"What's wrong? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I... nothing." She looked at the small wooden box he held. "Is that it?"

"Yeah." He held it out, and she took it from him, returned to her seat in the chair, and gently opened the lid.

A folded scrap of time-yellowed paper rested inside. She looked to Alex for permission, and when he nodded, she picked it up and noticed the glittering quartz crystal that rested underneath it. Unfolding the sheet carefully, Melissa read the note.

My dearest Alex, Leaving you with the sisters is the hardest thing I have ever done. But my love for you is so strong that I know it is my only choice. I fear my life in this world will soon end-for the evil that pursues me draws closer every day. The best I can do for you is to put you as far from its reach as I can, in a place where I know you'll be safe. The only thing I ask of you, my son, is that you never attempt to find the man who fathered you-for I tell you from my heart, he is evil, and he will destroy you. Know that I will always be with you, watching over you, protecting you, and loving you.

Always, Your mother, Jennifer .

As she read the note, Melissa swore she could hear the words, spoken in a gentle, loving voice-the same voice she'd heard earlier tonight in her temple room. Blinking back tears, she refolded the note and set it in the box. As she did, her fingertips caressed the crystal and she felt a surge of warmth suffusing her hand and arm.

Her chest felt tight, her heart full, as she closed the lid.

Then she frowned, holding the box in her hands. "There was something else?"

Alex seemed startled. "Yes. How did you know?"

She only shrugged.

"Three months ago, I somehow left my bedroom window open-not here, I was living closer to LA then. It stormed that day, and a gust must have swept through. When I got home, the bedroom was wet, and things were scattered everywhere. The box had been blown off its shelf, to the floor. When it hit, a little compartment in the bottom popped open. There was a card inside."

"Your father's?" she asked.

He nodded. "By then, I'd been trying to trace my roots for years. I'd managed to learn his last name, Moring, but nothing else. The address was for this house, and when I came here, there was a real-estate sign on the lawn. Elizabeth was still here. She told me my father had passed only a few months prior. But all of his things were still here as well. And the place was for sale."

"So you bought it."

"Of course I bought it." He sighed, shaking his head. "To think I'd been in LA for so long and he was so close all that time. But I only found him after he'd died. Elizabeth said he always knew I'd come back someday. She said he'd have wanted me to have the house." He searched the depths of the fire; for what, she couldn't have said. "I thought, by being here, going through his things, I could finally get to know my father."

"And have you?"

He snapped his gaze to hers. "I don't know. He... he left diaries-but the entries are always addressed 'Dear Alex,' as if he was writing them to me, knowing I'd find them and read them someday. And they're full of..." He stopped there, as if afraid he would reveal too much. "He was either the most powerful sorcerer I could have imagined, or he was completely insane."

She nodded slowly. "And that's why you've had all the questions about the dark side of magic."

He started to nod, but stopped halfway. "Not that I think what he practiced was black magic. Just that it-it doesn't quite mesh with the fluffy white lighter stuff you find in all the books meant for public consumption."

She drew a breath, lifted her chin. "Would you be willing to let me see them?"

His head came up fast, and again, the face of that "other" seemed to hover over his own. "No!" The word blasted from his lips in a voice like thunder, and it hit her with a force that was palpable. A force she felt might have physically harmed her, had she not taken the time to shield herself before entering this place. The air in the room turned to ice, even as she shot to her feet and backed toward the door.

Alex blinked twice, frowning as if confused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout."

She held up a hand, shook her head, tried to form words to excuse herself, but gave up. Instead she simply turned and ran. She didn't look back until she was in her car, heading away from that place.

And when she did, she saw Alex, standing in the middle of the narrow road, staring after her.

Alex was shaking all over, couldn't seem to stop it. Hell. What in God's name had just happened to him? And how was he going to explain it to Melissa when he didn't understand it himself?

He was sweating, he realized as he ran a palm across his forehead. A cold sweat. More dampness gathered on his skin from the soft, mistlike rain that fell, and he shivered. He walked back into the house.

It's just as well. She's a Witch, and she'll ruin everything. Stay away from her from now on.

Alex frowned at the foreign voice in his mind. It wasn't his own. It wasn't his inner self expressing nervousness over the sheer power of what he felt for Melissa. Everything in him was screaming just the opposite.

