Nikolas walked over and took the dish towel out of her hands. "It's a big deal to us," he said quietly. "We need to understand how and why I was ambushed, and what other magic had been in play that day and if it might still pose a danger. Also, after the attack on the pub, we need to try to figure out how much the Hounds may know about us, about the puck, and about you."

Frowning, she looked at him directly for the first time since having breakfast. "Knowing that would be of benefit to me too," she pointed out.

"Here's what I propose," Nikolas said. He laid his hands on her shoulders. "Instead of bargaining piecemeal over every little thing or added service, I want to pay you a blanket amount for a month of your consulting services. If you're not going to go away, as you should, that's a fair offer."

Why did he keep approaching her and touching her? It made her cranky and confused her. She wanted to step forward into his arms. She wanted to slap his hands away.

Most of all, she wanted to get back down to the business they had begun last night before he had so precipitously walked away.

Throwing up her hands, she shrugged out of his hold. She said, "If you want to pay me for a month of consulting work, I'd be happy to take your money, but I don't have a work visa."

"I'll add it to the amount we're paying you for rent," Nikolas told her. He turned to watch her with a sharp frown as she sidled away from him. "Fifteen thousand."

The British pound was worth more than the dollar, and adding ten thousand pounds to cover her consulting fees was more than she would have made in LA. But it wasn't so much over the top that it caused her conscience to twinge.

From a distance of six feet away, she gave Nikolas a thin, not-altogether-friendly smile. "You want to hand over your money? Fine, I'll be happy to take it."

Chapter Thirteen.

Having come to that agreement, they got down to business. In short order, they had the table completely cleared and various items unwrapped from the packages Gawain had brought in. Sophie had already brought her vial of colloidal silver out to the kitchen, and she collected the rest of the things she wanted from her bedroom-pieces of magic-sensitive silver, a pen and pad of paper.

"Making your own colloidal silver generator is the easiest thing in the world," she told the two males who were focused so intently on her. "It's like learning to park a car. Once you know it, you know it. You need a power source, alligator clips, silver, distilled water, and containers. Silver colloidal enthusiasts who believe in using it for medicinal purposes might also use a regulator diode, because the theory is, as the electrical current grows, it strips larger particles of silver off. That's not good for their purposes, but that's great for ours, so we're not going to use a regulator diode. We want the larger particles because that's what makes magic-sensitive colloidal silver so viable."

As she talked, her hands moved over the various items, arranging them to her satisfaction. She connected the batteries to each other, then to the alligator clips, to two of the pieces of the magic-sensitive silver she had brought, set it all in the container, and filled it with distilled water.

"And that's it," she said. "We're done. The solution will be ready in several hours when it has a yellow tint to it. We can check it again this evening, and it will probably be viable then. Like I said before, there's a way to make a generator without batteries, just by using sunlight, but I've never used that method before. If you're interested, I can dig up some instructions."

Nikolas took several photos of the apparatus while both men asked her questions. She answered them readily enough, and when they seemed ready, she pulled out her vial of viable colloidal silver.

"You've already seen the end result to the process," she said. She took her pen and drew the rune on the paper, then flipped it for them to see. "And this is the rune I use."

"Is that Nordic?" Nikolas asked as he angled his head to study the rune.

"Yes." She paused uncertainly. "That's not an issue, is it?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm just not as familiar with the Nordic runes as I am with the Celtic."

"Once you know the technique, you can get creative with your spells and use the runes you're more familiar with," she told him. "Drawing the rune and infusing it with the magic spell is the same technique that jewelry makers use when they create magic items. If you know how to put a cloaking spell on your sword hilt, you can do this too."

"I understand. It's the silver in the solution that holds the spell."

"Exactly." She smiled. "I use the rune Algiz for this particular spell. It's a rune of protection, which might not seem to fit, but it can also be used for channeling energies a certain way or for turning something away. Together with the null spell, it combines to turn away or negate magic. It's a negation, not a destruction, so the magic can always return. Get it?"

