“Looks like I missed out on an exciting night hereabouts,” he said to Hazard by way of greeting. “Tried to set fire to the kitchen table, did you?”

“Not me. That’s Eve Lockhart’s handiwork. She was here earlier.”

Taggart’s whiskered face lit with glee. “She came to sell you the pendant.”

“No. She came looking for it.”

“Looking for it? Why would she be coming here looking for it when she’s the one . . .” His brows shot up and his eyes widened. “She lost it?”

“Not exactly. It disappeared from where she had it hidden. She was convinced someone stole it, and that brought her straight here.”

“She thought it was you who took it?”

“Yes. And her niece along with it.”

He grinned suddenly. “You sly devil, you did . . . you pinched it. The pendant, I mean. Can’t see you bothering to make off with a niece or anything else of hers. But stealing the pendant back, now that would be a grand coup indeed.”

Hazard scowled at the thought of just how close he’d come to that grand coup. And he hadn’t needed to break into her home or deal with any wards or protection spells to do it. He’d had the pendant in his hand because Eve Lockhart herself had placed it there; she’d handed it over, and then, as difficult as it was for him to believe, even now, she’d forgotten all about it. He could have walked away with it so easily. Even if she had remembered at some point and asked for it back, he could have lied. He could have said he lost it, that it had fallen out of his pocket. He could have apologized and looked concerned and promised to come back and help her search for it at first light.

But he hadn’t done any of that.

Instead of seizing the moment and taking advantage of her lapse and walking away with the prize he’d been seeking for so long, a prize that should have been his already and but for her trickery would have been, instead of taking what he wanted, he’d given it back to her. At the last moment he’d stopped her from driving off without it and handed it back to her.

“No, I didn’t take it,” was all he said to Taggart, who heaved a disappointed sigh, like a father finding out he has a dullard for a son.

“Then who did? Vasil?”

“No, it wasn’t Vasil,” Hazard told him. “It turns out her missing niece took it . . . borrowed it, in her words.”

“Well, it’s a shiny enough trinket; I can see how it might catch a young girl’s fancy.”

“Not this girl,” Hazard declared, his mouth quirking as he recalled Rory’s confident grin as she came sailing over that fence. “This one has moxie, but she seems more calculating than fanciful.

She mentioned it being a family talisman, said something about using it to tell if a man’s heart was true.”

Taggart snorted. “Sounds like a young girl’s romantic drivel to me.”

“Maybe. Eve cut her off before she could say more.”

“So it’s Eve now, is it? Tell me, did Eve happen to tell you why she waited till she got here to scry? Would have made more sense to do it first thing.”

“It never occurred to her until I suggested it. She didn’t even know how.”

“Is that so?”

“I had to walk her through it . . . until she came into her own, that is, and then . . . well, you saw the result.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “It was like the room exploded with energy . . . sent me flying and sparks shooting off in every direction.”

“Amazing,” drawled Taggart. “Bloody amazing . . . it being her first time and all.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“That there’s a sucker born every minute and a woman born to take him?”

“That’s not what happened.”

“So you believe her then?”

“I’m not saying I believe her,” Hazard countered. “I’m not an idiot; I know it doesn’t make sense. How could so powerful a witch not know how to scry for someone? There’s something . . . wrong about her. Something I can’t quite figure out. Hell, I can’t even put my finger on it exactly. She obviously has power, but she denies it . . . vehemently at times. I know she used her magic against me at the auction, and she knows I know, and she still denies it.”

He paced a few steps to the bottom of the staircase, rubbed his hand along the banister and looked around. “And then there’s this house. It was your sixth sense for these things that brought us to Providence and led us to believe the house was somehow linked to the hourglass pendant. Tonight I found out it’s also linked to Eve. Her grandmother once owned this house and Eve lived here as a child. And she still feels a strong connection to it. I could tell that from watching her face and listening to her voice when she spoke of it.”

Taggart moved to stand in front of him.

“She lived here? In this house?” he asked, his tone urgent. “You’re sure of it?”

“That’s what she said.” He thought for a few seconds and added, “And I believe her.”

“I thought you said you looked into her background.”

“I did,” replied Hazard. “But apparently not back far enough.”

“You can say that again. Come with me,” Taggart said, moving toward the front door. “I’ve something to show you that just might explain what’s wrong with your witch.”

Curious, Hazard followed him outside, across the porch and down the steps to the brick walk. Taggart stepped onto the grass beside the walk and pointed at a flat stone embedded in the earth at his feet.

“I noticed this as I was coming up the walk; never noticed it before tonight, though. Have you?”

