The Wizard Of Seattle

CHAPTER ONE

"Ten bucks says you can't do it."

Serena Smyth lifted an eyebrow at her friend, her catlike green eyes alight with amusement. "You're on."

It was one of many bets between the two young women since they had met in high school years before, lighthearted and, as usual, challenging Serena's uncanny ability to get information, or anything else she wanted, from a man.

Jane Riley, an attractive and vivacious brunet, giggled, but then suddenly looked nervous. "I don't know. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Serena, Jeremy Kane uses his column to trash anybody he hates, and since that model broke up with him, he hates every woman still alive and breathing. There's no way he'll dance with you, let alone spill the beans about the grant. And if he realizes you're just after information, next week's column will make you look like the whore of Babylon."

"He'll never guess what I'm after," Serena retorted confidently.

"Oh, no? Look, friend, we both know he's virtually pickled after years of drinking, but he was a crackerjack investigative reporter once upon a time, and some of the old instincts might still be there."

Serena shrugged. With the frankness that often startled people because her appearance made them believe she was too elegant and haughty to ever speak bluntly, she said, "I don't think he could find his butt with both hands and a flashlight."

Jane, knowing her friend rather well, began to regret her own impulsive challenge. "Serena, why don't we just forget the bet this time? If you go and do something crazy, Richard will never forgive me."

"Forgive you? Don't be silly, he knows me too well to ever blame anyone else for my tricks. Besides, you know you're dying to find out if Seth gets the grant."

Jane couldn't deny that. Seth Westcott was her live-in lover, an artist with a difficult temperament, and Jane knew their cluttered loft would be much more peaceful if she could tell him that the fifty-thousand-dollar grant from Kane's newspaper was going to be his. More peaceful for a while, at least.

But she hesitated, mostly because of Serena's uncle and onetime guardian, with whom her friend still lived here in Seattle. Richard Merlin had always made Jane feel just the tiniest bit uneasy, though she couldn't have said exactly why, since he'd always been perfectly pleasant to her. It might have been his dramatic appearance; his slightly shaggy black hair, austere, rather classical bone structure, and startling black eyes gave him the appearance of a man who might have been anything from a poet or maestro of the symphony-to a serial killer.

In actuality, he was a businessman, involved in various real estate ventures, and both well known and highly respected in the city. A rather ordinary kind of career, certainly, and he had never done anything to call undue attention to himself or any of his actions. But Jane still felt curiously in awe of him, and it always made her nervous when Serena cheerfully did something they both knew her uncle would not be happy about.

Shaking her head, Jane said, "Of course I want to know if Seth gets the grant, but I'd rather not see your name in bold print in Kane's column."

"Oh, that'll never happen." Serena spoke absently, her attention elsewhere as she scanned the well-dressed crowd. The occasion was a dinner-dance charity benefit, and since the charity was a good one, the crowd was happy to be here. Both the food and the band were first-rate, and the party was being held in a hotel ballroom, so none of the guests felt the automatic constraint that came with being in someone's home.

The huge room was very noisy.

Serena finally found what she'd been looking for: Richard's tall form on the other side of the room. He was talking to the mayor, his attention firmly engaged, and was unlikely to notice what she was up to.

"If you're so sure Richard won't care what you're going to do," Jane said suspiciously, "then why did you check first to make sure he was across the room?"

Serena rose to her feet, leaving her wrap over the back of the chair and her evening purse on the table. She was a bit above average height and slender, but by no means thin. In fact, she could have earned a healthy income posing for the centerfold of any men's magazine, and the backless emerald green evening gown she was wearing displayed that eye-catching figure to advantage.

The gown also set off her bright red hair, currently swept up in an elaborate French twist, her translucent complexion, and her vivid green eyes. She was a beautiful woman, her features exquisite and deceptively haughty, and a considerable intelligence made her able to hold her own in most any situation.

Smiling, she looked down at her friend and said, "I never said he wouldn't care. I just said he wouldn't blame you."

Watching her friend move gracefully among the tables toward her intended target, Jane felt a brief, craven impulse to find Seth in the crowd and announce that she wanted to go home. But he'd be suspicious, and she'd have to confess she had dared Serena to do something dangerous. Again.

It had been fun during their teenage years, because Serena had accepted even the wildest dares and because peculiar things always seemed to happen when she did.

Like the time Jane had dared her to approach the famous rock star who'd been performing in Seattle. Serena had gotten past the guards at the stage door with incredible ease, emerging in triumph ten minutes later with an autograph. She had been wearing a stage pass, impossible to buy or fake, and had only laughed when Jane had demanded to know how she'd gotten it.

Later Jane had heard an odd story. The sprinkler system backstage had been acting up just when Serena had been there, going on and off in different areas randomly, drenching equipment and driving everybody nuts.

Serena, of course, had come out perfectly dry.

And there had been another occasion Jane had never forgotten. A mutual friend had taken the two girls out on a fishing boat, and he had bemoaned the fact that the small family fishing businesses such as his were a dying breed; they simply couldn't compete with the huge commercial operations. He was on the verge of going under financially, he had confided, and during this particular week the catch had been truly abysmal.

Jane had happened to look at Serena just then, and she'd been struck by her friend's expression. Gazing out over the water, Serena had chewed her bottom lip in a characteristically indecisive gesture and then, looking both guilty and pleased, had nodded to herself, her eyes very bright.

There had been no opportunity to ask her friend what was going on, because their host had begun to haul his nets in. To his obvious shock, the catch was the best of the season, incredibly good; the boat rode low in the water with the weight of the fish. It seemed his luck had turned. In fact, after that day he had only to cast out his nets to be rewarded by all the fish he could handle.

Jane had never asked Serena about that, just as she'd never asked her about a few other peculiar things, such as why light bulbs had an odd tendency to blow out near her and computers often went haywire, or why she couldn't wear a wristwatch (they went crazy or simply died on her), or why the weather always seemed to be good when she wanted it to be. Jane simply accepted the good fortune of Serena's friends and privately decided that she was three parts witch.

But she was nervous about this bet, and watched anxiously as Serena reached Jeremy Kane's table. The newspaperman had been drinking steadily all evening, and had more than once gotten so loud that those at nearby tables couldn't help overhearing him as he caustically held forth on a number of subjects. But he hadn't left his table even once to dance.

Jane saw her friend lean down to speak to Kane, but she didn't get the chance to observe his reaction, because her own date returned to their table just then.

"Sorry to be so long, honey," Seth said as he sat down beside her. "Thompson's wife had to tell me in great detail how she wanted her portrait to look." He was a tall, very thin man with average looks and deceptively mild brown eyes, and possessed only two unusual physical characteristics. His voice was so beautiful, it was nearly hypnotic; and his hands were incredibly graceful and expressive.

Jane had no trouble in fixing her attention on Seth; she was absolutely crazy about the man. "Megan Thompson? If she has any sense, she'd just ask you to make her look like somebody else."

Seth grinned at her. "Meow."

"She has mismatched eyes," Jane insisted. "Besides that, her ears are set too low, and she has dark roots."

Leaning back away from her in exaggerated caution, Seth said, "Whew-what's with you? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous. But I do know better, so I has to be something else."

"I just wish you didn't have to take commissions from people like that," Jane muttered.

Seth frowned suddenly. "I know that's the way you feel, Janie, but it isn't what's bugging you now. You look guilty as hell. What've you done?"

A sudden burst of laughter that was audible even over the music drew Jane's attention, and she saw Serena dancing quite gracefully in the arms of Jeremy Kane, even though he was indisputably drunk and loudly amused about something.

"What's Serena doing with Kane?" Seth wanted to know.

"Dancing, obviously."

"Smartass. You know damned well what I meant by that. It's bad enough that the man's a mean drunk, he also happens to write a syndicated column that's nothing less than a weekly character assassination. Serena's got no business anywhere around that son of a bitch."

Since Seth had seen his character assassinated in Kane's column some years previously, his bitterness was understandable.

Jane cleared her throat and tried not to look even more guilty. "Well, Kane's on the committee handing out that grant, you know."

Seth closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "You dared her to go pump him for info, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to, it just slipped out. Seth, do you think maybe you should go get her?"

"Why?" he asked, surprised.

"If she's in over her head-"

With a short laugh Seth said, "Janie, you ought to know your friend better than that. With the possible exceptions of Richard and myself, Serena can wrap any man in the room around her little finger-including Jeremy Kane, drunk or sober."

"Then why'd you say she had no business anywhere around him?" Jane asked, a bit indignant.

"Because it's true. I don't doubt she'll get whatever she's after from him, but she may be opening Pandora's box to do it. In case you haven't noticed, almost every curious eye in the room is on them. After the little stunt she pulled with that actor last year, her reputation isn't exactly the greatest. Flirting with Jeremy Kane won't help."

Ever loyal, Jane said, "I still say it wasn't Serena's fault that guy fell for her and made a fool of himself. What was she supposed to do when his publicist kept slyly hinting there'd soon be wedding bells?"

"She might have just waited until it all blew over," Seth noted dryly. "But, no, not our Serena. She had to take matters into her own hands. Calling a press conference to announce in no uncertain terms how hilarious she found the very idea of marrying the poor guy wasn't exactly subtle."

Jane started to respond, but changed her mind. Though she'd never said so to either Serena or Seth, Jane had the odd idea that some, if not all, of Serena's very public "affairs" during the past few years had been nothing more than a whole lot of smoke disguising little or no fire. As if she had quite deliberately painted the portrait of a woman who enjoyed men without getting serious about any of them.

That press conference, for instance-Jane found it completely out of character. Serena was a private woman, yet she had deliberately sought out public attention and had presented herself as, at best, a woman careless with both her good name and the feelings of others. It was a wildly inaccurate characterization, as any of her friends would have attested, yet Serena had seemingly cultivated it.

For some reason known only to herself, Serena coolly and methodically sacrificed her reputation in order to protect something more important to her.

That was the feeling Jane had, but as close as they were, Jane had never challenged her friend on that point. Serena had a way of laughingly, but quite firmly, discouraging questions about topics she preferred not to discuss, and her love life was definitely hands off even to her best friend. Yet Jane wouldn't have been terribly surprised if Serena had confessed to being a virgin; there was a look of innocence in those bright green eyes, something unawakened, untouched.

Probably what attracted men so wildly, Jane had decided.

"Look at that," Seth was saying disgustedly. "She practically had to pour him into his chair. Huh. She has muscle under that lovely skin."

Jane wasn't dismayed or made jealous by the remark; she had learned a long time ago that Seth's appreciation of other women was aesthetic and impersonal.