Gawain murmured, "You are one of the cleverest women I have ever met."

Surprised by the compliment, she felt her cheeks turn warm. "Thank you. I'm not, but-thank you. Remember, I learned a lot of this from other people. I'm like a magpie. I love picking up bits and pieces of things. Then I start playing with them, and sometimes they go together in surprising ways."

"You may have learned a lot of this from other people, but you're the one who put it together," Nikolas said. "Gawain said it was almost like a temporary tattoo, and he was right. You're creating temporary magic items."

"Yeah," she said, pleased with the description. "And you know, painting magic spells on someone isn't a new technique-tribal shamans do it all the time. Painting them with magic-sensitive silver just means the spells can be stronger and more durable. There's a limited application for this, and I make magic jewelry too, amulets and such, but I like painting certain spells on my skin. You can lose a necklace or a bracelet in a fight, and rings can catch on things-I know someone who lost a finger that way-but you're much less likely to lose a spell that's glued onto you."

At Gawain's blank look, Nikolas told him, "She's referring to the spells she used against the Hounds in the attack. They were painted on her skin with..."

When he glanced at her, eyebrows raised, she grinned. "It's a different solution than this. I put tiny magic-sensitive silver shavings in clear nail polish."

"Like I said. Clever, clever woman." Gawain patted her shoulder.

Nikolas practiced working the null spell on Sophie until he cast it competently. Then it was Gawain's turn to practice on her while Nikolas wore a null spell. By the time both men felt confident in casting the spell quickly, it was almost noon.

"We owe you a gun, along with silver bullets," Nikolas said.

She straightened her shoulders from bending over the table. "Yes, you do."

He picked up the last package Gawain had brought in and pulled out a metal micro gun vault, along with boxes of ammunition. She opened the vault, saw the Glock nestled inside, and patted her chest again. "Be still, my heart."

Gawain laughed, but Nikolas didn't. He watched her intently. "Now show me you know how to use it," he said.

She felt a brief impulse to irritation, but it faded almost immediately into a certain kind of appreciation. He was being careful, and it was one of the things she liked best about him. He didn't leave things to chance.

Not looking away from his face, she disa.s.sembled and a.s.sembled the gun by touch alone. It took her seconds. Then she loaded it while the men watched every move she made. She explained, "Because you should be able to do it in the dark, if need be."

Nikolas gave her a fierce, approving smile. "Yes, you should."

Not that she had done any of it, learned any of it, practiced any of it, to gain his approval, but that did cause the corner of her mouth to lift. Just a bit.

Setting the gun aside, she inspected the silver bullets. As she had suspected, they weren't made of solid silver. Silver was a hard metal, and besides, solid silver bullets would be much more expensive. The bullets were jacketed ammunition, with a metal sh.e.l.l and tipped with silver.

As she examined the bullet, she murmured almost to herself, "You know, I've never run into lycanthropes in the States, but I've used magic-sensitive silver to make my own bullets. Once you have the hollow metal sh.e.l.ls, it's easy. Then I can spell those bullets any way I like. Let me tell you, a null spelled silver bullet is super useful when you're fighting a magic user who's out of his mind on LSD." She glanced up to find them staring at her. She told them, "What? I was there. I saw it happen."

Gawain breathed. "The la.s.s makes magic bullets."

If she'd had their full attention before, now they caught fire.

Yes, she promised to make them magic bullets. Yes, she would teach them how to make magic bullets for themselves. Yes, they would need to order a good amount of magic-sensitive silver, along with all the tools she would need for silversmithing. Yes, of course she would make a list-she wrote it out for them while they watched, then Gawain took the paper and pocketed it.

At that point, she held up her hands, stood up from the table, and said, "I'm done. I'm all done today. I haven't even showered or gotten dressed properly yet-and I still need to go into town to check in on Maggie, set up a bank account, and buy coffee. You kids are going to have to go outside and play on your own."

Nikolas stood as well. "We got sidetracked by a great deal more information than we were expecting. That's not a bad thing. All of it is useful, but I was going to ask you to do a reading."

