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  “The difference is she doesn’t bloody know who I am.” Harrison said as he rubbed at his temple.

  Bas blinked slowly. “Marguerite bothers you more than I thought.”

  The fact that Marguerite had successfully completed the first part of the binding curse didn’t bother Harrison. It enraged him. She sat in his mind like a weed that couldn’t be plucked. He wanted her out. Yesterday. “Julie Dancer may have been raised human, but she is one of us.” A connection that gave him a dark sense of satisfaction. “Once she understands the consequences of this curse, she’ll agree to help.”

  The owl made a strange, gravelly sound.

  Harrison looked at him suspiciously, but Bas merely spread his wings. With a powerful thrust, the owl lifted off, a soaring shadow against the sun-bright sky.

  Julie almost ignored her phone, not wanting to rehash the whole strange Harrison encounter with Dorie until her head stopped pounding. At the last minute, years of conditioning triumphed. She picked up her phone, tucking it to her ear as she reached for the ibuprofin in her kitchen cupboard.

  “Hi, Mom.” The voice of her nineteen-year-old daughter made her pause.

  “Hey, Tash. Is everything going okay at school?”

  “School is fine. Grandma just called me.”

  Julie put four extra-strength tablets into her mouth and swallowed, without water. Her mother had promised not to tell Tasha her news until they were all together over the Christmas holidays, about three months from now. Darn the woman. She couldn’t be trusted.

  “Could this be a symptom of menopause?” Tasha’s normally soft voice held an edge of anxiety.

  Julie closed her eyes and slumped into one of the maple chairs that matched the small kitchen table. “As far as I know, homosexuality isn’t a recognized symptom of menopause. Besides, I think Grandma went through menopause a good decade ago.”

  “Then what’s wrong with her? It’s ludicrous for a sixty-eight-year-old woman to suddenly decide she’s a lesbian.”

  “She’s sixty-five,” Julie offered weakly.

  “I know she hasn’t been in the closet all these years. You used to cover my ears when we’d be watching those old Paul Newman movies together because of the comments she’d make.”

  True. Her mother was quite the Paul Newman fan. And not because of his acting skill.

  “Is she supposed to even be thinking about sex? I thought the whole libido thing wound down as you got older and that people had to use drugs or lubricants to even do it.”

  “Well, no. That’s not exactly….” Julie stopped, and tried again. “Homosexuality isn’t just about sex.”

  Tash wasn’t listening. “I bet she’s going through the early stages of senile dementia. We need to get her help. I think we should fly to Chicago together and do one of those intervention things.”

  “Calm down.” How like her mother to drop this bomb and leave her to deal with the aftermath. They’d both known Tasha would not easily accept her grandmother’s change in sexual preference. Tash didn’t have a problem with homosexuality; she had a problem with change. Her daughter craved stability. “You don’t do interventions for senile dementia or homosexuality. You do interventions for substance abuse.” Thankfully her child was studying English, not social work. “And many older people have active, satisfying sex lives.” So she’d heard.

  “Does this mean she never loved Grandpa? Oh, Mom! Thank God he’s dead. He’d be so devastated!”

  “Honey, why don’t you let this news sink in for a while before we talk about it. Can you come over for dinner tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow’s busy. I have a paper due Monday for Great Books.” Tasha attended the University of Michigan, and lived in a dorm about fifteen minutes from their house. “How about next Sunday?”

  “Call me if you want a ride.”

  “Okay.” Tasha sounded calmer. “Maybe this is one of Grandma’s passing fads.”

  Not likely. Last time she’d spoken with her, her mother had begun organizing a Chicago chapter of the Gay Grays. “Just get your studying done and we’ll talk about this next week.”

  “Mom.” Tasha sounded surprisingly serious. “You’re happy, right? You don’t have any big changes planned that I should know about?”

