of course, I still didn't believe in magic. I looked him up and down, frowning dubiously, The glint was still in his eye. "I don't think that worked."

"Oh, yuh! Yuh!" he assured me. "No feel hunger for Saw now.I Ev'thing else, but not Saw!"

"Or our friends, either?" I figured I'd better run the spell twice more, with Frisson's and Gilbert's names, just to be sure.

Then I reconsidered. I'd run the spells again-after we'd found them. The spur of hunger might help overcome the remains of Thyme's compulsion to stay on the coasts.

"Friends! Yuh!" Gruesome said, with enthusiasm. "Go to friends!

Now!'I And he plowed off into the undergrowth, heading inland and going fast.

I hurried after him, rehearsing the spells under my breath. After all, if Gruesome thought his hunger for me had abated, then it had, right? The magic worked in his mind, not his stomach-but it worked.

Who was I to argue?

I could imagine how it must have been-Thyme appearing out of the jungle foliage, clothed in nothing but a vague notion, and Gilbert turning bright red as he spun about to rid his eyes of a sight that kindled desire that threatened to overwhelm all his ideas of the noble life. Frisson, however, labored under no such handicap-he stared like a hooked fish, probably gulping like one, too, and drifted toward her like a zombie. Not terribly difficult to manage, either of them, no.

Would I be?

I had time to consider the answer as I followed Gruesome into the bush. It wasn't a jungle here-the Mediterranean isn't far enough south-but it was certainly a rain forest of a more temperate disposition. The trees and flowers were all familiar to my North American eyes, but there were a lot more vines that I was used to, winding around the trunks and hanging from the limbs. The underbrush left off after a dozen yards or so, but the soil sprouted flowers everywhere there was a patch of sunlight. Their perfume filled the air, stirring memories of late-night dates and feminine companions who let down their hair in more ways than one, and let down ...

No. I clamped down on that thought hard, and thought about oranges with great intensity. Maybe it was just the landscape, or maybe it was an enchantment-autosuggestion? But in either case, Thyme was softening me up, getting me into a sensuous mood, preparing me for her appearance.

Was I getting paranoid? And what did I mean, "getting"? Or was I arrogant? Or was it just wishful thinking?

All at once, the trees were gone. We stepped out into a sloping meadow with a stream running through it. I looked around, dazzled by the riot of blossoms all about me and the horde of butterflies of all patterns and hues, huge and iridescent. The perfume filled my head, making me feel giddy. I reached frantically for some reminder that I was under attack. "Gruesome! Where're Frisson and Gilbert?"

The troll just grunted by way of answer, but he also pointed toward the banks of the stream. I looked, then looked again; what I had thought was a grove, was something quite else. The trees were scarcely more than saplings, but they grew so closely together that only the skinniest of men could have slipped between them. Of course, Frisson was the skinniest of men, but Thyme had taken care of that problem, too, because vines almost as thick as the trees wound between the trunks, rambling up and down and wrapping around each upright, to form a very effective cage. Up above, about eight feet off the ground, branches grew out almost at right angles, tangled with more of the vines. Yes, it was a live and growing cage, just as I'd guessed, with plenty of shade to protect the prisoners from the sun, grapes for them to eat, and a meander of the stream close enough for them to dip up water to drink. But it was bedecked with the huge, gaudy blossoms that smelled so intoxicating and must have constantly been filling them with sensuous feelings that verged on desire. I wondered about pheromones-and how poor Gilbert's dreams of virtue were holding up under this assault.

Not too well, at a guess-there he was, kneeling in a corner, facing the bars, arms thrust through to give him something to lean on, hands clasped in prayer. His eyes were closed, his lips were moving soundlessly, and there was sweat running down his face.

The heat, no doubt. Of course, he was rather pale ...

But where was Frisson?

There, flat on the floor of the cage, facedown, the most dejectedlooking heap of rags I'd seen since the flash flood hit the thrift shop.

He lay so still that a shot of alarm juiced through me-but as I came closer, I heard him moan. I relaxed-a little. "Frisson!

Gilbert! We've got to get you out of there! " Frisson jerked up off the floor. "Master Saul!"

Gilbert spun about. "Wizard! A rescue! Take us out from this cage!

"My fondest wish," I reached out to grab a vine and shake it.

