The rest seemed to be addressed to Alex: Don't worry about Victor, my darling child. This is a place of healing and transformation, not punishment. Now, for the three of you, I have only one request. Love one another, as I love you all.

And then she faded, growing smaller and vanishing altogether.

Tears flooding her eyes, Melissa opened her arms again. "Thank you, Jennifer, for bringing us together, for giving your own life to save that of your son. We love you and we will forever honor your memory." The tears spilled over. "Thank you, Hecate, goddess of the crossroads. Thank you, Sisters of Fate, Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos. Hail and farewell."

"Hail and farewell," Marinda echoed.

"Good-bye, Mother," Alex whispered.

Melissa drew her arms down and together, closing the veil between the worlds. Then she turned and went to Alex.

He was pale, none too steady, as she and Marinda helped him down from the table. "Alex, this is Marinda Simone. She's your grandmother."

He smiled weakly at the older woman. "Hello, Grandmother."

"Hello, Alex." She leaned close, kissed his cheek. Then she sighed, all business. "There's no reason to open up your father's private life and all his mistakes to public scrutiny. I'll ground the circle energy. Then we'll clean up down here and move the body upstairs. We can throw a hair dryer into the bathtub with poor Elizabeth. The world can believe her death was accidental electrocution. It's close enough to the truth."

"But what about Alex?" Melissa asked. "He needs a hospital."

"No." Alex touched her face with his palm. "Look at the pail. I can't be more than a couple of pints low. The cuts on my chest are shallow. I'll be fine."

She stared at him and she imagined her heart was in her eyes, but she didn't care. "Are you really all right?"

He leaned closer, kissed her mouth, and probably tasted the salt of her tears, she thought, as she clung to him. When he lifted his head, he said, "I'm all right. From now on, everything is going to be all right."

Alex let Melissa pull his arm around her shoulders, but he refused to lean on her as she led him through the darkness of the great below, up the stairs, and into the great above. The sun was streaming through the windows now, and the house seemed almost... cheerful.

He sat in a chair and allowed Melissa to wash the blood from his chest and his sides, while his grandmother was in the kitchen, brewing what she called a healing tea.

"What did that insane woman cut into my chest?" he asked Melissa as she ran the cloth over the shallow wounds. It stung, but he didn't care.

"Victor's name, in Theban script." She applied salve she'd found in the medicine cabinet, then wrapped his chest in soft gauze and taped it in place. "He thought he could steal your body, basically make himself live again."

"I know. Elizabeth said as much while she was carving me up." Melissa had a clean shirt in her hands, taken from Alex's room upstairs, but she paused now, staring at him with her huge, beautiful eyes. "Do you think that it's possible this thing could have worked?" she asked.

"I don't know. I just... I don't know. I think he's been-haunting me sort of. Maybe preparing for this. I've felt him in my head more than once-but not anymore." He shook his head.

"I suppose just about anything is possible," she said.

He reached out, took the shirt from her, and set it aside. Then he took her hands in his. "What about forgiving me, for being such a stubborn idiot about all of this and nearly getting you killed? Do you think that's possible?"

Her eyes seemed to search his-and he felt to his core they were doing exactly that. Searching for some reassurance that he hadn't absorbed his father's twisted values and negativity.

Licking his lips, knowing what he had to do, he got to his feet. "You sit. I want to tell you some things I figured out while I was lying down there being drained into a mop bucket."

She did as he said, but she never took those potent, all-seeing eyes from his. God, he loved her. He'd loved her from the second he'd set eyes on her, he thought. She sat in the overstuffed chair, but only after pulling another one closer, so he could sit facing her.

She knew he was still weak and dizzy. She seemed to know more about him than he did, most of the time. She had from the start.

He sat in the chair facing hers and took her hands in his. "I realized down there, when I was pretty sure I was going to die, that you were right. He's built up a lot of negativity, or bad karma, or whatever you want to call it. I figure, since I lived through all of this, I have the opportunity to make things right. Take that negative energy and redirect it into something positive."

"Really? How are you going to do that, Alex?"

"For starters, I'm going to sell this house and everything in it and give the money to St. Luke's School for Boys."

She smiled a little. He liked that, knew he was on the right track.

"Do you think you have to do that for me, Alex? Because you don't, you know. I've been falling in love with you since the first time you said my name. That's not going to change."

He smiled fully. "You think I haven't figured that out already? Hell, woman, you came charging in here unarmed and laid your life on the line for me. I kind of guessed that might mean you cared."

"Not overconfident or anything, are you?" she asked, her tone teasing.

"Not even close." He got to his feet, tugged her to hers. "Melissa, you are-you're good. You're so good that I feel like I want to be better. I want to be the kind of man who's worthy of loving a woman like you." He slid his arms around her waist, pulled her close to him.

"You already are, Alex," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. "I promise, you already are."