“No,” Hazard admitted, hunkering down for a closer look. Between the moon and the porch globe there was just enough light to see the marks on the stone.

“Course you didn’t, because it was covered up with dirt and twigs and such. Until tonight. Until someone uncovered it. And I don’t think it’s any mystery who that someone was.”

“Eve.”

“Had to be.”

“So what? She probably remembered it being there and wanted to see if it still was, so she kicked the dirt aside. If that means something more, I don’t know what it is.”

“Take a closer look,” Taggart urged, crouching beside him and tapping his finger on the marks etched into the stone. “Do you know what these are?”

“Runes,” Hazard replied. “Celtic from the look of them, though I can’t recall seeing these particular marks before. Protection symbols most likely.”

“Bloody right they’re protection symbols. Powerful ones. And special. The kind you don’t dare use unless you’ve a right to them.”

“So Eve comes from power,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t need some old stone to tell me that.”

“That’s not all this stone is telling you. You said you sensed there was something wrong with your green-eyed witch, something off about her.” He jabbed his finger in the air, pointing. “There’s your answer. What’s off is that she’s not a witch at all. Eve Lockhart is an enchantress.”

Hazard stared at him and then gave a short laugh, straightening. “That’s impossible.”

“Is that so? Do you even know the damn difference?”

“Of course I do.”

“What is it?”

“For God’s sake,” he snapped. Then, sighing, “A witch draws power from the world around her, from nature. An enchantress’s power lies within; it’s in her blood.”

“And in her heart,” added Taggart. “In every breath she takes. It’s stronger than anything any witch could ever summon, and harder to control. If someone was new to the art, or unschooled, things might happen without her intending them to. From what you’ve said, it sounds to me like that could be happening to your Eve.”

“She’s not my Eve,” he retorted, more sharply than called for.

“Sorry. Slip of the tongue. But it fits, doesn’t it?”

“Possibly. But you’re forgetting one crucial detail. Enchantresses are the dinosaurs of the magic world: extinct.”

“Nearly extinct,” corrected Taggart. “It’s said the T’airna line endures to this day.”

“Really?” His tone was beyond skeptical. “I’ve spent years researching magic in all its loathsome and manipulative guises, reading ancient, barely decipherable texts until I thought my eyes would fall out, and chasing down one false lead after another, and I’ve learned that just because a thing is said to be doesn’t make it so.” He slapped one palm against the other to knock off some bits of dirt and grass. “And even if there were a few stragglers around, their blood would be so diluted they wouldn’t possess a shadow of the power of a true enchantress.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Taggart argued. “It’s not science; it’s magic. Some things can’t be diluted. Or ended.” He folded his arms in front of him, his expression bright and stubborn. “There’s a prophecy, you know. About a lost enchantress. Did you happen to come across that in all that eyeball-popping reading of yours?”

“I’ve seen references to it. But if you’re asking if I’ve ever read the actual prophecy, the answer is no. Not that it would be likely to help much; the damn things are always so vague and mysterious.”

Hazard shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down at the stone. Lost enchantress. It was ridiculous. When it came to false prophets and wild imaginations, the mystical world had more than its fair share of both.

Still.

“What do you know about the prophecy?” he asked Taggart. Simply to humor him, he told himself.

“Just bits I’ve picked up here and there. Not much for ancient texts myself. I’ve heard that it predicted their demise of power and that it could only be restored by the Lost Enchantress . . . one born to be the most powerful enchantress in a millennium and lost to the art by her own deed.”

“See? Vague and mysterious.”

“Like I said, it’s not science. Not every answer comes from a book, or from up here—” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Some you have to find here,” he declared, making a fist and thumping it against his heart. As he brushed past Hazard on his way back inside, he muttered under his breath, “Assuming it’s not too late to thaw yours out and have a look around.”

Hazard followed at a safe distance. He’d heard all he wanted to hear about telltale runes and ridiculous prophecies. What had started out to be a simple task—obtaining the pendant—had somehow become thorny and complicated. And he was to blame because he was the one who’d let it happen. Now he was going to be the one to put a stop to it. He was going to get his plan back on track, and that meant getting himself back on track too. It was a matter of focus and willpower. It would be simple, he told himself.

And he might have believed it if not for Taggart stomping up the steps ahead of him. Hazard couldn’t help noticing the socks he was wearing.

They were blue.