Now that she was no longer focused on something else, her hyperawareness of him returned. Not quite looking at him, she asked, "Can it wait until this evening?"

"Yes, it can. I need to find someplace to hide the Porsche." He looked at Gawain. "We also need to show you the great hall in the manor house."

"I poked around early this morning," Gawain said. "There's a gravel access road that goes to the back of the property. It leads to a field that's lying fallow, so the road is a bit overgrown and obviously unused. You could tuck your Porsche back there, and n.o.body would be the wiser."

"Sounds good." Nikolas looked at Sophie. "Would you let us into the manor house before you leave for the afternoon?"

"Sure," she said. "Let's do that now."

Together they walked across the lawn to the front doors of the house. Now that Sophie had felt her way to coming into alignment with the house once, she was able to do it much quicker a second time.

Nikolas braced his hands on the oaken door. When she gave the word, he shoved it hard and it opened with a creak. He said, "We need to oil those hinges. Not only will it make the doors quieter, it'll make them easier to open."

As Gawain peered inside, Nikolas twisted to pick out another broken flagstone, which he used as a doorstop to keep the door from shutting and locking the men out of the house again.

Now that the prospect of going into town was so close, Sophie felt eager to get some s.p.a.ce from Nikolas's intense presence and baffling behavior. As she turned to leave, Nikolas took hold of her arm. His fierce frown was back, making his handsome features intimidating.

"I don't know that I'm comfortable with your going to town by yourself," he said almost to himself.

Raising her eyebrows, she pulled away from his touch. "I don't know that I care if you're comfortable or not."

"Sophie," he said in an abrupt, clipped voice. "There may be Hounds in the town. Remember, we don't know what they might know about you, and they can change at will. And you don't know who belongs in town and who doesn't."

She squared her shoulders at the reminder, and after a moment, she nodded. "Point taken," she muttered. "I'll go armed, and I'll be careful."

He angled his jaw. "I still don't like it."

"We all have things we don't like," she replied with rather more acerbity than she had meant to. "I'm sure you'll deal with it."

As she started to turn away, he caught her hand. He tangled his long fingers through hers, and the warmth of his touch reverberated through her. She stared at him with a combination of exasperation and pain. He was the one who had walked away from her, so why did he keep touching her?

His dark, fiery eyes met hers. "Why didn't you sleep well?"

Her mouth tightened. Maybe if she told him, she could get him to back off and leave her alone for a few d.a.m.n hours.

"Because I don't. I just don't," she whispered, the words exploding out of her with staccato force. "Every time I close my eyes I see that gun pointed at me. Every time I fall asleep, I try to run away from him, but I never get away, because that didn't happen. I didn't get away. He shot me, and he shot me, and I remember every single one. And my brain won't let it go, so I keep reliving it." She paused to take a breath. His expression had tightened, and she didn't want to read what was in his eyes. If it was pity, she might haul off and hit him. Pulling her hand out of his, she told him, "When I'm ready to let it go, it'll fade. Until then, I just grit my teeth."

"Sophie," he said.

"I told you I was done," she snapped. "I'm really done. Back off and let me have a couple of hours to myself."

"We're not done talking," he told her, even as he took a step back. "This is just on pause for now."

If she said another word to him, she thought she might do something horribly humiliating and burst into tears. What the f.u.c.k, Sophie. So she turned her back and stalked away.

Back in the cottage, she caught Robin eating a pie. It looked like it might be the steak and kidney pie Nikolas had bought for supper the night before. It looked ma.s.sive in his little monkey hands.

As the puck froze, she told him, "Eat it, sweetheart. Eat whatever you want. Is there anything you want from town? Just tell me, and I'll bring it back for you."

For a moment the monkey's eyes lingered on her expression, and she thought he would finally break through his silence and tell her. She held her breath, but then he tucked his wizened face down to the pie he clutched close to him, and the moment pa.s.sed.