EPILOGUE.

"Shhhh!" Melissa hissed. "It's starting!"

She sat in the arms of her husband, in front of the television in the living room of their beach house. There were people all around them. Bowls of popcorn, open pizza boxes, and lots of icy soft drinks covered every surface. The director was there, along with the two beautiful starlets and the new head writer, a woman who was a practicing Witch herself. Marinda was there as well, beaming with approval at her grandson and his wife and hinting about the greatgrandchildren she hoped wouldn't be too far away.

The season finale of The Enchantress began with the Witch as a guest at an authentic Wiccan wedding, with the bride and groom being played by none other than the creative consultant and the show's producer/creator.

The ceremony was built around Melissa and Alex's actual wedding, held in a grove of oaks, the guests forming a circle around them. Every flower and color and gift had a special spiritual significance, and the officiating minister was a Wiccan High Priestess by the name of Marinda Simone.

Of course, in the script the ceremony was interrupted by some ill-intentioned demon and the Enchantress was forced to vanquish him, but at least she didn't accomplish that by a deadpan recitation of a rhyming couplet from a book. Thanks to the new writing team, the poor, overworked Witch was forced to do research, determine the best astrological timing, find and gather appropriate herbs, stones, and candles, call on the Divine, and channel her power from the elements of Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. Also thanks to the new writing team, the show's ratings had climbed through the roof. Every episode dropped a tiny bit of Witchlore or ancient wisdom, all wrapped up in a damn good story, and the viewers couldn't get enough.

When the credits rolled and everyone inside was celebrating, high-fiving each other, cracking a few beers, Alex took Melissa's hand and tugged her with him, through the sliding doors, and down onto their special place on the beach.

"I need you with me for this," he told her. Then he pulled something from his pocket: the gold pentacle that had belonged to his father.

"Alex?" She searched his eyes. "Honey, I thought we were going to keep that put away?"

He nodded. "We were. But I don't think keeping it in a locked box in the back of the closet is really good enough. Not even after all the cleansing you've done on it. I think... I think it's time to let it go."

"But it's the only thing you have left of your father."

He shook his head. "No. I've only just begun to realize all the other things he left me. Because of him, I found you. And Grams. And my mother. My family. I have all of that. I don't need a hunk of metal. Besides, I think it makes a great offering of thanks."

She smiled. "And just what are you giving thanks for?"

"Everything I just mentioned. Plus the success the show is enjoying. And most of all, for the little one that's going to be coming into our lives pretty soon."

She frowned. "Honey, I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. Have been, since that first night on the beach."

"How do you know?"

He smiled down at her. "My mother told me, in a dream last night. It will be a little girl, and we'll name her Jennifer." He pulled her close and kissed her. Then he turned to face the sea and hurled the pendant as hard as he could.

It splashed into the water, just as the sun went down. Melissa closed her eyes and whispered, "So mote it be."

A WULF'S CURSE.

RONDA THOMPSON.

CHAPTER 1.

England, 1820 .

The impatient stamp of a hoof. The jingle-jangle of a bridle. The leather creak of a harness. All sounds of the caravan preparing to leave. Elise Collins stood in the shadows, the wagons barely distinguishable through a thick London mist. She clutched her valise in a white-knuckled grip and kept repeating the phrase, I am an adventurer, over in her mind.

A loud roar split the night. Elise jumped. Good God, what roamed the mist?

"Beast Tamer!" a voice thundered. "Come see to Raja. He's in a surly mood tonight."

The door of the wagon closest to Elise swung open. A figure stepped outside. She couldn't see his face, but unless the mist and the shadows played tricks with the night, he was very tall. Moonlight danced around him, illuminating him in a spiritual light. His shoulder-length hair nearly gleamed silver. A low curse floated to her upon the chill, dismissing his saintly image.

"Raja is spoiled for my company!" the man called. "I had hoped to sleep, since Nathan said he'd drive for me."

"Unless you keep the tiger quiet, none who have sleep duty tonight will get any!" the big voice boomed. "Leave your wagon empty and ride a while with Raja."

Tigers? Elise swallowed the lump in her throat. Danny, her uncle's groom and an accomplice to her daring escape, hadn't mentioned that there were wild animals among the traveling show. Perhaps she shouldn't have sent Danny off so quickly once he'd delivered her safely to the outskirts of London. But no, Elise had made her decision. She must follow through with her plans.

Her gaze strayed toward the now empty wagon. With her dark cloak covering her, she should be able to steal inside without being seen. Her uncle would never think to look for her among such people. The caravan was her best hope of escape. Gathering her courage, Elise darted toward the wagon.

Sterling Wulf paused before the sturdy bars of the animal wagons. One dark shape paced inside each wagon. Leena, a black panther, had gotten up in years and seldom gave him trouble, but Raja, a Siberian tiger, was ill-tempered most of the time and needed coddling.