"D'you think she'd sit for me?" he asked absently as he watched Serena coming toward them. That this sudden interest in Serena had come about because she had surprised him was characteristic of him. He generally preferred to paint people he didn't know rather than those he did, claiming that foreknowledge of a subject clouded his artistic perception.

"Only if you appeal to her sense of self-discovery, not her vanity," Jane advised. "Tell her you can show her something about herself she can't see in a mirror, and I'd bet she wouldn't hesitate to sit for you."

Seth nodded slightly and rose to hold Serena's chair for her, but when he spoke, it wasn't to entice her to pose for him. "It would serve you right if he drooled all down your neck," he said severely.

With a low laugh Serena said, "Well, he didn't. I'll have a slight bruise on the rear where he pinched me, but otherwise he was almost a perfect gentleman." Then she lifted an eyebrow at Jane. "You owe me ten bucks."

"What did he say?" Jane asked, forgetting everything but her eagerness to know about the grant.

Serena looked at Seth with a smile. "Congratulations."

His thin face lit up, but he shook his head. "How much faith should you place in the word of a drunk?"

"Very little," Serena agreed. "Which is why I'm glad he has the rough draft of the announcement in his pocket. The grant's yours, kiddo."

"I'm gonna go find some champagne," Seth said delightedly. He kissed Serena's cheek, then strode off in search of a bottle to celebrate his good fortune.

Jane had a streak of uncompromising logic in her nature, and that made itself apparent when she asked, "Why would he have a draft of the announcement in his pocket? It won't be made until next week."

"I don't know," Serena said, totally unconcerned. "But he has."

"And how did you find it, pull it out, and read it while you were dancing without making Kane just a tad suspicious?" Jane wanted to know.

Serena widened her eyes innocently. "Isn't it a good thing he's so drunk, he never even noticed?"

Jane didn't completely buy the answer, but as with so many of Serena's answers, she found herself accepting it against her better judgment. She did want to ask if Serena was sure Kane wouldn't figure out what she'd been after once he eventually sobered up, but Seth came bounding back to their table just then with champagne, and she let the subject drop.

Serena didn't drink often, so perhaps the champagne went to her head. At least, that was her defense later.

It had all started innocently enough with the bet. Kane had been ridiculously simple to manage while they were dancing, drunkenly talking about how he'd written the draft of the announcement awarding the grant. It had been easy-once she'd gotten the address of his apartment out of him-to send for the paper and have it appear in Kane's pocket.

That trick was so elementary, she'd been able to do it before she hit her teens.

Having brought the announcement to Kane, she'd had only to put her hand over his breast pocket to know what it said. And once she'd poured Kane back into his chair, it had seemed only humane to put him to sleep so he wouldn't spend the rest of the evening offending people and pickling his liver.

She should have stopped there. Actually, what she should have done was skip the champagne, because it always made her reckless. But she had to toast Seth's good fortune and share Jane's happiness, and one thing led to another…

It was nothing major, she assured herself at various points throughout the evening. Just simple little things that hardly mattered. Besides that, a lot of these people were her friends, and friends helped each other.

So when one friend, while dancing with her, complained of having lost a treasured heirloom ring the day before, she sort of found it for him and placed it in his pocket-and hoped he'd check the pockets before he took the tuxedo to be cleaned. And when another friend talked to her about a very important business meeting she dreaded attending on Monday, Serena gave her a small gift of confidence.

Several other friends received modest gifts, as well, ranging from a boost of willpower to help a smoker kick the habit to the deft manipulation of a virus to keep another friend from becoming ill in the coming week.

Healing was by no means Serena's strong suit. In fact, it had only recently been introduced into her potpourri of skills, and she had mastered just the rudiments. So the practice couldn't hurt, she thought.

By eleven-thirty that evening Serena had consumed three glasses of champagne and had bestowed a number of "gifts." She was standing alone near the bar, and was just about to send another little present winging across the room when a hand closed gently but firmly around her upraised wrist.

"No, Serena."

The hand, large and long-fingered, was a powerful hand, a beautiful hand, and quite distinct. She would have known it anywhere.

She lifted her gaze to the man's face, making her eyes wide and guileless. "No?"

"No." His voice was deep, calm, resonant. A voice that made people sit up straighter and listen to whatever he had to say. "I believe you've done quite enough for one night."

"I didn't do anything major, Richard," she protested.

Richard Merlin shook his head slightly, his lean, broodingly handsome face holding a touch of wryness. "No, of course not. You never do. They're playing a waltz, Serena. Dance with me."

Her wrist still held captive, Serena followed him out onto the dance floor, a bit amused that he hadn't waited for her response. But then, why would he? He hadn't asked-he'd commanded. As usual. Given their relationship, it wasn't surprising, but Serena bore the seemingly high-handed attitude only because she knew very well Richard intended no domination of her personality when he commanded.

Both skilled and graceful, they danced well together and made a striking couple. It was rare they appeared as a couple at any social function; both usually brought dates to this kind of event. In fact, their public relationship as uncle and niece was so solid, few had ever questioned it-and those few were merely vaguely skeptical without being truly suspicious.

"I really didn't do anything significant," Serena insisted as they danced.

"Serena, how many times must I tell you that everything is significant? Every action, no matter how minor, could have unimaginable consequences." The statement held the sound of a litany, often repeated, patient and unwavering.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right, I know. Because the powerless people might notice, and they'd probably see us as a threat to them. And then it'd be the Salem witch hunts all over again, except that they'd use psychologists and scientists to try to dissect and denounce us instead of priests with dunking stools, thumbscrews, and the rack."

He looked down at her for several beats, then said, "How much have you had to drink?"

"More than usual," she admitted cheerfully. "Seth wanted to celebrate, and he kept filling my champagne glass. I could hardly say no."

Merlin nodded. "Now I understand why you were dancing with Jeremy Kane earlier-to find out about the grant. I gather it will be awarded to Seth?"

"Yes, isn't it great?"

"He deserves it. But did you have to pick a man like Kane from whom to get the information, Serena?"

"There was nobody else here who's on the committee," she explained ingenuously.

Merlin's mouth twitched slightly, but his expression remained forbidding. "It's never wise to tempt the fates, and ensnaring a newspaper reporter, even a drunk, is asking for trouble. How did you do it?"

She answered readily. "He said he'd typed up the rough draft of an announcement about the grant and left it at his apartment, so I just sent for it to come to his pocket."

"And did you also send it back where it came from?"

Serena shook her head guiltily. "No, I… I forgot. I was so excited about Seth winning…" She turned her head to search the room. "But I left him at his table, so-"

"He's gone." Merlin sighed. "Guests who pass out at these functions are usually discreetly removed and sent home in a cab; Kane was carried out an hour ago."

"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Well, still, it won't matter. He was so drunk, he'll never be sure he didn't stick the announcement in his pocket himself."

"I hope you're right," Merlin murmured.

A bit unsettled by his frown, Serena said, "Richard, Kane's a long way from the reporter he used to be. He hasn't broken a story in fifteen years; I doubt he'd recognize one if it stood in front of him waving its arms. There's no way he'll get suspicious of me, I promise you."

"I hope you're right," Merlin repeated.

The music changed smoothly just then, from a waltz to a much slower and more intimate beat. It enticed the dancers to move closer and speak in murmurs. The lights in the huge room, already fairly low, dimmed even more.

Merlin automatically shifted his hold on Serena, drawing her a bit closer as their steps slowed. No observer was likely to have mistaken them for lovers even then, but their nearness made Serena struggle inwardly not to tense in his arms. She tried to avoid situations such as this one, maintaining their necessary charade in public by treating Richard exactly as a niece would treat the uncle who had virtually raised her, with affection and the gentle mockery that came with it.

She was usually successful.

Now she spoke quickly to keep her mind off the sensation of his hand at the small of her back, and his body too close to hers.

"I'm surprised Kane's the one you're worried about, actually. I did a few other things tonight, you know."

"Yes, I know," Merlin replied dryly. "Remind me to keep you away from champagne from now on. I'll remind myself to keep a closer eye on you."

It was Serena's turn to frown. "I don't like the sound of that at all. I'm not a child anymore, Richard."

He didn't meet her eyes, but gazed past her, and when he spoke, there was an odd note in his voice she couldn't define. "Yes, I know that, as well. But you still lack control. Self-control, perhaps."

She felt ridiculously sulky. "I just wanted to help my friends. What's wrong with that?"

The childishness of her words and tone drew his gaze back to her face, and he smiled. "In the general scheme of things, nothing at all. But you can't help everyone, Serena. Besides that, people are meant to solve their own problems, to use their own abilities, skills, and intelligence. I've tried to teach you that. I've tried to make you understand that we can't cure the ills of the world."

Serena knew she still looked petulant; she could feel how far her bottom lip was sticking out. But she was honestly perplexed. "I don't see why we can't try. I mean, what's so awful about me finding a lost ring for Thomas, or… or boosting Maggie's confidence before a big meeting, or fixing it so that Chris doesn't get the flu next week?"

Only the last part of the demand prompted Merlin's concern. "The flu? Serena, you aren't ready to heal yet."

"I didn't do anything major," she repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time this evening. "And it wasn't really healing, since he isn't sick yet. I just made the virus inert, that's all."

Looking stern, Merlin said, "You must promise me to never again attempt any kind of healing until I say you're ready. It's the most complex skill you'll ever learn, and demands a great deal more knowledge of human biology than you have yet."

Sobered by his grave tone, she nodded. "All right, I promise."

He relaxed visibly. Though she was a sometimes difficult pupil, Serena's word was as good as gold.

"But what if I've already screwed up?" she went on, worried now. "I might have given poor Chris the bubonic plague or something even worse."

"I doubt it. But I'll check him before we leave, just to make sure."

The band finished with a flourish then, and they went back to their table. Seth and Jane had disappeared, undoubtedly to celebrate further their good fortune, and Serena felt a stab of pure envy. Even with all the occasional hassles and confusions, their lives seemed so simple to her, and their relationship was so clear-and normal.

She wondered, not for the first time, if her friends could even begin to imagine how different her life was.

"I see Chris near the door," Merlin said, draping Serena's glittery evening shawl around her shoulders. As she turned to face him, he added slowly, "I don't think…" He went very still, his black eyes almost glowing, they were so intense.

The look was familiar to Serena, but each time she saw it she felt respect and wonder and a great deal more, because at such times the incredible power in him was literally tangible. She stood gazing up at him, waiting, unaware that her heart was in her eyes for that brief moment, and that anyone who saw would have known a truth she had spent a great deal of effort to obscure.

Anyone would have known her secret-except the man she was looking at.