"I don't want to stay away from her," he whispered. "I think... I think I need her." He sighed, lowering his head. It was true. He sensed it right to his soul. He needed her. He didn't know why or how or exactly what it was he needed from her.

The truth was, he was burning to tell her everything-everything that had happened to turn his life upside down. He had been, ever since he'd first set eyes on her. In that moment when he'd opened the door to find her standing there, it felt as if he'd been lost in the desert and finally caught sight of water. Cool, clear, life-giving water. Something inside her seemed to speak to something inside him. And just being near her felt... soothing. Healing. When she had walked into this godforsaken tomb of a house, he swore he could almost feel a fresh, cool breeze rushing in, blasting away the cobwebs and dust and darkness.

Absently he rubbed his hand where hers had closed around it. He wanted to touch her again.

No!

Mustering his will-and God, it was an effort-he ignored the voice in his head and walked back outside, pulling his car keys out of his pocket as he did. He had to go after her.

This wasn't over.

CHAPTER 6.

He found her sitting on the natural stone patio behind her beach house. There was a lawn swing there, made of bamboo. She sat in it, swinging gently, and she didn't look the least surprised to see him there.

"I didn't mean to scare you away."

She offered a small, if somewhat uncertain, smile. "It's not you that scares me." Drawing a breath as if drawing up courage, she patted the empty spot beside her.

He moved forward, sat down beside her. "I don't know what happened. I'm sorry."

She studied his face for a long moment. "Is it gone now? Whatever it was that came over you?"

He nodded. "I'd never hurt you, Melissa."

"I know."

She leaned back in the swing, seemingly relaxing a little. Maybe those all-seeing eyes of hers told her that he was no threat. Maybe she was just more confident on her home turf. Whatever, he was irrationally glad that his outburst back at the house hadn't made her decide to have no more to do with him.

The sea breeze rinsed over him, and it reminded him of what he felt emanating from Melissa. The woman was like the ocean: deep and full of mystery and power. Cool and soothing. Mystical. And emanating a fragrant, refreshing energy the way a tree emanates oxygen, sustaining and strengthening the life force of everyone within her orbit.

He sat there watching the waves as they rolled in, breaking into curls of white froth, hissing as they ran out of steam and retreated into the depths again.

"I won't ask you any more questions if you don't want me to," she said. "And if you just came for the pent', I'll take you to it."

It was some sort of a test, he thought. She didn't dare ask him any more questions without feeling him out first. And she wasn't sure what he was doing here.

"I didn't come for the pent'. I came... I don't know why I came."

She let her eyes close, lashes resting on her cheeks.

"Do you believe in luck, or coincidence, Melissa?"

"I think you make your own luck," she said, not opening her eyes. "And I don't think there's any such thing as coincidence. Synchronicity isn't random. Why?"

He leaned back, too, trying to adopt a more relaxed pose. She looked so comfortable, so at ease. He couldn't bring himself to close his eyes, though. He couldn't look at her with his eyes closed, and he found himself compelled to look at her.

"I've always been very successful. As far back as I can remember, everything I've tried to accomplish has worked out. Grades, scholarships. My career has been one lucky break after another, one amazing success after another. Opportunities seem to line up to knock on my door."

She nodded. "You work hard at what you do. I've only worked for you for two days, and I already know that. And you're good. You have a natural talent for visual storytelling. It's a gift. Probably what you were always meant to do."

"Maybe. Or maybe it was something else."

Time ticked by, silence stretching out between them, as the gentle rush of the waves over the sand whispered like a lullaby. Finally, she said, "What else could it have been, Alex?"

It was a gentle nudge, and it made him aware that he had fallen silent before completing his thought. He credited her with having distracted him. Her and the ocean.

"According to my father's diaries, it's genetic. I inherited the ability to wield his power. Anything I want, I only have to think of it to have it come to me. He wrote that it was his gift to me, but that it would fade in time, unless I learned to appreciate it and to control it."

He pushed with his feet and long legs, moving the swing gently back and forth in perfect time with the waves, and he looked at her. Her huge brown eyes were open now, plumbing the depths of his soul. He could drown in them.

"Did he say... how he expected you to do this?"

He nodded. "There's... a ritual."

