She'd unfortunately overestimated her stamina and was relieved when they staggered into the library and she was dumped onto a bench. Breathing heavily, Rihlia dropped down beside her. "Somebody else is carrying you back."

"Oh, knock it off," Jasmine grumbled, panting for real. "I'm not that heavy."

Rihlia grinned and dropped the act, hopping up with a sickening amount of energy. "What would you like me to get first?"

The immense old library had few patrons that day, and the silence peculiar to such hallowed halls of books made Jasmine feel right at home. The room was octagon in shape. Shelves of books rose to the carved panels of the arched ceiling. Trees grew right out of the floor. Benches had been built around them to provide seating. High, arched windows filled the western facing wall and provided plenty of reading light.

She sighed in delight. It was perfect. No doubt everything she ever wanted to know about these people was in here, and she couldn't wait to get her hands on it.

One of the little giraffes-villi-that were such popular pets in this world walked up and gravely sniffed at her. Lemming wagged her tail politely and returned the greeting. Amused, she watched as it sauntered off, curiosity satisfied.

Independent little creatures, she thought.

"Can I help you?" A voice inquired, and she turned to find an older man with the expression of someone trying to keep his thoughts to himself. He bent to pet the villi who'd greeted them, creaking with the movement.

"I was hoping to learn a little more about the history of the Haunt, and especially about charmers. I don't suppose you would know much about it, would you?"

If anything, the librarian grew more severe, but he moved off to find the books. Uneasy, Jasmine murmured, "I don't think he likes me, Ri."

Rihlia cleared her throat and sat down beside her on the bench. "Not everyone here likes humans. It's especially bad because you're...uh-"

"Charmer," Jasmine supplied, saying the word like a curse.

Rihlia bit her lip. "It would have been worse if Jayems had let you go back home and anyone had found out. There might have been war. As it was he had to deal with an uproar once word spread that a...uh, that you were here." Her face darkened. "Some people even wanted to kill you."

"What!" Jasmine stared at her in alarm. "What did I do?"

Upset, Rihlia rubbed her arms and wouldn't meet her eyes. "Nothing. It's just that too many of the older generation still remember what it was like before they came here. They're worried you might be some kind of danger to them."

"That's ridiculous," Jasmine scoffed. "What am I going to do, single-handedly annihilate the entire Haunt race? Give me a-" she stopped in mid-tirade, suddenly realizing what else Rihlia had said. "Ri," she said slowly, "They've been here for over two hundred years. You told me that yourself. How could they possibly remember anything?" Rihlia was silent. Jasmine swallowed hard. Addressing the floor, she asked, "Just how long do you guys live, anyway?"

"Three hundred years is considered a good, old age," the librarian supplied, returning with a stack of books and a register for Jasmine to sign. It took her a moment, but she scrawled her signature with a heavy hand at the bottom. He set the books on the bench beside her and went about his business.

She rubbed her face, wondering if she'd ever get used to living in an alien world. Three hundred years!

"You don't look so good," Rihlia said, worried. "I think we'd better get you back to bed."

Without being asked, Isfael picked her up like an infant and Raziel followed with her books. Jasmine squirmed and grumbled at the indignity of it, but she truly was too tired to argue. Even with the annoyance of Isfael's fur tickling her nose and making her want to sneeze, she was asleep by the time they reached her room.

The books were a revelation.

Jasmine traced the leather scrollwork on a book's blood red cover, admiring the craftsmanship. The gilt edges of the pages and the gold title winked in her reading light. The Haunt were a people who took pride in their literature and wrote even their histories with passion. No bloodless recitals of bare facts here.

She scooted down against her raised pillows, seeking a more comfortable position. It was after midnight, but her mind was too seduced by the glory of Haunt history to give in to slumber. The first book she'd read had barely mentioned charmers, but this one seemed more promising.

Hours later, she closed the book and set it on her nightstand. The trouble with reading a no-holds-barred version of history was that unflattering views of one's self or people were often printed. She had to admit, humans did not look good from a Haunt perspective.

In her opinion, it had been a good idea to separate the two races. Nothing but tragedy had resulted from their mixing. The charmers had been taken from their homes and families by other humans, mostly warlords, whether they were willing or not, and used to lure Haunts to often grisly deaths. If they possessed any kind of beauty, they were often disfigured to ensure that the males chasing them were actually Haunts. She shuddered, thinking of the descriptions of branded and noseless women. If they were lucky, their masters only forced them to wear masks for the rest of their lives.

The captured males had been tortured-mostly for the thrill of it, if she understood the text correctly. Any useful information had been obtained by "the suggestive power of the charmer herself" whatever that meant. Useful information usually consisted of where to find and annihilate any remaining Haunt, women and children included. Sometimes the captured one was "enspelled" and forced to lead the way to the others. As a result, the Haunt took to assassinating any known charmers, and they were notoriously successful. There were long lists of charmer kills and their assassins. Such stalkers were treated with great honor, and hailed as heroes.

If she had been born a Haunt, could she have blamed them? In the case of charmers, mutilated and forced to participate in torture and genocide, maybe some of them preferred to be dead.

She would have.