Merlin relaxed, then looked down at her. His eyes were still vibrant, though they no longer radiated so much of his inner power. "Chris is fine, Serena. You did turn the virus inert."

She drew a quick breath. "Good. You had me worried there for a while. I sure won't forget my promise, you can bet on that."

He took her arm and began steering her toward an exit. "No, I'm sure you won't."

Serena looked up at him with curiosity as they wended their way from the ballroom and toward the front of the hotel. She kept her voice low and chose her words carefully, conscious of the other departing guests all around them. "You've never asked me to promise not to… urn… practice what you've taught me. The way I did tonight. Why not?"

Merlin didn't answer, not until the valet had delivered his car and they were on their way home. Concentrating on the rain-slick streets as he handled the big Lincoln, he said slowly, "How could I ask you to promise you'd never use any of your powers without my approval? It would be like asking a young bird to promise not to fly. But I can insist that you learn the dangers of flying, along with the necessary skills needed to fly well. And I can do my best to guide you through the hazards."

Serena didn't respond to that out loud, but she thought about his words all the way home. Perhaps the effects of the champagne were wearing off, but in any case she felt decidedly guilty about her indiscriminate use of her powers.

The old Victorian house welcomed them with a number of lamps left burning. Most of its rooms were decorated with style and simplicity and were hardly different from any of the neighboring houses. The rooms that were different were kept locked whenever they had guests, and not even Merlin's longtime housekeeper was encouraged to enter them.

Merlin strode toward one of those rooms as soon as they entered the house. His study. "We should work tomorrow," he said to Serena, loosening his tie as he paused at the door and looked at her.

Answering the implicit question, she said, "I don't have any plans for the weekend, so that's fine."

"Good. I'll see you in the morning then."

Serena said, "Good night," but found herself addressing the dosing door of his study. She stood there for several moments, slowly removing her shawl. The house was very quiet.

It wasn't unusual for Merlin to shut himself in the study and work far into the night, especially during recent months. Since his "normal" life and business occupied a great deal of his time during the day, his real life's work had to be scheduled for odd hours, weekends, holidays, and vacations.

After nine years Serena no longer questioned his dedication, his strength, or his stamina. Whatever time and effort it took for Richard Patrick Merlin to make his unusual life succeed, he was prepared to give it. And then some. So he bought, sold, and developed real estate during the day, and with all his free time he worked to perfect his art.

It said much for his skills in both areas of his life that he had attained the level of Master wizard, the highest level possible, years before. In fact, long before Serena had come to study with him. At the same time, he had achieved a high degree of respect and esteem within the powerless community of Seattle.

None of whose citizens had any idea that an ancient art was practiced in their midst.

Serena gazed at the dosed door for a few moments more, then went up the stairs to her bedroom. She undressed and changed for bed, took her makeup off and her hair down. She turned on the television to catch the late news, but paid little attention to the program as she moved restlessly around.

How much longer could she go on? The simple answer was-as long as necessary. Like Merlin, she grudged no time or effort in her quest to become a Master wizard; that had been her ambition from earliest childhood. But unlike him, she was constantly distracted and disturbed by… other matters.

Other matters. How laughably inadequate that phrase was, she reflected somewhat bitterly.

His powers set him apart from most men, and Serena thought her knowledge of his difference made him often seem somewhat remote, even with her. At least she hoped that was it.

He was the most powerful wizard to walk the face of modern-day earth, and that had to be a kind of burden even as it was an accomplishment matched by very few in all of history. Serena had long wanted to ask him if it was a burden, but she had always hesitated. She had, over the years, learned not to pry, not to ask personal questions. It was useless in any case; what Merlin chose not to answer, he simply ignored.

And so, wholly occupied with perfecting his art and passing the knowledge on to her, his Apprentice, he rarely, if ever, saw her as a woman. At best she was a young student with a great deal to learn, at worst a bothersome child.

Serena had learned to live with that, or thought she had. Nights like this one made her doubt it. There was a strong part of her, intensifying year by year, that demanded she make Merlin see her as the woman she was, and that part often let itself be known. But each time it happened, she sensed something in him she didn't understand, something she couldn't put a name to and was frightened by.

She had felt it in him tonight, so briefly, when she had reminded him she was no longer a child. And, as usual, she had reacted immediately and out of sheer instinct to right things between them once again. She'd felt driven to retreat, to reclaim childhood or at least a childish mood, to make him forget that he had glimpsed a woman.

The moment always passed, and with it that indefinable tension she felt in him. But more and more, Serena was left frustrated and bewildered, angry at him for some failing she couldn't understand or even describe dearly to herself.

What was it? Was it something in Richard, as she sensed-or something in herself?

In the nine years of her apprenticeship, she had come to know him probably as well as anyone could. Publicly he had been her uncle and guardian; privately he'd been much more. He had been her parent, brother, teacher, companion, her harshest critic, and her best friend.

She had, at sixteen, fallen wildly in love with him. A natural enough thing to happen. That he seemed unaware of her feelings had puzzled her, but she had eventually come to understand that his ignorance stemmed from the same reason he had so instantly accepted a ragged, hungry, rain-soaked sixteen-year-old orphan as his pupil.

Her mind was completely shielded from him.

In time Serena was sincerely grateful for that innate protection. Merlin often knew what she was thinking for the simple reason that she tended to blurt out her thoughts, but he couldn't read her mind. And aside from the benefits of hiding her childish fantasies from him, she also learned to respect the shield itself, for she discovered through Merlin's absent remarks on the subject that few living souls could hide their thoughts and feelings from a Master wizard. It was a sign of great potential power, and not to be taken lightly.

But if her shield hid from him the chaotic emotions he evoked in her, it did nothing to help her cope with them. And because of that failing of his-that lacking, that missing something that made him refuse to see her as a woman-she had the added burden of feeling in limbo, suspended in some bewildering emotional purgatory between woman and child.

So Serena returned to the question once again. How much longer could she go on? The pressure was building inside her; she could feel it. She thought he felt it, too; his occasional business trips out of town had been more frequent with every passing year, and she had to believe the trips had something to do with the increasing tension that lay just under the tranquil surface of their lives.

If he had not been so often remote, especially in recent months, she might have gathered courage and brought up the subject. But he had been.

She couldn't risk it. What she feared most was being sent away, being banished from his life. He was capable of such a merciless act, she thought, given a good enough reason. Though he had never been cruel to her and she had seen no evidence of it, she sensed a streak of ruthlessness in him-perhaps the price he paid for the incredible power he wielded.

Serena was too familiar with the scope of that power to have any wish to put her fete to the test. She wasn't that desperate, not yet. But time was running out. The pressure was building, and something had to give.

Still ignoring the television that was now broadcasting some old movie with melodramatic music, Serena went to one of the windows and stared out. She felt very much alone, and oddly afraid.

It was raining again.

CHAPTER TWO

The blinding flash of pink, purple, and blue sparks was wrong, all wrong, and Serena winced even before the deep voice, coming from a dark corner of the room, could reprimand her.

"You aren't concentrating."

"I'm sorry, Master." The proper humility, apology, and respect were present in her voice, but all were belied by the wry amusement shining in her vivid green eyes. In deference to him she was obedient to the longstanding rules governing the behavior of an Apprentice wizard-but only in this workroom. And only when he was teaching her.

From the very beginning she had refused to assume any kind of subservient manner, and Merlin had been wise enough not to insist on many of the ancient and decidedly outdated customs between Master and Apprentice.

"Why aren't you concentrating?" He emerged from the shadows where he'd been observing and stepped into the candlelight, showing her the lean, handsome face and brooding dark eyes of her Master wizard.

"I just have a lot on my mind, I guess. The party last night, for instance," she explained, gesturing idly with one hand and jumping in surprise when a thread of white-hot energy arced from her index ringer to ignite a nearby lampshade.

Merlin hastily waved a hand, and both watched as water appeared out of thin air to douse the tiny fire. The Master turned to his Apprentice in exasperation, and Serena spoke quickly.

"I didn't mean to do it."

"That," Merlin said witheringly, "is the whole point."

Gazing in admiration at the dripping lampshade, Serena ignored the point. "Why won't you teach me to summon water? I can summon fire so easily, it's only logical that I should learn to put out my mistakes."

Ignoring the request, Merlin said, "Stop saying summon, as if the elements are lurking about just waiting to be called to heel."

Serena bunked. "I thought they were."

"I know. But they aren't."

"Then…"

A brief spasm of frustration crossed Merlin's face. "Serena, I can't seem to get it through your head that wizards create. This is what sets us apart from witches, warlocks, sorcerers, and the other practitioners of… magic." The definition was wholly unwilling; Merlin hated putting labels on anything, particularly his art. "We create. We do not need to harness existing elements. We are not limited to that."

"All right. So teach me to create water."

"No."

Serena sighed with regret and unsnapped the Velcro fasteners of her long, black Apprentice's robe. Sweeping it out behind her, she sank down on one of the cushions scattered over the floor and contemplated her jean-dad legs. "I suppose you have a reason?"

Merlin, wearing his midnight blue Master's robe, moved about the dim room, blowing out their working candles and turning on several lamps. Their workroom, tucked up on the third floor underneath the rafters of the house, was always dark owing to the fact that the small, narrow windows were always shuttered. So even though it was the middle of the day, some artificial light was necessary.

The candles were used during work for two simple reasons: they provided a more organic light; and the energy expended during the practice of the wizard's art, particularly when the wizard was an Apprentice and lacked perfect control, tended to cause any nearby light bulbs to burst. In fact, those energies tended to play havoc with anything electrical, which was one of the reasons Merlin had chosen this attic room in which to teach Serena; it was as far as possible from most of the modern appliances in the house.

"Yes," Merlin said in answer to her question. "My reason is a vivid memory of what happened the first time I allowed you to try and create fire."

Her lips twitched, and Serena sent him a look from beneath her lashes. "That was years ago. I was just a rank beginner in those days. And besides, you put the fire out before it could do any serious damage."

"True. However, I doubt my ability to hold back the floodwaters of your enthusiastic creation."

Merlin unfastened his long robe and hung it over a stand in one corner of the room. like Serena, he wore beneath it jeans and a sweater, which revealed a tail, broad-shouldered form that held the considerable strength of well-defined muscles as well as might from less-obvious sources. Serena couldn't help watching him, her expressive eyes still guarded by lowered lashes.

Though he might have been any age and looked to be about thirty-five, he was certainly in his prime. Still, Serena would not have dared to guess how many years-or lifetimes-he had put behind him. In response to a long-ago childish question, he had said with a grimace that he was quite mortal. She hadn't believed it then, and wasn't sure she did now.

He was a compelling man physically, attractive to women of all ages. The young ones found his face exciting, and the older ones imagined tragedy in his black eyes and thought he needed taking care of.