Eve pulled herself from thoughts, and second thoughts, about Hazard. Such as why he had invited her to have dinner with him, and why she’d accepted. She focused instead on what she wanted to say to Rory. She would have liked more time to think it through, but getting it over with now was better than waiting until they got home and risk having Grand get involved in answering the questions Rory was sure to ask. She was going to have enough trouble parsing her own words without having to rein in the loose cannon who was her grandmother.

If only she had shut the door last night so there was no chance of Rory overhearing their conversation.

If only she had skipped the auction or been in the ladies’ room when the pendant was being sold. Of course, if that had happened and Grand was right about the role of destiny in all this, it probably would have just appeared in her office one day and wrapped itself around her neck.

They were only a few blocks away from Hazard’s house. Eve figured if she drove slowly, avoided shortcuts and caught every red light, she would have time to touch on the crucial points she wanted to get across . . . staying in touch, staying in groups, a quick, tactful review of the basics of safe sex, and—the real challenge—Grand’s penchant for embellishing family anecdotes. Have you heard the one about the long lost talisman? Leave it to Grand to come up with a pocket love detector.

“Okay, let’s talk,” she said to Rory.

“I’ll go first,” countered Rory. “No, wait, you go first. I want to hear everything about Hazard. He’s amazing. I already sent Jill a text about him . . . TTDF.”

It took Eve a few seconds to decode the text message shorthand. “Totally to die for?”

“Yup. I had to; she’s always going on and on about how fine her mother’s new boyfriend is. I couldn’t wait to tell her about yours.”

“Hazard is not my boyfriend. I told you we met through work.”

“I know what you told me, that he’s some kind of consultant, but really, Eve . . . consultant? That is so lame. And I saw how you looked at each other when you said it . . . like you were coconspirators. And—the absolute proof that there’s more than a work thing going on—I saw the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking back.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Eve told her. It was. She still couldn’t resist asking. “How was he looking at me?”

“Like you were his favorite dessert,” Rory said. With even more drama, she added, “And he was a starving man. Stranded-on-a-desert-island starving. Political-prisoner-on-a-hunger-strike starving. Trapped—”

“I get it. And again I say ridiculous.”

Rory sighed. “There are none so blind . . . So. Tell me everything. Starting with his actual name.”

“His name is Hazard.”

“It can’t be just Hazard, like he’s Batman. Or Angel.” She tilted her head to the side. “Or is he? He looks a little like Angel, don’t you think?” Angel was the vampire with a soul from one of their favorite television shows. “Tall and dark and dangerous.”

“He’s not that tall. Hazard, not Angel.”

“Maybe not compared to a pro basketball team. Standing next to you and me? He’s tall.”

“I suppose.” She slowed and waited for the stoplight up ahead to turn yellow so she could stop. The way their talk was going she might have to throw in a wrong turn or two to drag the ride out long enough to get everything in.

“The rest of his name?” Rory prompted.

“His first name is Gabriel.”

“Gabriel Hazard. Oh my God, that is so perfect for him. Gabriel Hazard,” she said again, rolling it on her tongue like expensive chocolate. “How long have you known him? Where did you two meet? What does he really do for a living?”

“You know, Rory, when you said we should talk, I assumed you meant we’d talk about what happened tonight. Not about Hazard.”

“And we will,” she countered. “I’m just curious, and I thought if we got all this out of the way first, I’d be able to give you a hundred and ten percent of my attention when we get to the other stuff . . . the part where you remind me to always leave a message when I go somewhere and to never go off alone with a guy without requesting a background check and blood tests first and . . . let’s see . . . to always say please and thank you and put my napkin in my lap.”

Eve slanted her wry look. “Very funny.”

“I try. Did I miss anything?”

“How about not taking things that don’t belong to you?”

“Anything else?” she said with a mix of guilt and hopefulness.

Grudgingly amused, Eve shook her head. “Well, I would like to know more about Toby . . . like his full name and where you met and how well you know him.”

“Toby Black. And very well. He plays the same online game I do. His Greywolf killed three of my white knights; that’s how we met. That was two adventures ago, so we’ve known each other about two months. He’s also Monica Rathburn’s cousin and a totally good guy. And I would have told you I was meeting him except he didn’t know his work schedule until today and—”

“He works? He doesn’t go to school?”

“He works after school,” she informed Eve in a tone usually reserved for giving directions to the very young, or very old and feebleminded. “I was going to call and leave a message as soon as I knew for sure what I was doing, but I sort of forgot.”

Eve didn’t doubt that had been her intention. Rory was usually conscientious—and Eve usually didn’t push the panic button so quickly.

“Okay. Next time tie a string around your finger or write yourself a reminder. I’m much too old to be running around playing Dog the Bounty Hunter.”