"This doesn't look all that strong, Gilbert. One cut with your sword, and "I have it not."

"Hub?" I glanced at his scabbard. Sure enough, it was empty.

He reddened and dropped his gaze. "The witch ... She took it from me when I averted my eyes."

And struggled with his libido, no doubt, trying to erase the afterimage of that beautiful body from the insides of his eyelids. I nodded.

"She's disarmed belted knights in her time, I bet. Nothing to be ashamed of. Well, this is no sword, but it'll have to do." I pulled out my clasp knife, popped it open, and began to saw at a vine.

it shrieked.

I yanked back the blade as if I'd just cut into a power line.

"Holy Hannah! It's really a live one!"

Gilbert looked about with sudden hope. "Hannah? Is there a saint come to help us?"

Frisson lamented, "Certainly it is alive, Master Saul. Are not all vines and trees?"

"Well, yes," I said, "but they don't feel pain." I'd been following the research, and there was still no definite evidence of a nervous system in plants. "And they certainly don't scream!"

"All plants do, on this nymph's isle." Frisson sighed. "The very stones cry out to her. 'Tis thus she knew of our coming."

"Oh, did she really!" Not that I had thought these two would have been terribly good at adopting a low profile, anyway.

"Aye," Frisson said. "She appeared before us, stepping through a screen of leaves so that she seemed to have come out of thin air. She wore a gown the color of her skin, yet of velvet, so soft that it seemed to beg to be touched ... stroked ... caressed He swallowed thickly.

"Spare me, poet," Gilbert groaned.

But Frisson didn't hear him; he was staring off into the immediate past and wishing it were the present again; his longing was naked in his face. "She stepped from beneath the trees, and her every movement was an invitation to that dance that ends only with two bodies conjoined, hip to hip and chest to breast. 'Welcome, wayfarers,' said she. 'Will you not tarry with me a while?' "I could not force mine eyes away." Gilbert dropped his head in shame.

"I could not wish to," Frisson said in rapture. "Indeed, I could only wish to gaze at her more, to breathe the perfume of her presence ...

and touch ... for she came closer, much closer, and reached forth to caress my cheek, breathing, 'Will you come with me, then?'

'Anywhere,' I answered on the instant, and she laughed, low and in her throat. Her finger trailed fire across my cheek, touched a flame of pure pleasure to my lips-but alas, it died as she took her hand away, turning about and swaying off toward the trees. I followed on legs that felt like stumps, so clumsy had I become, and there was naught in the world for me but the roll of her hips as she left.

"But that movement slowed and stopped; she turned with a frown to my friend Gilbert, saying, 'Come with me, then, handsome stranget.'

'Nay,' quoth he, his eyes averted. I1 have taken a vow never to touch woman.' 'Why, then, you will not be forsworn,' said she, 'for I am not a woman, but a nymph.' 'You are an object of venery,' quoth he, 'and I have sworn to be celibate.' 'Surely so great a vow cannot be binding when made by one so young,' and her voice was a purr.

'Come with me and learn why you should not have given it.' 'I am true to my word!' cried he, and spun about, his back to her. I could see the anger in her eyes, though she banished it quickly. Then those hips began to move again, and I followed, entranced, but she went around in front of Gilbert and stepped close, so quickly that he could not turn away. Instead, he staggered back as if she had struck him and she stepped close once more. He backed away yet again, and had not stopped when she stepped in, and thus they went, him backing away before her with myself following after. I blush to say it, but I did not realize my friend's pain-for all there was in my world was that graceful, slender back, and the swaying of those hips, and . . ."

He swallowed thickly again. my dreams of what those clinging skirts might hide."

I was hanging on his every word; this was better than a porno video. "So she took you to her house?"

"Nay; of a sudden, she turned to face me, and I saw Gilbert stumble to a halt and whip about, away from her. She beckoned, and I came in delight-but she stepped to the side, and I went on past. I whirled, but she was backing away. I cried out and followed, but this lattice came up between us, and I could only throw myself against it and cry out with my loss, reaching out to touch-and there was a vagrant caress of some velvet swelling that set me afire from head to toe, but it went away Gilbert moaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

I1 ... and sweet, full lips tickled the palm of my hand, and were gone. 'Bide you there,' said she, 'till I have need of you; for I've one to toy with already, and will have no need of aught but he, till I have done with him. Pray for him to fulfill my desire, that I may more quickly come for you.' I cried again, plastering myself against the trunks and reaching out so hard I thought my shoulder must crack. But she only laughed again, and leaves rustled, and she was gone.