Serena knew better.

"I wouldn't create a flood," she assured him. "Maybe a little waterfall, but not a flood."

Merlin gave her a look and opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, the bulb in the lamp nearest Serena exploded with a pop. Only the shade kept her from being pelted with shards of glass.

"Serena, turn it off!"

"I know, I know." She closed her eyes and concentrated on corralling her wayward energies, drawing them in, tamping them down, erecting a kind of barrier inside herself to hold them in. It was something that tended to happen after a lesson, this "spillover" of her energies, particularly when her concentration was erratic.

Merlin had repeatedly tried to teach her that there was indeed a "switch," that she would someday be able to "turn off" her energies-something he had perfected long ago-but it was one skill Serena had failed to master.

She had, however, learned to restrain and cloak her energies well enough that she usually didn't explode light bulbs or cause other electrical problems merely by walking past.

Merlin, alert in case she needed his instruction, waited until she relaxed and opened her eyes, signaling her success. He went to get a replacement bulb from a well-stocked closet. Serena watched him dispense with the broken pieces of the exploded bulb with a flick of his finger, then screw the replacement into the socket.

She couldn't help smiling, reflecting silently that wizards were strange creatures, an odd mixture of ancient and modern. At least he was, and she seemed to be, as well. They used their powers in a peculiar patchwork of ways, often for the sake of convenience and yet in no recognizable pattern.

Serena herself had made up her bed with a sweep of her hand this morning, not because she was lazy or in the habit of doing it, but because she'd overslept and was in a hurry.

Physical gestures were not necessary to spell-casting, Serena had been surprised-and a bit disappointed-to learn; but the motions of the hands did tend to help focus concentration and were generally used, unless the wizard was in public or had some other reason for wishing to be inconspicuous. In any case Serena liked the ancient gestures.

They made her feel like a wizard.

As the new light bulb glowed to life, Merlin said almost absently, "Your powers are growing."

She knew they were; she could feel it.

"Which makes it all the more vital that you learn to find the switch, Serena," he continued, facing her again with a slight frown. "This spillover of energies-"

"I know, it's a waste and a danger," she recited.

Merlin's frown deepened, but he shook his head a little in the traditional reluctant acceptance of teachers everywhere when they recognize a lack of attention in their pupils. He glanced at his watch-unlike Serena, he could wear one, and did, even though one of his many talents was a constant and perfect awareness of time.

"It's almost noon; you wanted to break?"

"Yes." Serena got up, shrugged out of her robe, and hung it near his. "Lunch. Rachel left a casserole for us, and I put it in the oven before we started this morning."

Merlin tended to forget about unimportant things like eating when his mind was occupied with his work, but between them, Serena and their housekeeper kept most meals on a fairly regular schedule. Rachel came in daily except weekends, and kept the freezer well stocked with quick and easy-to-prepare meals for the days Richard and Serena were on their own.

It was up to Serena to make sure they observed regular meal times on weekends, and since she was almost always hungry, she rarely needed reminders herself. One delightful bonus of being a wizard, she had realized long ago, was an unusually high metabolic rate; expending as much energy as they did, both she and Merlin could eat anything they pleased, and tended to require more calories than normal people just to maintain their weights.

"Are you going out tonight?" she asked him as they descended the stairs.

"Yes. Dinner and a concert with Lenore Todd. How about you?" His tone was casual.

"No. I'm going to stay blamelessly at home tonight and study that manual of incantations you added to my reading list," she replied lightly.

"Study but don't practice," he reminded her more or less automatically.

Serena didn't say I know again, contenting herself with a nod. She was tired of saying it. She had been warned so often about not practicing new skills without Merlin's being present that it was beginning to annoy her. He just couldn't stop treating her like a child, she thought.

It didn't help that she had felt a stab of jealousy about his date, even though she knew that he dated for the same reason she did-to maintain a normal appearance for friends, neighbors, and the rest of the society in which they lived. The importance of that appearance, made up of normal jobs and regular social activities and all the other trappings of an ordinary life-style, was something Merlin had explained to Serena when she had first come to study with him and they had created the fiction of blood relation and guardianship.

Serena had long ago come to the conclusion that her Master wizard was too obsessed with his art to be concerned with lesser pursuits. Besides, since so much of his energy was focused and quite literally expended on perfecting that art, there was undoubtedly little left over for women and sex.

That was what she had told herself at sixteen, and his habits over the years seemed to bear out that deduction. If he had affairs, there was certainly no sign of them, and since he tended to date women who were in Seattle only temporarily-for business or pleasure-gossip could only speculate on his prowess as a lover.

Serena refused to speculate. As an adoring teenager, she had convinced herself that he was a monk with his mind on a much higher plane, and nothing had happened to destroy that creation.

So there was no reason for her to feel jealous about Lenore Todd. The woman would be in Seattle only a week or so for an environmental seminar, according to what Merlin had told Serena when he'd met her a few days ago. He always told Serena about the women he dated, because she always asked, and there was always an indifferent note in his voice when he answered.

Serena listened for that indifference. And heard it this time. But the increasing tension and frustration she felt made it difficult for her to be reassured.

Though her turbulent emotions had made the previous night a rather miserable one, she had managed to sleep, and today she had managed-more or less-to assume her usual relaxed attitude toward Merlin. It was getting harder, though, for her to act as if nothing had changed, as if she were still that obsessed child who had crossed a country to find him, wanting nothing in life except to be a wizard.

Because something had changed. In Serena. Her determination to become a Master wizard had not lessened, but she had grown up these last years, and she had come to the realization that there was much more to life. To her life, anyway. She was a wizard, yes, but she was also a woman, even if Merlin couldn't see that was true.

And it was getting very difficult for her to fight the resentment she felt every time he treated her like a child.

It was nearly noon on Saturday when Jeremy Kane fell off his couch. He struggled up, using the cluttered coffee table to lever himself back onto the cushions, and sat there for several minutes with his head in his hands. It was a familiar pose, his dizziness a familiar sensation, and he waited grimly for his head to stop spinning.

When it eventually did, he got up slowly and made his way into the narrow alley kitchen of his apartment. Mixing tomato juice and a few other ingredients, he made his usual pick-me-up and drank it down, then fixed another and carried the glass back into his cramped and messy living room.

He sat down on the couch again and pulled his loosened tie off, fumbled for the remote, and turned the television on. He switched to CNN out of habit, just in case anything interesting had happened in the world while he had been passed out. It took him three tries to wrestle his jacket off, and the sound of paper caught his attention even as he wondered at the unusual brevity of his hangover.

The dizziness had faded almost instantly, the nausea he usually felt was totally absent, and his mouth didn't feel or taste like the bottom of a bird cage. Even though his pick-me-up was good, it wasn't that good.

"What the hell?" he muttered, bothered, as always, by anything out of the ordinary. Even his voice sounded better than it had any right to, only a little raspy. Then he pulled the neatly folded paper from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket, unfolded it, and stared at it.

It was his rough draft of the announcement awarding the newspaper's grant. When he had gone to the party last night, he had left the draft in his old manual typewriter, he was sure. Looking across the room to his small desk, he could dearly see the top of the typewriter even over the usual clutter of newspapers, magazines, an empty pizza box, two cracked mugs half filled with cold coffee and cigarette butts, and the remains of a two-day-old microwavable dinner.

There was no paper in the machine.

Kane might have been a drunk, and he might have lost or squandered most of the raw talent that had made him a nationally recognized name at the tender age of twenty-five nearly two decades before, but he was not a stupid man, and he did not doubt either the evidence of his eyes or his memory-neither of which had ever failed him. And he had never drawn a blank after a night of drinking, even on those frequent occasions when any merciful God would have spared him the memories.

So he remembered the previous evening, and the only unusual thing he could call to mind was that Serena Smyth had asked him to dance. She had never done that before, even though they had been introduced years ago, and though he saw her at many of the high-ticket social and charity events in Seattle.

She had asked him to dance. And while they danced, she had sweetly encouraged him to talk about himself and what he'd been doing lately-a sneaky tactic if he'd ever seen one. She had even casually asked the address of his apartment, he recalled, which had made him grow an inch or two and had filled his head with something besides brains.

And then… And then he had a vague memory of leaning heavily on her as he staggered back to his chair, and falling into the sweet blackness of unconsciousness.

Had Serena brought him home? Why on earth would she? Just to get her hands on this announcement? There didn't seem to be any other reason. She certainly hadn't stripped him, had her way with him, and then put his clothes back on before leaving. He would have remembered that even if he'd been nearly dead.

No; it had to be the announcement. But why? She was friendly with Seth Westcott and his girlfriend, Kane knew that well enough, but it didn't seem likely she'd go to so much trouble just to find out what would be announced in a few days. And if she had brought him home to get an early peek at the announcement, then what would possess her to remove the draft from his typewriter and leave it in his jacket pocket-where he could hardly fail to find it?

Jeremy Kane didn't like puzzles, and though his instincts might have dulled over the years, he could still recognize something that didn't make sense. He also had so little going on in his life that even a minor mystery was a welcome thing-though that was something he didn't like to think about. So he decided it wouldn't hurt to find out more than he already knew about Miss Serena Smyth.

He placed a call to a private investigator in Seattle who owed him a few favors, and was lucky enough to catch the man in his office on a Saturday afternoon.

"Taylor, I need a favor," he announced without preamble.

Brad Taylor groaned. "I'm not gonna dig up any more dirt on politicians for you, Kane," he said quickly. "I'm sick of wading through the muck."

"This is no politician, believe me. She's sort of a society deb, near as I can figure. If you find even a few little bones in her closet, I'd be surprised. And don't forget how much you owe me, Taylor."

"Okay, okay. What do you need?"

"Everything you can find out about this woman. Her name is Serena Smyth." He spelled it briskly, then added, on impulse. "And whatever you can find out about this guy she lives with, supposedly her uncle…"

Following an afternoon's work, Serena took advantage of Merlin's absence on Saturday evening to relax her guard somewhat, which was a relief. Since she never minded being alone, the quiet of the big house didn't bother her, and she was perfectly happy fixing herself a light dinner, taking a long bath, and then curling up on her bed with the television turned low and a big, very old leather-bound volume of incantations open before her.

She was tempted to practice a few of the more interesting spells, but contented herself with memorizing those she especially wanted to remember. After all, you never knew when you had to tame the wildest animal or turn an enemy into a toad.

The book was so fascinating that Serena passed a pleasant evening, and since she was tired by the long day of honing her abilities, she went to bed before midnight-and long before Merlin came home.