  The fact that she even asked the question was progress. Tasha had learned that she handled transition better when she could prepare for it in advance. Tash’s father, Jack, was the exact opposite. He didn’t know the meaning of the word “stable.” An adventure junkie with a degree in archeology, he flitted from dig to dig like he was Indiana Jones with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. When Tash started middle school, Julie had decided the family should settle in one place. Jack had decided they should get a divorce.

  Julie sighed and glanced out the window. She did a double take. Was that an owl swooping across her new neighbor’s back lawn? An owl? In the middle of the day?

  “Mom!”

  Tasha’s voice brought her back to their conversation. She turned away from the window and what was probably just a very fat sparrow. She’d have to quit putting leftover buttered popcorn in the bird feeders. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m very happy with my life. I’m always going to be your predictable, dear old mom.”

  “Which is just the way I love you.” Tasha hung up, sounding comforted.

  Predictable, comfortable, safe—that’s just the way Julie wanted to live the rest of her life. She’d had enough adventure with Jack, and then with single parenting. These were going to be her quiet, peaceful years. She glanced out the window again trying to see Harrison’s oak tree. So why was she suddenly feeling restless?

  Chapter Two

  Two hours later, a knock sounded on her front door. Julie set down her coffee cup and muted the baseball game before she answered. Harrison Chevalier stood on her doorstep, dressed in his elegant tree-climbing attire.

  “Thank you for the donuts.”

  She took the clean plate he handed her. “You’re welcome.”

  “The plate is beautiful.”

  Julie looked down at the perfect circle in her hands. The tiny silver stars along the rim winked at her. She’d counted them once when she was little. Exactly forty-two perfectly formed stars. Her age now, she realized.

  “It belonged to my grandmother. I never met her.” Julie had no idea why she told him that.

  “May I come in?” He sounded very proper, very polite.

  Julie became immediately aware of the old but comfortable sweatpants and sweatshirt she’d put on after her shower. When had she become such a slob? Oh, yeah. She’d always been a slob. “Um…well, I’m watching the Tigers.”

  “Watch your nature show later. We need to talk.” Polite morphed into autocratic with startling ease.

  She’d never taken orders well. Her smile firmed. “I’m sorry, but now is not a good time.”

  “I need your help, Julie.”

  His clear eyes looked remarkably sane for someone with a thought disorder. “I have the names of a few good therapists in town,” she offered.

  “I don’t need therapy.” He sounded exasperated. “How about if we have dinner at a public restaurant? I just want a chance to talk with you.”

  “I have a policy not to date neighbors.”

  “This has come up before?”

  He didn’t need to look so surprised. “Well, no. It’s a new policy. Specifically geared toward neighbors who believe they’re cursed.”

  “I know I haven’t made a good impression,” Harrison said, which wasn’t quite true. He’d made a very strong impression and it wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t even mostly bad.

  He paused, as if considering what to say, and ran his hand through his hair. The golden strands fell perfectly back into place. Like magic. Julie’s shoulder length brown hair tended to wave into soft curls at the least provocation. Just once, she wanted a straight swing of shiny hair like the women in shampoo commercials.

  A startled expression crossed Harrison’s face. He reached out
and touched a curl with one finger. “Your hair is very nice. You don’t need to change it.”

  Julie took a quick step back, out of Harrison’s reach. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  Harrison frowned. “That shouldn’t have happened. I apologize.”

  There must be a logical explanation for this. But, first things first.

  “Do you know what I’m thinking now?” She tried to visualize something innocuous, just in case—children laughing, dogs cavorting in a flowery field, a blue sky shimmering with sunshine. Unfortunately, her slutty brain kept inserting totally inappropriate pictures of Harrison without a shirt. Beneath that proper clothing, light hair dusted his wide chest and well-defined stomach muscles begged to be touched.

  What was going on here? Men didn’t interest her these days unless they were safely on a movie screen or in a book.

  Harrison shook his head. “No. I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

  Thank you, God.

  His hand reached out and she took another step backward. It dropped to his side.