"I bade him not pray," Gilbert said, his voice tight in his throat.

"Did you truly?" Frisson turned to him. "I did not know. There was naught for me but the sense of aching loss, and I closed my eyes, that I might treasure the memory of the sight of her the longer."

"So she boxed you up right and proper," I said. "Does she feed you'll I"

Not herself, alas-but some barky monster that speaks not, and fills the air with musk."

interesting-she had a guard. A plant, from the sound of it, but I didn't think his classification would help us much. I glanced up at Gruesome and decided that with me there to goad Frisson into working magic, or at least to read his verses for him, there was an even chance. "Well, I don't like to cause anything pain-but there has to be a way to get you out. Which end opened up to let you in?"

"Yonder." Gilbert pointed. "I remember, for as soon as I could go no farther, I turned about, to rid my sight of that corrupted witchand saw that I did stare at a tree with a double trunk."

I looked; the curves of the trunks suggested a man and a woman approaching one another in intimacy; I could imagine how they swayed, when the wind blew. How could Gilbert have missed it?

Because I had a dirty mind. In fact, the fruit on that tree looked like the epitome of sensuousness to me, the double swelling globes elongated just enough to suggest human anatomy, and covered with a downy softness that fairly begged to be stroked. I shook my head; dirty mind, as I've said. "I don't suppose you've eaten any of that fruit? " "I did try," Gilbert admitted, "but when I reached out to touch, it did withdraw, ever tantalizing, ever just beyond reach.

"Figures," I muttered. After all, I knew that plants had sexuality, too. "Well, if the other end is the door, let me take a look and see how it's fastened." I went down to the end of the cage, pushing past a lot of leaves-it had been nice of her to leave them with a roofand inspected the corners. Sure enough, the corner-post trunk was right next to a vertical length of vine, almost as thick. There were at least a dozen creepers weaving back and forth between the two of them, though, and they were barky and looked tough. I stared, at a loss. "I hate to cause pain to a living being . . ."

"Do not," Frisson said quickly. "I will wait, I will wait gladly, I will endure a thousand days, if only at the end, she will come to bid me amuse her!"

"How hollow of you!" Gilbert cried. "Would you rush to sin, false man?

"I am a poet," Frisson said doggedly. "I hear you speak of sin, but with the memory of that splendid form within me, the words have no meaning."

"They have to me!" Gilbert strode over to me and gripped the vines, shaking them with sudden rage, straining at them with strength that spoke of sublimation and should have moved half a ton.

He had some effect, too-the vines keened, so highly pitched that it went right through my head.

"Leave off!" I cried. "You're hurting them!"

"What matter pain, when virtue's at stake?" Gilbert raged. "What matter the pain of a plant, for Heaven's sake?"

"Yes, for Heaven's sake!" I shouted. "I thought you were a Christian! "

He froze, staring at me blankly. "Why, so I am!"

"Then isn't charity as high on your list as chastity? Isn't it just as important that you not hurt another living being, as that you keep from having sex?"

"Nay," he said, "for sex-" He winced at the word, but forced himself to use it. "-sex is one among the means by which we are hurt, or hurt one another! To take a woman's virginity is to hurt her most shrewdly, to steal her greatest treasure and break her heart-and therefore, to take a man's will hurt him likewise, though he know it not! Even to fornicate with one not a virgin, will surely hurt her heart-or his, for that matter-and will cause that hurt whether she and he deny it to themselves or not! 'Tis to be used, exploited! " Now, that struck me as a sick attitude. I really wished I could disagree with him.

Unfortunately, I couldn't-not if I was really trying to be honest with myself. What he had said was possibly true and fitted my own experiences. Of course, it was sick nonetheless-or was it the exploiting that was sick?

"There are limits," I argued. "Under the right circumstances, sex can be a wonderful thing."

"Aye, if both are in love, and wedded!"

"Love is not needed," a throaty, musical voice behind me said.

"Only desire need be felt."

Now, to call that voice "musical" is like saying that champagne is old grape juice. it was lilting, it was transporting, and most of all, it was stimulating. It resonated in my loins and set up a charge that shot up to make my head giddy.