The next day was virtually a repeat of Saturday, with lessons in the attic workroom in the morning, a break for lunch, and then more lessons in the afternoon. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until they were eating supper early that evening, at the kitchen table rather than in the more formal dining room, since it was just the two of them.

Serena brought up the subject, having come across at least three incantations regarding the control of weaker minds in her studies the previous night.

"I thought you told me that mind control was beyond our capabilities, that we could only do fairly simple things-boost willpower or self-confidence or induce sleep, but never truly control the mind of someone else."

"Gray's Spells and Incantations!" Merlin said, naming the book she had studied.

"Uh-huh. According to him, it's fairly easy to control another mind, especially a weaker one. But he seems to have his doubts about making people do something that's completely against their core morality. Sort of like the limitations people believe about hypnosis, I guess."

Merlin nodded and said, "I did tell you we could never completely control another mind, which is quite true. Momentary control is possible, at best, but it's almost always imperfect. The human mind is too complex to be fully controlled. And it's a dangerous device to use without great care."

"Is that why you haven't taught me?"

A bit dryly Merlin said, "Alphabetically, mind control comes after invisibility, which is what we were working on yesterday and today."

Unwilling to let him get away with that, Serena said, "You called it vanishing, and so did my manual, which puts me near the end of the alphabet-and well past M or C."

Merlin sighed, giving up the attempt to placate her. "It's a difficult device, Serena, and I just don't think you're ready yet." He often used the word device when referring to a spell or incantation; it was another way he had of avoiding magical terms for their art.

She looked down, pushing creamed corn around on her plate and feeling annoyed. It was easy for her to get annoyed these days, and knowing her irritation stemmed from other things did nothing to lessen it. "Yeah, I'm not ready for anything challenging, according to you."

"You couldn't vanish," he murmured.

Serena didn't look at him. He sounded amused, and if she looked at him and saw him smiling, she would either say something she'd undoubtedly be sorry for later or throw her corn at him, she decided mutinously. "It was my first lesson," she said. "Give a girl a chance."

After a moment of silence he spoke in a very conversational tone. "Can you read my mind, Serena?"

She did look up then, startled out of her funk. "I don't know. I've never tried." Oddly enough, she really hadn't.

"Do so."

Obediently, Serena put down her fork, folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes, and rather hesitantly sent her mind wandering. She fully expected to find herself blocked by Merlin's mental shields; just as her powers guarded her thoughts from even a Master wizard, so would his screen his mind from her probing. At least that was what she expected.

She felt nothing for a moment, but then, as if a curtain blocking her mind's eye were suddenly swept aside, she saw herself. Sitting. Eyes closed, face calm. And she felt a peculiar, unfamiliar spring-coiled vitality in her lean body. A different weight distribution. A consciousness of muscle and sinew and incredible, living power contained by a strong, masterful, and confident hand. Her eyes widened, but they weren't hers somehow. There was surprise, yet it wasn't hers, either. There was a feeling of being enclosed in a strong, warm embrace, and seeing through black eyes.…

Get out, Serena.

Steely. Polite.

Hastily, she climbed back into her own body, confused. What on earth had she done? Her eyes-her own eyes-opened slowly, cautiously. He was watching her with an intent, searching stare, and despite his composed expression, she had the notion that he was deeply shaken.

"What… what did I do?" she asked uncertainly.

"You didn't read my mind. You were in my mind. Inside my head, my consciousness."

She blinked. He didn't sound angry, only thoughtful. Apparently his shield would allow her in, and even allow her to sense some of his emotions, while still protecting his thoughts. "I was? Did you… um.., could you…"

"Read your thoughts? No. As always. I merely felt your presence, curious and-" He broke off and looked away from her, leaving the rest unsaid. "Interesting," he murmured finally.

Serena tried and failed to read his expression, but she had that feeling again, the perception of a sudden withdrawal in him. She had surprised him, somehow unset-tied him, and as usual he was pulling away, closing himself off from her as if she posed some kind of threat.

She was positive that if she were to try now to read his mind, she would find no way in at all.

She wanted to confront him right then and there, to tell him she felt his remoteness, and to demand to know what caused these swift, silent retreats of his. Had she somehow reminded him she was no longer a child, or was she entirely wrong about that being the cause of his withdrawal? What's wrong with me? What am I doing to make you go all cool and distant?

But she didn't confront him. Instead, as always, she instinctively tried to find some cautious path back to the comfortable and familiar relationship they had established over the years.

In a light, wry tone she said, "If you were trying to make a point, you succeeded. Obviously I'm not ready for any kind of mind skill."

"One step at a time, Serena."

She didn't wince because she had her features under control, but the aloofness in his deep voice cut her like a knife. Holding her own voice as steady and light as before, she said, "And patience is a virtue, I know. Well, I'll just concentrate on vanishing until I've mastered that."

Merlin rose to carry his plate to the sink. "A good idea. But no more studies tonight, I think. Don't you have an early meeting tomorrow?"

Serena's "normal" job was as an assistant office manager at an engineering firm, which she found pleasant enough but not especially challenging. She could have been a part of Merlin's real estate business-he had left it up to her-but she had reluctantly decided to avoid the appearance of being always in his company.

"Yes, at eight," she answered.

He nodded and said, "There's some work I should finish up in my study tonight." Then, rather abruptly, he added, "I have to go out of town for a day or two, probably tomorrow or Tuesday. Will you be all right?"

"Of course." It wasn't unusual for him to go out of town, and as for as she knew, he always went alone. Serena had asked only once where he went; he had ignored the question, and she had never asked again. She could only assume he had business of some kind, or that, perhaps, his trips concerned activities known only to Master wizards.

"Good. I'll see you in the morning, Serena."

"Yes." She remained there at the table, reminding herself steadily that his remoteness would likely be gone by morning. Or, at the very latest, when he returned from his trip. Then things would be back to normal between them.

After a while she got up and carried her plate to the sink. She straightened up the kitchen, then went to her room. It was far too early for sleep, but Serena got ready for bed anyway, and curled up with the book of incantations once again. But this time the book failed to hold her attention-until she idly looked for some reference to what she had experienced in the attempt to read Merlin's mind.

Nothing. As far as Gray's Spells and Incantations was concerned, inhabiting the mind of another individual didn't seem possible. There was no spell, and no mention whatsoever of the trick, which left Serena puzzled and uneasy. Was that why Merlin had been upset? Because she had inadvertently done something objectionable or unique?

Serena fully intended to ask him about that, but when she went down to breakfast early the next morning, he had already gone.

"He said he'd be at the office for a few hours, and then off on one of his trips," Rachel said placidly. Middle-aged and utterly unflappable, she had been Merlin's housekeeper for years; exactly how many she never said, and she'd only smiled when Serena had asked her bluntly.

"He said it would just be overnight," Rachel continued, "to expect him tomorrow evening, probably in time for supper. Did he tell you?"

"Yes. But he wasn't specific about when he'd return."

"I imagine he didn't know for sure himself last night," the housekeeper offered tranquilly as she set Serena's breakfast in front of her.

"No, I guess not," Serena responded a bit hollowly. She couldn't help thinking that Merlin had known, that he had decided on this trip simply because his mental and emotional withdrawal from her hadn't allowed him enough distance. And she still didn't know what she had done wrong'…

His fingers touched her breasts, stroking soft skin and teasing the hard pink nipples. The swollen weight filled his hands as he lifted and kneaded, and when she moaned and arched her back, he lowered his mouth to her flesh. She tasted faintly of salt, but more of woman, a taste that aroused him further and yet drew a hazy curtain across his mind. He stopped thinking. He felt. He felt his own body, taut and pulsing with desire, the blood hot in his veins. He felt her body, soft and warm and willing. His mouth toyed with the beaded texture of her nipple, sucking as if commanded by instinct. He felt her hand on him, stroking slowly, her touch hungry and assured. Her moans and sighs filled his ears, and the heat of her need rose until her flesh burned. His hand slid down her rippling belly to cup her, fingers probing her swollen wetness, testing her readiness. The tension inside him coiled more tightly, making his body ache, until he couldn't stand to wait another moment. He spread her legs, positioning himself between them. Her hand guided him eagerly, and the hot, slick tightness of her sheath surrounded him. He sank his flesh into hers, feeling her legs close strongly about his hips. Expertly, lustfully, she met his thrusts, undulating beneath him, her female body the cradle all men returned to. The heat between them built until it was a fever raging out of control, until his body was gripped by the inescapable, inexorable drive for release and pounded frantically inside her. Then, at last, the heat and tension drained from him in a rush, and he heaved at the intense pleasure of pouring himself into her…

Serena sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. In shock, she stared across the darkened room for a moment, then hurriedly leaned over and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Blinking in the light, she held her hands up and stared at them, reassuring herself that they were hers, still slender and pale and tipped with neat oval nails.

They were hers. She was here and unchanged. Awake. Aware. Herself again.

She could still feel the alien sensations, still see the powerful bronzed hands against paler, softer skin, and still feel sensations her body was incapable of experiencing simply because she was female, not male-

And then she realized.

"Dear God… Richard," she whispered.

She had been inside his mind, somehow, in his head just like before, and he had been with another woman. He had been having sex with another woman. Serena had felt what he felt, from the sensual enjoyment of soft female flesh under his touch to the ultimate draining pleasure of orgasm. She had felt what he felt.

She drew her knees up and hugged them, feeling tears burning her eyes and nausea churning in her stomach. Another woman. He had a woman somewhere, and she wasn't new because there had been a sense of familiarity in him, a certain knowledge. He knew this woman. Her skin was familiar, her taste, her desire. His body knew hers.

Even Master wizards, it seemed, had appetites just like other men.

Serena felt a wave of emotions so powerful, she could endure them only in silent anguish. Her thoughts were tangled and fierce and raw. Not a monk, no, hardly a monk. In fact, it appeared he was quite a proficient lover, judging by the woman's response to him.

On her nightstand the lamp's bulb burst with a violent sound, but she neither heard it nor noticed the return of darkness to the room.

So he was just a man after all, damn him, a man who got horny like other men and went to some slut who'd spread her legs for him. And often. His trips "out of town" were more frequent these last years. Oh, horny indeed…

Unnoticed by Serena, her television set flickered to life, madly scanned through all the channels, and then died with a sound as apologetic as a muffled cough.

Damn him. What'd he do, keep a mistress? Some pretty, pampered blond-she had been blond, naturally-with empty, hot eyes who wore slinky nightgowns and crotchless panties, and moaned like a bitch in heat? Was there only one? Or had he bedded a succession of women over the years, keeping his reputation here in Seattle all nice and tidy while he satisfied his appetites elsewhere?