The blackest of the charmers, those who participated willingly in the slaughter of Haunt for the chance to wallow in ungodly wealth, were singled out for vilification in the history. The author seemed to relish listing their various crimes and the measures taken to bring them down. It wasn't pretty.

Eventually the Haunt became so successful at killing charmers that efforts had been made to breed them, but that had proved unsuccessful. Charmers were a wildcard mutation, and defied all efforts to recreate on demand. Thank God.

Now she understood why Keilor had been so repulsed by her in the beginning, and so angry. He and Jayems must have truly cared for Rihlia to go through all the effort to first humor her, and then to protect the dreaded charmer from their countrymen.

And speaking of their countrymen, just how opposed to her were they? Could she expect a lynch mob if she tried to wander out alone? She shivered, knowing she could never hope to outrun any Haunt who wanted her blood.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she reminded herself of the cadets. They certainly had no aversion to her. Maybe it was just the older generation she had to watch out for. It would pay to be wary, though. Now that Rihlia had accepted her role as Jayems' wife, there was no reason to go back to Earth. There was nothing there for them now.

Besides, she sort of liked it here. The weather was mild, the people interesting, and if she discounted the poisoned desserts, the food was the best she'd ever had. In fact, if she could just figure out how to live two hundred and fifty more years, life would be just about perfect.

"Tell me about your cousins."

Jayems looked up from the stained glass he was soldering, not the least bit startled, and Jasmine knew that he'd heard her outside the door of his hobby room. She pulled a stool up to his workbench and looked with interest at the vice. Grinding and polishing tools and sundry pieces of colored glass were neatly arranged on the work surface.

"Your wife is taking a nap." She shook her head. "I think the privileged life is going to her head. I swear she spends half her days napping."

Jayems grinned with satisfaction. "Her new duties as my lady are demanding."

Jasmine decided not to touch that one.

Noting her interest, he laid another line of soldering wire and heated it with his torch, shaping the frame of his project. With his eyes still on his work, he asked, "What was it you wished to know?"

She flicked away a speck of ground glass on the bench top. "Keilor and Fallon...they're about the same age?"

"Keilor is two years older."

"Oh." She propped her elbow on her knee and rested her chin on her fist. She'd adopted the comfortable loose trousers and tunic of the male formal attire, and she was much more comfortable in those clothes than she'd been in the beautiful gowns she'd been given to wear. It was difficult to relax in a dress that probably would have taken a month's pay-back when she still had a paying job-to buy. All she could think of when she wore one was how guilty she'd feel if she damaged it.

There were times when she felt like a maid mistaken for a movie star and put up in a fancy hotel on credit. She kept waiting for the day when the management figured out she was an impostor and came to collect on the bill. "What happened to Keilor's parents? I never hear anyone talk about them."

Jayems reached for another piece of glass with a trace of a frown. "They were murdered in an ambush when he was eighteen. He and one of his friends were the only ones left alive." He glanced at her stricken face. "He still visits his family's memorial on the anniversary of their death. He brings his mother jasmine flowers. They were her favorite."

She looked down, unable to say a word.

"She would have liked you." He chuckled. "Had she been still alive the night you became ill, I would have suspected her immediately of slipping you the Sweet Surrender."

She grinned wryly. It was good to find humor in that night.

The mood didn't last. There was something else she needed to ask, something that had been keeping her up nights. "Jayems...are your cousins always so...flirtatious with women? Or is it the charmer thing, do you think?" Her eyes darkened with painful wisdom. "I'm not naive enough to think it's my great beauty and charm that attracts them."

Jayems turned to face her. "If you wish to know their hearts, ask them, Jasmine. They will tell you the truth."

She sighed. "That's not how it works where I come from."

"Here it is a matter of honor for a man to speak honestly to a woman who asks his feelings for her. I know my cousins. They would not lie to you."

He frowned at her thoughtfully. "I don't think you realize what your position is. Rihlia claimed you as a sister, and I accepted her claim. You became my family. No one would dare treat you lightly." He slanted her a mischievous look. "Nor will they court you without my permission."

She eyed him. "You approved all the men who sent me gifts?"

He laughed. "No. Each was told before hand that no match would be permitted with the Lady Jasmine, but the Haunt are stubborn men, and much taken with you. Besides, Rihlia thought their gifts would cheer you." A sly look crossed his face. "What did Keilor bring you?"

Jasmine felt her face flush. "N-nothing much." That was true. There hadn't been much to that nightie.

Jayems looked down at his project, and she could tell he was trying to hide his smirk. She hastily made her excuses and left.

She made it to her room without mishap and called for the lights. She made a tour of her indoor garden as she considered her problems.

They were both good men. She skittered away from the knowledge that her midnight fantasies always revolved around the dark haired cousin. He wasn't the type to commit. She knew the danger of wishing for things that weren't meant to be.

Keilor was impossibly sexy, and Fallon too charming for his own good. The men were like champagne and dark rum; one was bright and sparkly and made her insides bubble, while the other burnt the throat going down, but-oh! It lit a fire inside.

