his hand. “Pretend you don’t, then. If you change your mind or need my help, toss this in the air and call my name.”

“This is a rock,” Marrok pointed out, staring at it. “Are you mad?”

“Don’t wait long to call on me. We’re running out of time.”

Cursing, Olivia struggled with the keys that locked A Touch of Magic’s front door. Her whole day—hell, her whole life—had been one mess after another.

She jammed her cell phone against her ear with a wry smile. “I’m fine, Bram. Just tired. I woke up at two this morning and couldn’t go back to sleep. I never ate lunch, either.”

Now exhaustion plagued her, its claws sinking deep.

“Sorry to hear that,” Bram murmured. “Still worried about your father?”

“Yes.”

All her life, she’d been told her father died before her birth. After her estranged mother’s recent death, she’d combed through Barbara’s belongings and learned that was a lie. Armed with her father’s name, last known address, and a picture that proved she’d inherited her unusual eyes, she’d been determined to find the truth. Others found long-lost relatives with less. Her search, even with Bram and the hired detective, had turned up nothing. It was as if he’d disappeared.

That worried her. Among her mother’s hidden effects had been an unopened letter her father had written nearly twenty years ago, mailed from London. Her mother hadn’t cared what it said, damn her. Not surprising. Barbara had perfected the art of cold and unresponsive.

You have a roof over your head, young lady, because I do my duty. Do yours. Make better grades. Clean your room. Don’t touch me.

Good ol’ Mom had concealed every trace of her father. Then again, if there’d been a way to isolate Olivia or make her miserable, Barbara had pounced on it. Her suicide put an exclamation point on that fact.

In the letter, Richard Gray had begged Barbara to come back to him and bring their daughter. The poignant longing in his words had brought tears to her eyes. He’d wanted to meet Olivia, know her, love her. Her. She wasn’t a burden to him.

He’d vowed to protect them. From what? Did whatever he feared have anything to do with her inability to find him now? Meeting him would, at least, satisfy her curiosity. At best, he might help her get beyond her fear of letting people close. Please God, don’t let her be too late.

“My search is nearly at a dead end,” she went on. “I’ve got one more address I can follow up on, but if that doesn’t pan out…I’ll have to think of something else. I’m so frustrated.”

To make matters worse, business hadn’t been great, so she feared losing this little dream shop. A Touch of Magic was her one place, her center, when everything else was crap. It was her greatest achievement to date. But she lacked the money to keep paying the detective. If she went broke, she’d have to decide: Stay here or go back to the States.

Go back to what? asked the voice in her head. Here, she had made herself some roots. No more moving to a new city every three months and being the new kid in town, as she had with Mom. In England, she felt more…at home. Her flat was small. She wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming cold winter. And she hated the food. Didn’t Brits believe in good enchiladas? But the sense of history, of permanency, was to die for.

“I have a feeling he’ll turn up soon. Don’t give up.”

“Not as long as there’s still a chance I’ll find him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Bram’s warmth reached through the phone. “You tenacious American girls never fail to impress.”

He was a good friend. A little flirtatious, but flirting was like breathing for him. She never took his smiles and charm seriously. Besides, men typically weren’t interested in her that way.

Except, perhaps, for the broodingly sexy artist she’d met this morning.

Broodingly sexy? Marrok had been rude. An ass.

But for a brief moment, she’d sworn he wanted her. Jerk or not, knowing that had made her feel giddy and unleashed a hot tumble of desire inside her. One touch from him, and her body had lit up like a Christmas tree. Pathetic.

Ever since Marrok slammed out of A Touch of Magic that morning, a weird ache had nagged her body. Exhaustion dragged her down. Damn it, she needed sleep or caffeine—something.

“Olivia,” Bram said. “I called about Marrok. Don’t be surprised if you hear from him. I think he feels ghastly about whatever row you had today.”

“Good. I’d planned on hunting him down tomorrow.” And keeping her libido out of the conversation. “Temperamental, but wow, his talent…”

“I thought you’d be thrilled. He’s difficult and odd. But give him a chance.”

Olivia jerked on the door handle and tried to turn the key. Nothing. Some days, the old thing took an active dislike to her. Like today. Then a stutter beep in her ear made her sigh.

“Will do. I’ve got to run. My battery is dying, and I can’t get the damn door locked.”

They agreed to touch base in a few days and hung up. She tried the lock again. Jammed.

“Argh!” She pushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. “Obstinate door.”

“Does talking to it help?”

Olivia whirled at the deep, unexpected voice. Through the darkness, a male figure towered near.

Marrok.

Though the shadows held most of his face in mystery, shards of desire needled her. He stood unmoving as pale glimmers of light splashed across his wolfish eyes. His tight black T-shirt clung to broad shoulders, worn denim to long, hard thighs. He was like an action figure come to life.

“You startled me.” A hint of accusation laced her voice.