Serena heard a little sound and was dimly shocked to realize it came from her throat. It sounded like that of an animal in pain, some tortured creature hunkered down in the dark as it waited helplessly to find out if it would live or die. She didn't realize that she was rocking gently. She didn't see her alarm clock flash a series of red numbers before going dark, or notice that her stereo system was spitting out tape from a cassette.

Only when the overhead light suddenly exploded was Serena jarred from her misery. With a tremendous effort she struggled to control herself.

"Concentrate," she whispered. "Concentrate. Find the switch." And for the first time, perhaps spurred on by her urgent need to control what she felt, she did find it. Her wayward energies stopped swirling all around her and were instantly drawn into some part of her she'd never recognized before, where they were completely and safely contained, held there in waiting without constant effort from her.

Moving stiffly, feeling exhausted, Serena got out of bed and moved cautiously across the room to her closet, trying to avoid the shards of glass sprinkled over the rug and the polished wood floor. There were extra light bulbs on the closet shelf, and she took one to replace the one from her nightstand lamp. It was difficult to unscrew the burst bulb, but she managed; she didn't trust herself to flick all the shattered pieces out of existence with her powers, not when she'd come so close to losing control entirely.

When the lamp was burning again, she got a broom and dustpan and cleaned up all the bits of glass. A slow survey of the room revealed what else she had destroyed, and she shivered a little at the evidence of just how dangerous unfocused power could be.

Ironically, she couldn't repair what she had wrecked, not by using the powers that had destroyed. Because she didn't understand the technology of television or radio or even docks, it simply wasn't possible for her to focus her powers to fix what was broken. It would be like the blind trying to put together by touch alone something they couldn't even recognize enough to define.

To create or control anything, it was first necessary to understand its very elements, its basic structure, and how it functioned. How many times had Merlin told her that? Twenty times? A hundred?

Serena sat down on her bed, still feeling drained. But not numb; that mercy wasn't granted to her. The switch she had found to contain her energies could do nothing to erase the memory of Richard with another woman.

It hurt. She couldn't believe how much it hurt. All these years she had convinced herself that she was the only woman in his life who mattered, and now she knew that wasn't true. He didn't belong only to her. He didn't belong to her at all. He really didn't see her as a woman-or, if he did, she obviously held absolutely no attraction for him.

The pain was worse, knowing that.

Dawn had lightened the windows by the time Serena tried to go back to sleep. But she couldn't. She lay beneath the covers, staring up at the ceiling, feeling older than she had ever felt before. There was no limbo now, no sense of being suspended between woman and child; Serena knew she could never again be a child, not even to protect herself.

The question was, How was that going to alter her relationship with Merlin? Could she pretend there was nothing different? No. Could she even bear to look at him without crying out her pain and rage? Probably not. How would he react when she made her feelings plain, with disgust or pity? That was certainly possible. Would her raw emotion drive him even farther away from her? Or was he, even now, planning to banish her from his life completely?

Because he knew. He knew what she had discovered in the dark watches of the night.

Just before her own shock had wrenched her free of his mind, Serena had felt for a split second his shock as he sensed and recognized her presence intruding on that intensely private act.

He knew. He knew she had been there.

It was another part of her pain, the discomfiting guilt and shame of having been, however unintentionally, a voyeur. She had a memory now that she would never forget, but it was his, not hers. She'd stolen it from him… And of all the things they both had to face when he came home, that one was likely to be the most difficult of all.

The only certainty Serena could find in any of it was the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.

CHAPTER THREE

Tuesday was a very unsettling day for Serena. Preferring to keep busy, she went to work as usual, despite her shortage of sleep. But she couldn't keep her thoughts off Merlin and what had happened the night before. Still, she had years of practice in maintaining a normal facade, and that enabled her to get through the day without disgracing herself by bursting into tears or snapping at everyone she encountered.

At least the "switch" she had finally discovered remained firmly off, which kept her inner turmoil from manifesting itself in another dangerous release of unfocused energies. For that she was grateful.

But a bad day was made immeasurably worse when she found Jeremy Kane waiting in the lobby of her office building.

"Hello, Kane." Everyone who knew him, even women, called the reporter by his last name.

"Serena." He was smiling. "If you have a few minutes, I'd like to talk to you. There's a coffee shop just across the street. Shall we?"

His manner was less abrupt than usual, and all her instincts went on alert. She didn't like his uncharacteristically pleasant smile, and there was a gleam in his eyes that made her want to hold on tight to her purse. But Serena knew she had taken a risk on Friday night, and if there was going to be fallout, she intended to deal with it herself.

The last thing she needed right now was an I-told-you-so from Merlin.

Besides that, she was curious about what the reporter had in mind, so she willingly accompanied him into the coffee shop. They were shown to a booth in a corner, fairly private in the less-than-crowded shop, and Kane talked desultorily about the weather (overcast, as usual), politics (screwed up, as usual), and the latest best-seller (his name wasn't on the cover, so he hated it) until their coffee came.

"What's on your mind, Kane?" Serena asked after the waitress left. Ordinarily she would have let him get around to it in his own time, but she wanted to hurry home and see if Merlin had returned.

Kane sipped his coffee for a moment, pale blue eyes fixed on her face. He wasn't a bad-looking man, but the wear and tear of nearly twenty years of a downhill slide was stamped into his. features, lending them an oddly blurred, indistinct appearance that was a bit unsettling.

"Did you take me back to my apartment Friday night, Serena? After our dance?" he asked finally in a very casual tone.

As she assumed an expression of surprise, her mind worked very swiftly, examining the question and recalling every one of her own actions. Of course she knew why he was asking: because he had most likely found the draft of the announcement in his pocket and, obviously remembering she'd been with him before he passed out, had concluded that she was somehow responsible. The most logical answer, naturally, was that she had accompanied or followed him home and had, for some reason, left the paper in his pocket for him to find.

"Why would I have done something like that?" she asked in a puzzled voice.

"Never answer a question with a question."

"No, I didn't take you back to your apartment. I repeat, why would I? A dance is one thing, Kane, but we certainly don't know each other that well."

He didn't lose his smile. "Why did you ask me to dance, by the way? I'm hardly your type."

Gently, Serena said, "Somebody dared me to, Kane. Sorry about that, but I've never been able to resist a dare."

"And did this somebody also dare you to ask me what my address was while we danced?"

So he remembered that, too, dammit. "Your address," she replied, "is in the phone book. I looked it up months ago when I was chairing that committee and needed a speaker. Don't you remember?"

Judging by his tightened lips and narrowed eyes, it appeared he had forgotten that. So had she, as a matter of fact, until just now.

Going on the offensive, Serena shook her head and said, "I don't know what you're after, Kane, but if this is the way you react after a woman asks you to dance, it's no wonder you don't get invited very often."

He ignored the latter part of her statement. "What I'm after? Answers, Serena. I'm a very curious man. I'd like to know, for instance, just who you are. You certainly weren't born Serena Smyth-that much I've found out. I believe you took the name, legally, at sixteen. That was after you came to Seattle, of course, and moved in with Richard Merlin."

She allowed one of her eyebrows to climb in mild amusement. "You make a perfectly innocent and commonplace act sound criminal, Kane. So I changed my name-big deal. If you must know, after my drunken father wrapped his car around a telephone pole when I was six and made me an orphan, I was passed from relative to relative for ten years. That was when I ran away."

"To Merlin," he said in a silky tone.

Serena ignored the tone. "To Richard. I decided to change my name, since I was old enough and since I wanted nothing further to do with any of my other relatives."

"Other relatives? So you still claim he's an uncle?"

She smiled. "No, he's actually some kind of third cousin. But calling him an uncle simplifies matters. Are you planning a story for the tabloids, Kane? One of those juicy headlines like, 'Uncle and Niece in Incestuous Relationship'? Why don't you just write that I'm going to have Elvis's baby? Or an alien's, maybe."

He flushed an ugly red. "I think the society page would be interested in the story," he said tightly. "Wouldn't all your tight-assed friends just love to know the real relationship between you and Merlin?"

Serena couldn't help it; she giggled. "Sorry, Kane, but you seem to have lost track of what really matters to people these days. Do you think you're the first to suspect Richard and I are lovers? Don't be ridiculous; those rumors pop up about once every year or so, as regular as clockwork, until something else comes along to stir up interest." Because she made very sure to distract anyone who suspected the relationship was in any way unusual.

"Can you deny it?" he snapped.

She looked him straight in the eye and replied with a calmness that was far more convincing than histrionics would have been. "Of course I deny it. Richard has been a lot of things to me, but never my lover."

"Maybe not," Kane insisted, "but there's something screwy in your relationship. What name were you born with, Serena? The court documents are sealed, oddly enough."

"Oddly? You know, for an investigative reporter, you seem to have a blind spot regarding facts. I was a minor; of course the court documents are sealed. The name I was born with is no longer mine, and is certainly none of your business. As for my screwy relationships-with Richard or anybody else-they also are none of your business."

"I'll find out what I want to know," he warned her softly. "Sooner or later I'll find a way through all the walls I keep hitting in Merlin's background. And it's just a matter of time until I figure out all your secrets. There's a story here somewhere, Serena. I can smell it."

Serena slid out of the booth and smiled pleasantly at him. She had kept her cool easily until he mentioned a search into Merlin's background, and then she had felt a surge of anger mixed with worry. That was all she needed, to have unintentionally put this story-hungry reporter onto Merlin's trail.

"The only story here concerns a desperate search for lost glory, Kane," she said. "And it's a bit pathetic, you know. If you can't find something a hell of a lot more important than us, then it's no wonder you've fallen so far. Thanks for the coffee, and don't get up."

She walked away without a backward glance, which was a pity. If she had looked back, she might have seen the look of obstinacy on his face. And it might have warned her.

Serena got home to find that Merlin had not yet returned. She changed out of her business suit and into slacks and a sweater, went into the kitchen long enough to say hello to Rachel and fix herself a glass of iced tea, then wandered back to the entrance hall. Merlin's study opened into this foyer, and Serena headed toward it, intending to look for another of the books on her reading list.

Two feet from the door she suddenly stopped as though she'd run into a wall.

The study was always locked except when he was in it, but Merlin had never barred the room to his Apprentice. The lock was easy for her to undo, since it was intended only to keep out Rachel and any visitor to the house who might find the contents of the room a bit odd. But the door was blocked now by something a great deal stronger than the impotent man-made lock. And no Apprentice wizard could breach that barrier.

After several moments Serena retreated to the stairs and sat down on the third tread, staring toward that solid oak portal and feeling more than a little shaken. How long had he been doing this? Certainly not always; several times she had entered his study while he was away, looking for a book or scroll or something else she needed. When had she last gone into the room when he was absent?