Melissa sat up a little. "What kind of ritual?"

"I haven't seen it yet, but it's supposed to transfer his power to me. So that I'm not using his, but making it my own. Elizabeth knows how it goes. I guess she worked with my father a lot when he was alive. She's supposed to assist when the time comes, and I'm not supposed to know too much about it in advance."

Melissa seemed about to say something but then stopped herself.

"I thought the entire idea was ridiculous at first. But the more time I spend in that house-I don't know. It's as if it makes more sense all the time."

She nodded. "I felt him there, Alex. Your father. I think his spirit is still in that house."

He nodded slowly. "He's trapped there, according to Elizabeth. He won't be free until I undergo this-this rite. He can't rest in peace. I know it sounds crazy, but God, I feel him there, too. Then again, he died of brain cancer. All of this might just be the crazy ramblings of a man whose mind had deteriorated to the point of madness."

"Or maybe it's a little bit of both," she told him.

He nodded. "I've thought of that, too."

"What about the pentacle?" she asked.

"It was his. He'd left it with Elizabeth with instructions to give it to me when I came-he seemed to know I would in time."

"Maybe he did. But Alex, do you really believe that you have everything you do because of him, and not because of your own hard work and talent?"

He thought for a long moment about that. "My father... he was extremely wealthy. Looking over the things he writes about his life, it seems that he was a lot like me. Everything he tried turned out to be successful. His diaries claim that he used magic to make it that way-that he used that same magic to ensure my life would be that way, as well." He drew a deep breath, sighed. "That's why I wanted you to teach me about magic. So that-on the off chance it is true and this ritual does grant me some kind of... power... I will know how to use it."

She jumped to her feet. "God, Alex, you don't intend to go through with this!"

He frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Alex, everything in me tells me it's black magic, and that your father has been practicing it all his adult life-he would have to have in order to be as powerful as he claims to be. Do you have any idea the kind of negativity that must be clinging to his spirit by now? Can't you feel the darkness in that house of his? You don't want to open yourself up and invite all that darkness to jump from his lingering spirit into you. My God, it would be like-like walking unvaccinated through a smallpox ward."

Alex shook his head slowly. "I don't think he was evil," he said. "I really don't."

She stared down at him, her eyes intense. "What about the note? What about your mother's warnings?"

He had thought of that. Over and over he had thought of that, wondered about it.

"Alex, when you work magic or do anything else that causes harm to others, or takes things that were rightly meant for others, that harm brands you. It marks your soul. And the more harm you do, the bigger the mark. That mark becomes a beacon for negative energy. So the harm you do comes back. It's impossible for it not to."

He sighed, lowering his head and running his hand over the nape of his neck. "Dammit, Melissa, I think you're making too much out of all of this. You don't know he did harm to anyone. There's no proof of that."

"No?"

He shook his head.

"What about your mother? What about the harm he did to her?"

His head came up slowly. He reached out a hand, but she backstepped just enough to avoid his touch. "We don't know he did her any harm at all."

"How did your mother die, Alex?"

He shook his head hard, instant, absolute denial. "Come on, Melissa. Don't you think you're giving in to melodrama here?"

"You don't know, do you?"

"No. I don't know. The diaries only say that she took their newborn son and left." He met her eyes. "Seems to me that she was the one who did harm to him."

"Maybe." She didn't look as if she believed it, though. "I think you should find out for sure."

He threw his hands in the air. "Why the hell did I think I could talk to you about any of this? Jesus, Melissa, I thought you would understand. I thought you would give me some practical advice, not accuse a dead man-one I spent my whole life searching for-of everything from black magic to murder."

"You want practical advice?" she asked him. And even though his voice had been rising, hers remained steady, deep, and firm. "Here it is: Get away from everything to do with that man. Get as far away as you can. Have a cleansing ritual performed on you. Get the stink of his negativity off you. Give away everything he gave you. Or share his fate."

"His fate? He died a billionaire who could have anything he wanted."

"He died an old man, without a family, without his wife or his son. He died alone, horribly. And if he got his wealth the way I think he did, his next lifetime isn't likely to be much better. That is his fate. The fate he created for himself. The fate he wants to pass on to you from beyond the grave."

Alex sighed heavily and turned away from her.