  “Mind touch is a private form of communication used by blood-bonded mates,” he explained. “I assure you this was highly irregular and purely unintentional.”

  She nodded, not really listening to his gibberish as she came up with a reasonable explanation for his apparent mind reading. Non-verbal cues. He noticed her staring at his hair and correctly interpreted that to mean that she was dissatisfied with her own hair. Mystery solved. On to other things.

  He’d called her hair very nice.

  Granted, that wasn’t a particularly extravagant compliment, but she savored it for a moment before she remembered the man also believed in curses and mental telepathy. Not to mention he sounded like a science fiction geek or a dog breeder, with all his talk of mates. Aliens and animals have mates. People have partners.

  “Julie.” His voice commanded her attention. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Spend a whole two hours with this man? Something—okay, his accent and his incredible face and body—almost compelled her to say yes. “No. I can’t.”

  He looked at her as if she were a particularly frustrating puzzle he needed to solve and then he smiled a slow smile that made her quickly review what she’d been thinking. Nope. Nothing to cause a smile like that.

  He took a step back and gave her a brief nod. “Perhaps another time. I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

  Julie quickly shut the door before she could ask when. Harrison’s delusional system might fascinate her on an intellectual level, but somehow she doubted intellectual interest alone was bumping up her heart rate.

  Which meant trouble. Because on a personal level, Harrison Chevalier was definitely not the type of man a comfortable, predictable woman should be interested in.

  Marguerite Deschamps moaned and kicked aside the bedcovers as she twisted her body, trying to wake. Grand-mère Belle was sobbing again, begging Marguerite to save her. With a quick, sharp move, Marguerite threw her body into an upright position and broke free of the dream.

  She pulled in deep breaths, trembling in the aftermath of the tormenting vision. “I promise, Grand-mère.” She repeated the words she’d spoken since the first dream when she’d been a mere eleven years old. “I promise I’ll save you.”

  Now, after years of helplessly listening to her grandmother’s pleas, she’d finally found the key to free her. Marguerite automatically felt for the tie with Harrison.

  Blank nothingness.

  Her muscles tensed and panic iced her body as she desperately searched for the presence that had been with her since she’d cast the first words to bind him. There, he was there. Her heart slowed. For a moment she had lost the powerful, angry hum that should have scared her but instead had become oddly comforting.

  Marguerite put a hand against her head, as if doing so would keep him there. She shuddered as she mentally touched the edges of a bitter essence she couldn’t identify, a sour presence that had laced her psyche ever since she’d cast the curse. No matter. She knew freeing Grand-mère would not be without price.

  She glanced out the window at the sun still high in the sky. She never woke until dark. Only her dreams had roused her now. Unlike the flower she’d been named for, the ox-eye daisy, which grew like a weed across the grassy hills and was called moonflower because it bloomed both day and night, Marguerite preferred to stay in the shadows.

  She dressed quickly in beige linen trousers and a loose silk shirt of the same shade. She slipped on a pair of low-heeled sandals and walked down the long marble halls of the family wing to the library. No windows marred the rose-colored walls, built centuries ago from the very stone that formed the rolling French countryside. The shadows soothed her and she slowed her frantic pace as she traveled the long, cool corridor. She reached out and let her fingers slide against the walls, feeling the strength and support of her ancestors in the very foundations of the castle.

  The library doors stood ajar. As expected, her brother, Luc, sat in one of the burgundy leather chairs, reading by the light of the large mullioned windows. He looked up, surprised, when she entered the room.

  “Marguerite. What’s wrong? Why are you awake?” He set his book on a small wooden table, concern marking his expression.

  She glanced at the windows and the outside shutters banged shut, cutting out the natural light along with a view of the wooded slopes of Montagne Noire. Two lamps flicked on, emitting a soft glow. She wouldn’t tell him of the dream. She never did. “We have a problem. The link wavered.”

  Luc tapped the cover of his book. “I’m not surprised.”