Months ago, she remembered. She had undone the lock easily and automatically, and there had been nothing else to keep her out of the room.

She set her half-finished glass of tea beside her and hugged her upraised knees as she continued gazing at the forbidden door. Why? Why had he shut her out? Was this just another sign of his withdrawal from her, or was there something else going on, something he hadn't told her about? Something he didn't trust her to know?

No matter what the answers were, the questions had sown even more seeds of anxiety and fear in Serena. Coupled with the pain and fury of what she had discovered in the night, this new sign of trouble between her and Merlin made her emotional state so turbulent, she couldn't even think straight. She could only sit there on the stairs and wait, the confused emotions simmering, until he came home.

When he finally opened the front door almost an hour later, she didn't move or greet him. She just watched as he set an overnight bag on the floor, shrugged out of his raincoat, and hung it on the coat tree by the door.

His lean face still, the handsome features composed, he turned and looked steadily at her. After a moment he said calmly, "You found the switch."

It didn't surprise her that he knew. He had sensed her power from the first time he'd set eyes on her, so of course he could sense that she was now able to completely contain that power.

Serena rose slowly and stepped down to the bottom of the stairs. "That's not all I found," she said, and she could hear the strained note in her own voice contrasting sharply with his utter self-possession.

Rachel came into the foyer before he could respond. Whether she saw or sensed a problem, all she placidly said was, "You're home. Dinner in half an hour."

"Thank you, Rachel," Merlin said, still looking at Serena.

As the housekeeper retreated to her domain, Serena felt a stab of real panic. It was now, she realized. The confrontation she had shied away from loomed between them. There was no way to stop it now, not for her or for him. And no matter how it ended, their relationship would never again be the same.

"Richard-"

"In the study. Not out here." Leaving his bag there on the floor, Merlin crossed the space to his study door and opened it.

"That's a dandy lock you made," she said as she followed him into the room and dosed the door, leaning back against it. She didn't look around at the book-lined walls, or at the very old scrolls placed on several shelves, and she didn't notice that his big desk was unusually cluttered with several opened books and a number of scrolls.

He didn't reply or react to her faintly accusing statement, merely walking to the front of his desk and then turning to face her as he leaned against it and lightly gripped the edge on either side of his hips. Serena wondered vaguely if they both felt the need of support. No, not Merlin, she thought. Surely not Merlin.

"Who is she, Richard?" The question was blurted without tact or grace.

Very quietly, impassively, he replied, "Who she is doesn't concern you, Serena."

Once Serena might have heeded the warning in his tone and backed away from what he dearly had no wish to discuss, but that time was past. Her stormy emotions were clawing at her, demanding an outlet, and she could no more stop her falsely bright, brittle words than she could stop breathing.

"Well, I'm reasonably sure she isn't a wife. A mistress then? She was surely no stranger, I know that."

"You know nothing about it."

"I know it wasn't the first time you were with her. That was obvious. I know what she looks like. Boy, do I know what she looks like. Head to toe."

"You had no right to be there," he said slowly, giving every word a terrible weight.

Stung, she said, "I didn't try to be there, dammit. I have no idea how I got there. I was asleep, Richard, and so far you haven't taught me a thing about controlling my sleeping mind."

"I will, never fear."

"I'll look forward to that. It wasn't exactly pleasant to find myself in some kind of bordello."

A faint sound came from him, an indrawn breath that was muted evidence of growing strain, and anger flickered in his black eyes. "It was not a bordello."

"No?"

"No. But whatever it was is none of your business. I don't have to justify myself or my actions to you, Serena. Aside from teaching you what you came here to learn from me, I have no obligation to you. None."

She was glad the door behind her lent some support, because she definitely needed it. Every clipped word he uttered stabbed at her. It had been bad enough before, but this was so hurtful, she could hardly breathe. No obligation? And no interest in her, his tone said that, as well.

The nine years they had spent together apparently counted for nothing.

"I see." The words were hardly more than a whisper, and she fought to shore up her composure, to save a bit of her self-respect. "You'll… have to forgive me. It seems I'm guilty of presumption, at the very least."

She felt behind her for the door handle, and held on to that for balance as she straightened and turned to leave.

"Serena."

Looking at him right now was impossible, but she went still, waiting.

"I didn't mean that." His voice was low.

She was very much afraid he had meant every word. "No, I needed the reminder," she said as evenly as she could manage. "You're right-your only obligation to me is what I asked for in the beginning, what you agreed to. Anything else is… anything else is completely inappropriate. I know that; I've known all along." She told herself fiercely to shut up, to stop making her pain so damned obvious.

"Serena, there are things you don't understand. Things I can't explain to you." His voice was unquestionably strained now. "Some boundaries mustn't be crossed; the penalties are… too great. What we are, you and I, is precisely defined. It has to be."

She turned her head slowly and looked at him. Even through her pain she could sense his tension, see it in every line of his body. And there was something leaping at her out of his eyes, some intense emotion she couldn't interpret and that she had never seen before. She didn't completely understand what he was saying, but the gist of it seemed clear enough; the barriers separating them were not to be crossed.

"Yes, of course," she said almost politely, still clinging to the shreds of her dignity. "Everything has to have a clear definition; I know that. Because control is so important when dealing with power. Vital, really. So you're a Master wizard, and I'm your Apprentice. And that's all."

A muscle tightened in his jaw. "Anything else… anything more is impossible, Serena."

After a long moment she repeated, "Yes, of course," then added gravely, "I apologize for intruding into your personal life. It won't happen again." Quickly, she slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

Merlin drew a slow, deep breath, trying to ease the constricted sensation in his chest. It didn't really work, which didn't surprise him; he had been conscious of that odd tightness for a long time now. It had been an ever-present feeling for months at least. Before that it had been an erratic thing, something of which he had been aware only occasionally.

He remembered clearly when he had first felt a hint of the strange sensation. Serena had been with him about three years then, and they had been totally immersed in study most of that time. But he had taken her out to dinner one night, and looking at her across the table, he had been jolted to realize she was wearing lipstick.

Such a small thing, and the sudden squeezing inside his chest had been fleeting, easily forgotten. Until the next time he had glimpsed some sign that the ragged urchin he had taken into his home and his life was becoming a woman. Was, actually, reveling in being a woman.

He hadn't lied to her just now, he told himself. There were precise lines dividing Master and Apprentice, and because of the power involved, those boundaries really did have to be respected. Serena knew that, as her words had proven. But he hadn't told her the whole truth, and he had allowed her to believe he was far more emotionally indifferent to her than he was.

Indifferent? Christ, if she only knew…

Merlin pushed himself away from the desk and went around behind it, where his chair was pulled back. He didn't sit, but put his hands on the smooth oak of the desk and leaned forward, staring down at an old, old book lying open. Like so many of the books in this room, its fragile parchment pages were hand-lettered in a strange language that would have baffled even the most erudite linguist, but Merlin read it easily because it was the language of his kind.

It is forbidden far any Master, or any wizard of any level, to encourage or teach a woman to understand or implement any part or the whole of spells, incantations, or any other tool of the wizard's craft. No wizard of any level may reveal his true nature to a woman at any time without the prior express permission of the Council of Elders. Any wizard encountering a woman of innate power, whether or not she be aware of that power, must instantly report the discovery to the Council. Failure to obey these laws will result in the most severe of penalties, up to and including total banishment and the deprivation of all powers…

Merlin didn't have to look at the other books and scrolls on his desk, because he had pored over them for many hours already. Without exception, each of them pronounced the same laws in an identical tone of dire warning. The words might have differed slightly from source to source, but there was no ambiguity, no loophole through which to pass. What it all boiled down to was quite simple.

He had broken an ancient law in accepting a woman as his Apprentice-teaching her secretly, without the knowledge of the Council-and with every day that passed he was compounding the original crime.

It had seemed such a foolish law then, when a half-starved and half-drowned girl had turned up on his doorstep, her untapped powers practically radiating from her thin little body in an aura of promise. How could he turn his back on that promise merely because she was female? He couldn't.

He hadn't.

Since wizards tended to isolate themselves, and no other lived in Seattle, he'd had no trouble in keeping his activities secret from the Council and others of his kind, even over the span of nine years. Serena had been so consumed with the desire to learn that she had been unquestioningly obedient to his carefully devised rules, and he had been able to shield her developing abilities so as to escape notice. So far.

But what Merlin had not anticipated were his own confused instincts and emotions. The more Serena matured, the more he found himself overwhelmingly aware of her. She held his total attention with startling ease, no matter what she was doing, with her voice and her grace and the laughter in her green eyes, and even the way she had of charmingly and cleverly manipulating people and her surroundings to suit her-whether or not she used her powers to do it.

Their years together had given them knowledge of each other and a certain familiarity, and of course she had become a beautiful woman, so his notice and interest should have seemed perfectly normal and hardly surprising. And though he couldn't be sure of Serena's feelings any more than he could read her thoughts, he would have to have been blind and stupid not to recognize, even before today, that she saw him as something more than a teacher.

So why was he fighting his own feelings? There was, after all, nothing standing between him and Serena except a ponderous ban in some old texts Serena had never even seen. And since he'd already broken the law, anything else had to be an insignificant matter of degree. At least that was what he told himself. But what seemed simple on the surface turned out to be far more complicated underneath.

He had found himself withdrawing from her time and time again, feeling a strange and senseless apprehension whenever something reminded him she was no longer a child, that she was a woman only nominally under his control. The feelings grew stronger and stronger, the tightness in his chest, the wariness, the inexplicable urge to be on guard, as if against a threat.

Serena… a threat. Why? Why?

Her innate power was truly incredible; that was beyond question. She frequently startled him with the strength of some ability he was in the process of teaching her-as well as an occasional seemingly natural or unconscious skill that was unknown to him even after a lifetime's study of his art-but he had no logical reason to feel apprehensive or threatened by Serena nevertheless.

It had occurred to him only recently that what he felt was for too powerful to have originated in the simple breaking of a law, that surely there was little power in dry words of warning written in ancient books and scrolls-certainly not enough to cause this turmoil inside him.

No, this was something else, something embedded in him, inherent to him, to who and what he was, that he could only sense. It was as if all his deepest instincts recognized a prohibition so vitally important, it was more like a taboo, a primitive command demanding instant, wordless obedience. Part of him wanted to obey, struggled to obey, but part of him didn't want to and fought against it. Since he was a logical man, and since that command stirred an increasingly stormy conflict he didn't understand in himself, Merlin had begun searching for the reasons behind the law.

So far he hadn't found them.