She'd always been a champagne girl, but lately she craved a more potent brew. Frightened, bold, sexy-that's how Keilor made her feel. He had her teetering on the brink of a fatal loss of common sense. What if he pushed and she admitted her feelings?

She traced the centerline of a lemon leaf with her stiff right hand. Perhaps she was obsessing. What she needed was to get out of this room, collect Rihlia and hunt up an adventure. Jasmine grinned. After all, if she wasn't having fun, she had only herself to blame.

CHAPTER 12.

"This isn't what I had in mind," Jasmine muttered. She watched Rihlia's aunt, mother and cousin shuck their robes and wade, buck naked, into a pool of warm mud.

Rihlia already sat in the repulsive stuff, her arms stretched out along the rough granite edge. The same stone formed the pools privacy wall. Large, roughly squared stones wove in a path through the spa's neatly clipped grass.

A waterfall splashed down over one wall and collected in a circular pool. The wall directly opposite it held tall arched niches with stone statues representing the four seasons. Thinking to delay-indefinitely, if she had her way-playing in the mud, Jasmine decided to take a closer look.

She hadn't taken two steps when Rihlia called out playfully, "Coward!"

Jasmine scowled. "I was just going to look around." If she'd happened to take all day about it, that was all right, too. Rihlia gave her a knowing look, and she sighed, admitting defeat. She shucked her robe and got hastily into the pool, not nearly as comfortable with her nudity as the others.

Modesty not withstanding, it still took an effort of will to sink into the warm, clinging mud, and she was grateful she'd pinned her hair up in a twist.

Rihlia took one look at her face and burst out laughing. Even Urseya and Rhapsody chuckled.

"Don't be such a sour pickle, dear," Portae chided, dipping down to coat her chins in the mud. "Volcanic mud is famous for its healing properties. You'll love it once you get used to it."

Urseya smiled, catlike, and leaned back, dipping her long, dark hair into the muck. "It's also extremely good for the skin." She raised her head and sighed, leaning back against the edge of the pool. She looked entirely too satisfied. "Some of us need all the help we can get."

Jasmine's eyes narrowed and she saw Rihlia frown. If she'd suspected Urseya had no use for her before, it was confirmed now. Unfortunately, the subtle insult seemed to be lost on the older women, or at least Urseya's mother.

"Don't be silly, dear, you know you're beautiful," she told her daughter fondly, "and if I've read the signs right, Keilor has noticed as well." She sent Rhapsody a sly look. "Perhaps we'll be celebrating two weddings this year."

Jasmine stiffened. "I thought Keilor was her cousin."

"Oh, he is, dear, but not a first cousin," Portae explained with a touch of condescension. "It would get very tiresome if we insisted on calling him *third cousin Keilor' all the time, don't you think?"

"Definitely," a deep voice responded.

Jasmine looked up in shock to see Keilor standing at the edge of the pool. Embarrassed, she sank a bit lower in the concealing mud.

No one else seemed to take his presence amiss. Rhapsody inclined her head. "You have some message, Keilor?"

He nodded respectfully. "Your friend, Lady Liselle, is here. You said you wished to be notified the moment she arrived."

"And you rushed over here to bring the message yourself?" Portae gave her daughter a significant look. "How thoughtful."

"I was nearby," he explained, extending a hand to assist Rhapsody from the pool.

Jasmine's eyes got wide as the older woman thanked him as politely as if he'd just handed her a cup of tea. She walked over to the waterfall to rinse, as poised as if she were out for a stroll. When the procedure was repeated with his aunt, Jasmine hastily looked away. Even reminding herself that lots of cultures saw nothing wrong with nudity did little to help.

Urseya extended her hand, along with a sultry smile, and slithered out of the pool. She murmured something to Keilor that Jasmine didn't quite catch, proudly standing before him in all her mud-slicked glory.

"I'm sorry, cousin," Keilor answered politely, with just a touch of distance. "I'm afraid it would be only courteous of me to assist the other ladies as well." He extended a hand to Rihlia while Urseya walked off, trying to hide her disappointment.

Much to Jasmine's amazement, Rihlia took it.

"When in Rome," she murmured, and hopped out of the pool with all speed. She jogged off to the falls.

Jasmine boggled at her.

Keilor looked at Jasmine. He extended his mud-dampened hand.

Jasmine slouched a little deeper into the muck. "Um, I think I'll just hang out here for a while."

Keilor cocked his head. "Is there some problem?"

She closed her eyes and jigged her head a little, arguing with herself. She decided to just tell him. "I'm naked."

His voice deepened with amusement. "I had assumed as much."

She swallowed. Suddenly nerve endings she'd sworn were fried began hopping. Yippee, I'm healed, she groaned silently. Talk about bad timing. "Where I come from we're taught not to walk around naked in public." It sounded prissy, under the circumstances. It was obvious he was just being polite.

He raised a brow. "We're hardly in public."

"You're the public," she said, hoping he would take a hint before she managed to die of embarrassment. She risked a glance at the others. They were leaving. That did it. She was definitely staying put until someone came to rescue her. No way was she going anywhere near him covered in only a thin layer of mud.

He was silent a moment. "Has anyone spoken to you of the mud borer?" he asked gravely.