So, before I turned around, I made a stern effort to get control of myself, reminding me that she was just another woman who was looking for an angle to get what she wanted out of me, while giving as little of herself as she could. Thus buoying my concept of manliness, I turned slowly, saying, "Nymph Thyme, I presu-" I couldn't finish the word. The descriptions hadn't just failed to do her justice, they hadn't even leveled charges. She was even more beautiful and seductive and sensuous than they'd said-and nobody had mentioned her face, but for a few seconds, I couldn't notice anything else. Her face was heart-shaped under glossy black hair that tumbled down about her face and shoulders; her sloe eyes were huge and slumberous, shaded by long, thick lashes under delicate, arching eyebrows. Her nose was a delicious, tip-tilted confection that fairly begged to be kissed, and her lips were wide, full, dusky red, and aching to be tasted. Her gown was very low cut, but that mass of black hair tumbled in to fill what the dress revealed, allowing only tantalizing glimpses of cleavage between softly swelling mounds, which fulfilled every promise a man could ever have dreamed of as they strained the fabric of a velvet bodice that was the exact same shade as her skin. Frisson had been right-it fairly compelled me to reach out and touch it.

But I fought the compulsion and forced my eyes to stay on her face. The ripe lips parted, moistened, and breathed, "Come, lordly gallant! Will you not tarry with me, to enter my abode and taste of my pleasures? " Believe me, I was tempted. Tempted? I could barely keep my feet from moving. But I must admit to a certain incipient panic underneath it all, the old conviction that whatever she was really after, it wasn't entirely for my own good. Angelique! Save me!

After all, what's a true love for?

And she did save me-or the memory of her, anyway. Pale and smoke-thin as her wraith was, it still outshone in beauty and allure this gorgeous wench in more-than-full color right before me. How?

Maybe it was Angelique's innocent faith in love and her sheer goodness. Maybe it was the sweetness of her spirit. Most likely, it was all of it rolled into one, the totality that was that single wonderful being, Angelique.

Whatever it was, the memory of her protected me against the vamp right then, dimmed Thyme's attraction to bearable levels, and made me aware all over again that I was confronting a magical being on her home turf, and that the attraction I was feeling was anything but natural.

That being the case, I needed to fight magic with magic.

"Frisson!

Give me a verse! " A grubby, spider-leg hand pushed a scrap of paper into mine. I snapped it open, tore my gaze off the purring vision before me, glued it to the letters, and chanted, "Lovely wanton! Could I command Troops of knights from every land, They'd bow before you, and admire Each curve so sweet that wakes desire!

Swaying or still, clothed or bare, Your lips, your eyes, your raven hair, Your breasts, your thighs I stopped right there. No use helping the enemy, now, is there?

I should have realized. What else would Frisson have been writing about while he was stuck in a cage on Thyme's island? What else would he have been thinking about?

I was on my own. And I didn't want to work magic. That might have demonstrated that I believed in it, which I was determined not to do.

But, hey-if they were somebody else's words, that wasn't my doing, was it? Even if I made a few changes.

All right, so I was rationalizing-but logic wouldn't help me out of this bind.

Kipling would.

"A fool, there was, and he made his prayer (Even as you and I! I To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair (We called her the Woman Who Did Not Care@, But the fool he called her his lady fair @Even as you and I!).

A fool there was and his goods he spent (Even as you and I!) Honor and faith and a sure intent (And it wasn't the least what the lady meant@, But a fool must follow his natural bent (Even as you and I!).

And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame That stings like a white-hot brand.

It's coming to know that she never knew why (Seeing at last she could never know why@ And never could understand."

The nymph stared at me in disbelief. "I? Be wit out mercy?"

"You don't really give a damn about what happens to the men you use," I said. "It's the same effect, no matter the cause."

"To be sure, I care! I seek only to give as much pleasure as I take!"

"Yeah, but you don't think about the aftermath." Still, I was getting the idea-I needed a stronger verse.

And quickly-her eyelids were drooping, and she was sashaying closer. Behind me, I heard Frisson groan. Before me, I could hear her begin to sing, in a voice that awakened every hormone I had and made each one thrum through my blood. I missed the words, but they didn't matter.

Of course they did! I tried again.