"Want me to ride with you, do you?" Sterling asked. "You're nothing but an overgrown kitten." As Raja paced nervously before him, Sterling related to the tiger's unease. He'd been on edge since they'd reached the countryside of London and begun their nightly performances. London brought back too many memories, and it had been dangerous for him to be seen. What if someone had recognized him? And the temptation to seek out his brothers had almost proven too great. He'd feel much safer as soon as the troupe put London behind them.

Raja rubbed his great hulk against the bars. Sterling shook his head and stuck his hand inside, his fingers rumpling the animal's fur. "All right then. I'll ride with you, but only for a short while."

"I wish you would pet me as nicely as you pet him."

He turned to find Mora, the snake charmer, watching him. "You should be in your wagon," he said. "Philip will call the signal to start moving at any moment."

Mora sashayed toward him, her silver jewelry flashing in the dark. "I had hoped to ride in your wagon tonight-had hoped we could do more than sleep."

Sterling shrugged. "Maybe another time."

She placed her hands upon her ample hips. "You always refuse my offers. Do you not like women?"

Women were a nice distraction, Sterling admitted, but some said they were, for the most part, a curse to man. How well Sterling knew the truth to those words. However, Mora posed no threat to him, at least to his heart. She was older than he was, and she didn't smell all that good, but she held a certain appeal. It had been a while since he'd given in to his baser urges. Sterling found himself tempted, but tonight the cats demanded his attention.

"Raja is upset and I've been asked to calm him so the others can sleep. As I've said, maybe another time."

The snake charmer made a sound through her nose, not unlike the horses that pawed the ground in readiness to be off. "You cannot avoid me forever, Beast Tamer. I am curious to see if the big bulge in your tights is really you, or if you enhance your charms with a sock."

Sterling laughed. He was long past blushing over vulgar conversation. And he hated wearing the blasted tights while he performed. Philip, the caravan master, had insisted, assuring Sterling that not only men liked to ogle the troupe members. He supposed Philip was right. He did collect more than the rest of the performers, and the coin wasn't always tossed by men.

"Time to move!" Philip shouted.

Dismissing Mora, Sterling climbed up beside Taylor, an older man with a hump on his back who saw to the caravan animals, horse and beast alike. The man flicked the reins and moved the wagon forward. Raja growled in protest.

"Enough of your tantrums!" Sterling called down to the tiger. "Sleep, Raja. Heaven knows I'd rather be settled in my cot than feel this hard bench pressing into my ass."

The gentle sway of the wagon seduced her. Elise could barely keep her eyes open. She had sworn not an hour past that she'd be too frightened to relax, but nothing had happened to her. The man had not returned to the wagon. Her back hurt and her petticoats did not sufficiently cushion the hard wood beneath her bottom. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she made out the shape of a cot.

What harm would there be in resting there for a moment? Just long enough to ease the stiffness settling into her bones? Elise crawled forward and hefted herself upon the bed. There were warm blankets and a soft pelt to snuggle beneath.

Her eyes trained warily upon the door, she stretched out. She would not sleep but merely rest. The bedding had a scent about it. A male scent. Beast Tamer. What sort of name was that for a man, anyway? And was he really as tall as his shadow? Was his hair silver? Maybe he'd be a very old man, this Beast Tamer.

The last thought comforted Elise. Perhaps he'd be a kind, grandfatherly figure who'd be happy to take her beneath his wing and see her safely to her aunt's door in Liverpool. The sway of the wagon, the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves as they plodded along, combined to soothe her. She was safe, at least for the time being.

Sterling eased the door to his wagon shut. No need to bang about and wake those sleeping inside the other wagons. He stripped from his clothes and slipped into his cot, only to find it smaller than he remembered. A soft moan rose from the space beside him. He was not alone. Mora, the snake charmer, Sterling assumed. He supposed most men would feel flattered to find a woman waiting in their bed, but he wasn't all that certain he even liked Mora.

Her sweet scent drifted up to him. He didn't recall the snake charmer ever smelling particularly fetching. In the darkness, he touched her hair. Silky beneath his fingertips. Mora appeared as if she seldom took a brush to her tangled mane.

Had she made such effort to please him? Because he was pleased. His blood heated in his veins. Lust stirred to life inside of him. Sterling sought her mouth in the darkness. Again he was surprised. Her lips were petal-soft beneath his, and her breath did not reek of garlic. She sighed, opening to him. He took full advantage of her invitation.

Such a strange dream. Elise had never been kissed before. It was pleasant. Whoever her mind had conjured seemed to know what he was about, which struck her as odd. Shouldn't her dream include only her own experience in such matters? He swirled his tongue inside of her mouth, something she had never considered a man might do. His lips were firm, warm, demanding, but demanding of what, she wasn't certain.