  “You’re not surprised? What does that mean? I performed the first tie to perfection.” Marguerite paced the room. Her pale hair whipped against her face with the force of her movement. “Harrison is always in the corner of my mind, but suddenly, for the space of several heartbeats, he was gone. That’s impossible, Luc!”

  “Magic is nothing more than the manipulation of energy. As such it can be transformed or re-routed by anyone who has knowledge and skill.”

  “Not a bonding curse.” Marguerite argued with certainty.

  “A curse is just the name given when power manipulation is used for evil. The mechanics stay the same. You’ve only placed the first tie on Chevalier. Two ties are required, each bound during a new moon when you’re able to access the most earth energy. You have almost three weeks to wait until the next new moon.” He paused. “This may not proceed as smoothly as you plan, Marguerite. It’s wrong, not to mention dangerous. Chevalier is powerful.”

  She shivered, uneasy. “Trust me, Luc. I won’t tell you why I’m doing this, but it must be done.”

  Luc watched her with eyes that invited her to confide in him. They shared almost everything. She wouldn’t have survived their parents’ death without him. Yet, she’d never told him of the dreams. And she couldn’t explain the path she now walked to free their grand-mère. She wouldn’t taint him with the evil, also.

  The lights in the room flickered and power flowed in her veins, washing out her need to confide in her brother, washing out her doubts. “I am the most powerful Walker of this generation. Harrison will be my consort, tied to me.”

  Luc folded his arms across his chest. “So you’ll have a fierce lion by the tail.” When Marguerite didn’t respond, he shook his head. “You’ve changed. Power was never so important to you. Why, Marguerite?”

  “Power frees you.”

  “What do you need to be freed from?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Power creates opportunity.” Marguerite quickly tried to deflect his line of questioning.

  “This power you wield creates the opportunity for much sorrow.” When Marguerite didn’t respond, Luc frowned, but continued. “While you slept, I’ve been studying. I found an obscure reference that I think we need to pay attention to.”

  Marguerite picked up the book he’d been reading, relieved he’d changed the subject. “Mots de Sagesse?” She read
the title aloud. “Words of Wisdom? This book is read by school children.” She dismissed it, tossing it back on the table beside Luc.

  “The book is read by children because it forms the foundation of Triad teachings. It tells the story of Patre and Yesmi, father and mother of energy wielders. It outlines the prophecies. You would do well to remember these, Marguerite. To remember the balance that must be maintained.”

  Marguerite laughed. She couldn’t help it. He sounded so sure of himself, so passionate, so full of book learning instead of life learning. She leaned over and placed her hands on both sides of his beloved face. “Sanctimonious drivel, mon frère. Close your book and look around you.” She patted his cheek and stepped away. “Balance is an illusion. The ones with the most power will always control the scale.” Soon she would have the strength to free Grand-mère Belle—and in doing so, be free of her.

  Luc didn’t take offense. He never did. “The reference I found is in the prophecies. The verse talks of one who will rise to great power in the aftermath of a divisive war. ‘A daughter shall be born in light and shadow, a guardian who rises out of evil. Wild power circles her and chaos follows in her footsteps.’”

  Cold settled across Marguerite’s shoulders. “Fifty years ago the Great Rift tore the Triad apart.”

  Luc nodded, silent.

  “We were born during a lunar eclipse, as the earth’s shadow darkened the moon—in the light of the moon, and then in shadow.” Marguerite swallowed, tasting fear. The dreams and the surges of power she experienced might all be signs. “Perhaps it speaks of me. Perhaps I’m the one prophesied.”

  Luc watched her, a serious expression on his face. “Prophecy does not equal destiny, Marguerite. You are free to make your own choices.”

  She’d not been free since the dreams first came, but soon, soon she would be.

  “Today while you slept I felt something.” Luc said. “A wisp of Dancer power.”

  “There are no Dancers in the area.” None had lived in the Montagne Noire area since the Great Rift. Luc, however, was a powerful Sensitive. He would not be mistaken. “Where is this Dancer?”