"Never mind," she said gently as she pa.s.sed a hand down his small back. "You'll talk when you're ready. I'll bring you back a cake."

As the monkey's eyes flashed with interest, she knew she had struck the right chord. Smiling, she went to shower and prepare for her trip to town. Taking Nikolas's warning to heart, she painted both offensive and defensive spells on her arms.

There was so much silver in the nail polish the runes shimmered in the light, so she dug out one of her favorite pieces of clothing, a gauzy, semitransparent top with long sleeves that flared at the wrists, with a tight, black spaghetti strap camisole underneath. She paired it with a pair of stonewashed jeans and the Doc Martens, and she even took a few minutes to stroke on some makeup, enhancing her eyes with a smoky pewter color, while brushing a fire-engine red lipstick on her lips.

The makeup made her look different, sultry. Who was she trying to impress with all this?

Nikolas's dark, intense eyes came to mind.

"f.u.c.k you for walking away," she whispered to him. "I put on makeup. I look like a million bucks."

So. It appeared she wasn't over what had happened last night, not in the slightest. Sighing, she dug out her messenger-style purse and put every piece of identification she had into it, including her pa.s.sport. Last of all, she checked her new, beautiful Glock to make sure it was loaded and all was in order, and when she was satisfied-and because all her purses had a concealed-carry pocket-she slipped it into her purse.

When she tucked her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans, she was finally ready to head into town. Her spirits lifted as she drove away from the property. The English countryside was gorgeous, and as she drove into town, for the first time since she arrived, she was able to see it in the sunlight and appreciate how picturesque it looked.

She stopped at the pub first to talk to Arran and Maggie. They were busy working on repairs, so she didn't stay long, but they both gave her hugs so tight it warmed her heart. Arran whispered in her ear, "Thank you for my wife."

She patted his back and smiled at him. "You are so welcome."

"Aren't you lonesome out there at that old place?" Maggie asked her curiously.

She laughed. Oh, if she could only get some real time to herself. "Not at all," she told the other woman with complete truth. "I'm enjoying the s.p.a.ce."

"Well, if there's anything you need, anything at all," Maggie said. "You let us know."

"Anything ever," Arran broke in to emphasize.

"I promise, I will. When are you going to open again?"

They looked at each other, and a shadow fell across their faces. Arran said, "We'll have to open soon. It's tourist season, and we need the business, but we're going to hold off until a week after the funerals."

She touched Maggie's arm. "Good luck, and I'll stop by again in a few days."

"It'll be good to see you, la.s.s," Maggie told her. "Maybe by then, this place will be looking good enough I can make you a cuppa."

"I'd like that."

As she walked out, her phone buzzed. It was a call from Paul, the solicitor, offering her congratulations. Pausing to talk with him for a few minutes, she promised to get him the information on her new bank account when she had it, and then she headed to the small Barclays Bank to open a checking account.

When that business was complete, she browsed through some of the local shops and took some time to read and respond to Rodrigo's email. He had sent a quick query, asking how her trip was going, and she got excited all over again as she wrote about becoming a landowner.

Nikolas's warning stayed with her, so she kept a wary eye out, but everything in the town seemed so peaceful and normal she relaxed her hypervigilance as she stopped at the grocers to buy coffee. There wasn't a coffeemaker at the house, so she settled for instant coffee, while she made a promise to herself to buy a percolator soon.

Then on impulse, she bought hot chocolate mix, a bunch of fresh flowers to brighten up the cottage kitchen, and Black Forest gateaux cake she thought Robin would like. As she was walking back to her car, a small shop featuring children's clothes caught her eye. There was the most darling little navy blue jacket in the window that looked like it might fit Robin. Her gaze lingered on it while she struggled with temptation.

He's not really a monkey, she scolded herself. And he's certainly not a child.

But the jacket was so cute, and maybe he got cold sometimes. He might be healing at a magical speed, but he was still so underweight. Ugh. She pushed through the front door. As she bought the jacket, she told the friendly shopgirl, "It's for my nephew."