“Especially in the middle of the night like this,” Rory teased.

Eve rolled her eyes. “So disrespectful.”

“I really am sorry I worried you. Next time I’ll remember to call; cross my heart.” She made a hasty X over her heart. “I was sort of preoccupied all day, wondering if the talisman was going to work and trying to figure out how I was going to get it up against Toby’s heart without him thinking I was some kind of total weirdo.”

“How did you?”

Rory flashed a self-satisfied smile. “It came to me in English lit. We’re reading Emily Brontë, and in the drawing of her in the book she’s wearing a cameo brooch. Lightbulb moment! I took the hourglass off the chain and pinned it to the front of my sweater.” She pointed to a spot just below her right shoulder. “Then when he kissed me—”

“He kissed you?”

“Yeah. It was no big deal. I was so worried about getting our chests aligned right that I missed most of it. I do remember our teeth clicking, though. It was over before I knew it.”

“So what happened?”

She shrugged. “Nothing happened. He just stopped. I think maybe he had to breathe.”

“What happened with the pendant?”

“Oh. Nothing there either. No glowing crystals; no turning red.” She sounded disgruntled. “I don’t know if that means Grand was wrong about the whole thing or that Toby’s not my one true love.”

Eve wanted to shout, “You’re only fifteen years old! Of course he’s not your one true love!” Then she remembered being fifteen.

“Hmm. I’m not sure either. Did you want him to be?”

“Not especially.” Her blasé tone was a surprise. “What I need is a control group, a baseline, like you have with a science experiment. It won’t be easy since I don’t really know anyone with a genuine soul mate . . . especially not anyone in this family.”

Eve was still trying to understand. “So you’re not in love with him?”

“God, no. I mean, I probably could be, someday, if I put my mind to it. I like Toby; he’s supersmart and potentially cool, but definitely not until his braces come off.”

“Then why did you go to all that trouble with the pendant if it’s only a case of you probably could be in love with him someday maybe?”

“To rule him out,” she answered as if it should be obvious. “I’ve given this a lot of thought and—”

“A lot of thought? You mean in the eighteen or so hours you’ve known the talisman existed?”

“It’s not that complicated. I used the process of elimination and decided that the most efficient approach is to use the talisman to rule guys out right at the start. Not every guy you meet, of course; that would be too time-consuming, not to mention awkward,” she added with a little chuckle. “Just likely candidates, like Toby. That way you don’t waste time falling for one jerk after another and getting your heart broken over and over again. You just hold off on falling in love until you know for sure you’ve got the right guy. Makes sense, don’t you think?”

Eve wanted to tell her that it made no sense at all, that it was a crazy and misguided idea. She wanted to tell her that love didn’t come with guarantees, that love was a gift and you didn’t accept a gift only on the condition that you got to open it and inspect it first. That’s what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t seem to get it out given that the words “pot-kettle-black” were running through her mind in giant neon letters.

“Well, it’s innovative, I’ll give you that,” Eve said. “It might be an efficient way to zero in on Mr. Right, but won’t it take all the romance out of it? All the fun of getting to know someone and finding out if you click and discovering what it is you’re looking for in a man?”

“And the waiting for a guy to call and worrying that he’s messing around behind your back and a whole lot of stupid bickering. Face it, romance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“This from the girl whose bookcase is filled with romance novels and who’s worn out the Pride and Prejudice DVDs.”

Rory huffed. “I’d think you of all people would understand the difference between fact and fiction. None of that is real. In real life romance just makes you stupid.”

Rory hadn’t lived enough to draw that conclusion firsthand, or to have done much waiting for calls or worrying about guys cheating. The bitterness underscoring her words came from somewhere else. It came from years of watching her mother play the dating game. Chloe’s career was finally taking off, but her love life was, and always had been, a disaster, or more accurately, an endless parade of disasters masquerading as men. Chloe had inherited their mother’s romantic streak, and with it a giant pair of blinders to wear on her heart. She fell hard and fast, and when it ended badly, as it inevitably did, she took it just as hard.

Eve knew how much it bothered Rory to see her mother’s heart broken because Eve had been there herself. True, her mother hadn’t worked her way through the Mr. Wrong lineup the way Chloe seemed to be, but her mother and her father had fought enough for a dozen couples. One of her last memories of them was the sound of angry voices coming from their bedroom. She definitely understood why Rory was being a little extra cautious when it came to romance. What worried her was that she didn’t sound merely cautious; she sounded jaded. And so did the plan she’d come up with for the talisman.

“You know, Rory, I’m not sure you should take Grand’s stories about the pendant—”

“You mean the talisman?”

“Right, the talisman. Maybe you shouldn’t take it so literally.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you said it yourself; it didn’t work with Toby and there’s no way of telling if it was because Toby’s the wrong guy or because it’s nothing more than . . . wishful thinking. If you put your trust in it, it could backfire.”

“And then I could end up alone . . . like Grand and you, or else alone and desperate like my mom.”

The ache hovering just beneath her sarcasm stopped Eve from lashing out and telling her just how out of line she was.

“That’s not fair, Rory. And your mother is not desperate,” she said firmly. “She’s a romantic.”

“Obviously. The woman still believes in fairy tales. She thinks she’s Tinkerbell or some kind of modern-day fairy godmother whose mission is to make everyone’s happily-ever-after dreams come true.”

“She does make dreams come true for a lot of people.”

“Right, a lot of rich jerks who’d be better off spending their money to feed starving people or find a cure for something. Personally, I’d be more impressed if she made her own dreams come true.”

“Give her time. And anyway, we’re not talking about your mom, we’re talking about the pen . . . talis . . . hourglass. For all we know it’s just an old piece of jewelry with a great story attached, a family legend based on a little fact, a little fanciful thinking, and it gets more far-fetched with each retelling. You’re the one who mentioned science—think about it logically. How could it possibly have the power to do what Grand claims it can do?”

“Easy,” said Rory. “Magic.”

Her matter-of-fact tone set off a warning in Eve’s head. But she had no time to decide on a safe response—safe being one that would allow her to find out how much Rory knew without revealing anything in return—before turning into their driveway.

Grand’s car was parked in its usual spot.

“Oh, good,” Rory exclaimed, opening her seat belt and the car door at the same time. “Grand’s home.”

“Perfect,” Eve muttered, not even trying to catch up as her niece scampered up the walk and into the house. She was in no hurry to go inside.

She looked around for her purse, remembered she’d run out without it, and continued to sit with her hand on the door handle. Thinking.

Maybe it was a good thing Grand was home. Whatever Rory had overheard couldn’t be unheard. They would just have to deal with it. Rory was going to have questions, and demand answers. And she would get them, Eve decided. It was one thing to withhold the truth for someone’s own protection, another to look them in the eye and lie. She couldn’t do that . . . especially not with Grand there to keep her honest.

Maybe she’d been kidding herself to think she could keep the family skeleton locked away indefinitely. She just wished it had come popping out some other time, when she wasn’t busy battling Gabriel Hazard. And herself.

Hazard, because he wouldn’t stop coming after the pendant. Herself, because she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop. At least not right away. And also because thanks to him she had intentionally used magic, and she hadn’t hated it.

Having that power stir to life inside her had been incredible. Feeling it rush and course through her was thrilling, and terrifying. All the more terrifying because it was thrilling. It had felt good. And right.

A few minutes later, she opened the door of the house to the familiar aroma of Grand’s special Irish stew. It was the ultimate comfort food, the sort of dish that had to be assembled early in the day and left to simmer on low heat for hours so that the flavors had time to blend. Eve was positive there had been neither sight nor scent of any such blending going on when she was home earlier, yet there was now a big enamel pot of steaming homemade goodness on the stove. How it got there was the “secret” in Grand’s secret recipe.

The table was set with dark blue placemats and napkins, and chunky white bowls. A silver basket held freshly baked rolls.

“Doesn’t it smell great in here?” Rory asked her. “I’m starving.”

“Me too.” Eve suddenly realized how true that was, and that it might be better to wait and have the talk on a full stomach. Unless Grand insisted on having answers and explanations right away. She had, after all, returned home to find the pendant, Rory and Eve missing.

Her grandmother finished fussing with the fire burning in the hearth between the kitchen and dining room and turned. But instead of the barrage of questions, she offered Eve a welcoming smile.

“That’s what a cook likes to hear,” she said. “Now sit so we can eat.”

Grand reached for the ladle, but Rory was quicker.

“You sit,” Rory told her firmly. “I’ll serve.”

“That would be lovely.” Grand sat and placed her napkin in her lap.

Eve followed suit, still eyeing her grandmother curiously. Was it possible Grand hadn’t noticed the pendant missing? And had just assumed Rory and she were both running late without explanation?

God, no. What was she thinking? Grand didn’t have to notice . . . she would just know. But she was kind enough to let them finish eating, with the dishes cleared and tea poured, before swinging a no-nonsense gaze from one of them to the other.

“And now I’ll hear all about what you two have been up to today.”