Sitting down in his desk chair, Merlin leaned back and gazed across the room at nothing. How could he explain to Serena what he didn't understand himself? About what he felt and what he recoiled away from feeling… And how could he even begin to tell her that the closed, secret society of wizards she aspired to join wanted nothing to do with her?

"Have you seen today's paper?"

Serena peered at the clock on her nightstand-a replacement for the one she'd zapped-and made a muffled sound of indignation when she realized it wasn't yet seven o'clock. In the morning.

"Jane, do you know what time it is?" she asked into the phone, yawning.

"Of course I know what time it is. You weren't awake? Serena, you're always up by six on a weekday."

Unwilling to explain that she hadn't slept well in the two nights since the confrontation with Merlin on Tuesday, Serena merely said, "I was up late last night. What's this about the paper?"

In a patient tone Jane said, "Thursday is when Kane's column runs, remember?"

Serena thought about it. "Yeah, I remember. So what? Did he call me the whore of Babylon?" She wasn't very interested; since most of her concentration and emotional energy had been taken up with the urgent need to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened between her and Merlin whenever he was present, she had completely forgotten that Kane might have decided to make trouble for her.

"Let me put it this way. If at all possible, you'd better hide the relevant section of the paper before Richard sees it."

Pushing herself up in bed, Serena frowned. "Did Kane attack Richard?" she demanded fiercely.

"Well, he certainly didn't nominate him for citizen of the month, but Richard is not going to like the publicity, and I doubt he'll be terribly pleased at the stuff printed about you-even if none of it's new. Really, Serena, just get to the paper and read it, okay? And call me later."

Serena hung up the phone on her way out of bed. She was in such a hurry that she used her powers to get ready for work in three seconds flat, going from a nightgown to a businesslike skirt and sweater between her bed (which made itself up as soon as she left it) and the door. It always felt a bit unsettling to have shoes appear on her feet while she was walking, especially high heels, but she adjusted and hurried from her bedroom after a quick glance to make sure the shoes matched. At least twice, hurrying like today, she had ended up with a weird combination.

Merlin's bedroom was down the hall, and the closed door didn't tell her whether or not he was up.

They hadn't talked, beyond what was absolutely necessary and then with distant courtesy, since Tuesday. He had spent his evenings in the house closeted in his study, so she had seen him only at meals. As she went quickly down the stairs, she could only hope that a late night of work, or whatever he was doing in his study these days, had kept him in bed past his usual time. Both of them tended to rise early, usually before six a.m., as Jane had noted.

The front door was still latched, and Serena breathed a sigh of relief when she opened it to find the morning's newspaper lying on the porch. Rachel always entered the house through the kitchen door in the mornings, and so the newspaper was brought in by whoever happened to come downstairs first.

Pushing the door shut, she rifled quickly through the sections until she found the one that always held Kane's column.

"Looking for something, Serena?"

Swearing silently, she replied in a light tone, "The life-style section. You know I always read my horoscope in the morning."

"And you know it's meaningless," Merlin said as he joined her in the foyer.

"It amuses me." Serena shrugged, then handed the remainder of the newspaper to Merlin and followed him toward the kitchen, from which came the smell of frying bacon. She would have much preferred to steal away somewhere private to read Kane's column, but didn't want to do anything that appeared suspicious.

She sat down across from him at the table, casually greeted Rachel, and sipped her coffee before unfolding her part of the paper. She forced herself to turn the pages without haste, but had to struggle not to stiffen in silent fury when she saw the title of Kane's column.

"Uncle and Niece…?"

Thinly disguised as one of those Meet a Couple of Our Leading Citizen commentaries (which would fool no one; Kane's articles were eagerly read because he invariably trashed somebody), the piece was actually not as bad as Serena had feared, and certainly not as bad as it might have been. Obviously Kane knew better than to go over the line and risk libel. Other than with the title, he didn't even make implications about Serena and Merlin's true relationship, in fact-perhaps because her scornful charge that he would resort to "tabloid journalism" had touched him on the raw.

Nothing he said about Serena in the article bothered her in the slightest, especially since most of the details of her various relationships had already been made public. He didn't refer to her as the whore of Babylon, though the picture he painted wasn't far off the mark.

But what Kane had done with his malicious article was focus a spotlight on Merlin, as well as Serena, which was the kind of unwelcome publicity the wizard had always studiously avoided. And he must have battered his way through a few of those walls he'd mentioned, because he had unearthed several hitherto unpublished facts about Richard Merlin's background. Facts that surprised Serena and pointed out to her how very little she actually knew about Richard.

His father, for instance, was a judge in Chicago. Mother deceased for a number of years, her death caused by some accident. No siblings. Merlin had attended Harvard University, earning a degree in political science "at an unusually young age." Never married or engaged, he had lived briefly in Boston after college, then had moved to Seattle almost fifteen years ago. From all appearances-and no doubt to Kane's immense disgust-he seemed to have led a blameless, fairly unremarkable life.

Deliberately unremarkable, Serena thought shrewdly. After all, the best way to escape undue notice was to lead an outwardly bland existence with no unusual highs or lows.

"What is it?"

She looked up with a start to find Merlin watching her. "What's what?"

"Your horoscope. Isn't that what you're reading so intently? What fascinates you so much?"

Looking into those unreadable, impenetrable black eyes, Serena suddenly knew it was useless to try to keep him ignorant of the article. He was, after all, Merlin. Trying to keep something hidden from a Master wizard-especially this one-was rather like trying to hide a storm from radar.

With a sigh she said, "It's going to be a bad day."

"According to the stars?" He held her gaze steadily. "Serena, despite your newfound ability to contain your energies, I can certainly see and almost hear your distress. What's happened?"

She glanced around, realizing only then that they were alone; Rachel had apparently left the kitchen some time ago. Serena hadn't even touched her breakfast, which was rapidly growing cold. No wonder he had noticed her preoccupation; she never ignored meals.

Looking back at Merlin, she tried to think of some way of cushioning the blow, but finally blurted, "I didn't know your father was a judge."

He frowned. Instead of responding to her statement, he held out a hand for the section of the newspaper she'd been reading, and Serena gave it to him.

"It's not so bad," she offered as she watched him read the article. "Kane could have done a lot worse. I know you hate publicity of any kind, but he didn't say anything bad about you. And all that stuff about me is old news. I guess I could have tried to stop him, but he didn't seem to know anything for certain when he talked to me-"

"When he talked to you?" Merlin raised his eyes from the paper. "At the party?"

"No." She cleared her throat, unnerved by the mask-like hardness of his face. "It was later. He sort of cornered me leaving work, and-"

"Serena, why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Merlin swore rarely, and she'd never heard his voice sound so harsh. She didn't know what was so wrong about the article, but there was no doubt he was seriously upset. She knew then that she should have told him about Kane's interest while he could have done something to stop or at least deflect the man.

"I… I just forgot about it," she explained.

"Forgot?"

His disbelief touched a nerve, and Serena felt herself stiffen. A bit tautly she said, "It was on Tuesday. You may remember I had a lot on my mind Tuesday."

He leaned back in his chair slowly, still gazing at her with grim eyes, the newspaper lying on the table before him, his plate pushed to the side.

Serena's instincts told her to keep her mouth shut until he calmed down, but this hadn't been her best week, and she needed to let off a little steam. Being Serena, she opened every valve.

Recklessly, she said, "If you're so worried about the damned article, zap it out of the paper. Of course there'll be a rather large blank place, but you can probably fill it with a farm report or something."

"And am I supposed to zap it out of the mind of everyone who's already read it?"

"Why not? I may be no good at mind control, but I'll bet you're terrific at it. Aren't you? It certainly can't be beyond the powers of a Master wizard to create a little amnesia here and there."

"Kane's column," Merlin said evenly, "is syndicated in a hundred newspapers across the country."

"Including one in Chicago, I'll bet. That's it, isn't it? You don't want His Honor to know you're living with a woman he knows damned well isn't your niece."

Ignoring that, Merlin said, "I can hardly influence the minds of a few million people. I'm not all-powerful, Serena, and certainly not infallible."

"I know." She suddenly wanted to cry.

His anger drained away as quickly as hers had, and Merlin looked at her with instant awareness. They were both remembering a blond woman and an all-too-human act, and this time it was Serena who looked away first.

"Sorry I didn't warn you about Kane," she said. "It's obviously a little late to worry about closing the barn door, since the horse is on its way and there doesn't seem to be much we can do about it. Anyway, the article certainly could have been worse, so we're lucky there. And maybe whoever it is you don't want reading it won't."

Merlin didn't say anything for a moment, and when he did speak, his voice was still a bit rough. "Serena, don't judge me before you know all the facts."

Her gaze returned to his face, the green eyes guarded. "Sure. You just tell me when I have them, okay?"

He couldn't blame her for the frustration she clearly felt, nor could he make it easier on her by disclosing a few of those necessary facts. There was far too much he didn't understand himself, and his own emotions were making it more difficult for him to see the situation dearly.

All he could do was try to keep everything, including Serena, under control until he found the answers for which he'd been searching.

Serena pushed back her chair and left the table, every taut line of her body expressing her vexation with him. Merlin rose, as well, and followed her out into the foyer, intending to say something that would allow them to part for the day on fairly amiable terms. He didn't like being at odds with Serena; it made him feel uncharacteristically morose and had a tendency to cause the rest of his day to be miserable.

But before he could say anything, the phone on the hall table rang.

She was getting her raincoat from the tree by the front door, so Merlin answered. And even though he'd been half prepared for it from the moment he had read Kane's article, the matter-of-fact voice on the other end of the line nonetheless caught him by surprise.

"Merlin, this is Jordan."

Unconsciously, Merlin gazed straight at Serena. "Hello, Jordan. How have you been?"

Ignoring the pleasantry, the other man said, "How soon can you get here?"

An interesting question, Merlin reflected. He could, of course, "get there" instantly, and both of them knew it. But the appearance and demands of his normal life made instantaneous transportation an extremely rare thing, used only during the direst of emergencies.

"I can clear my desk by lunchtime," he said.

"Good. Take the first available flight after noon. I'll meet you at the airport."

"I'll be there." Merlin listened to the dial tone for a moment, then cradled the receiver. He was still looking at Serena. She had put on her raincoat but hadn't left the house because his stare and his end of the conversation had caught her attention. So much so, in fact, that she seemed to forget she'd been mad at him.

"Be there?" Her voice was hesitant, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

Merlin started to tell her he was going out of town for a day or so, but the memory of what had happened last time forced him to be much more specific. "A meeting of the Council of Elders has been called," he said. "I've been asked to attend." Asked? He'd damned well been ordered.

Serena took a step toward him, still hesitant but probably alerted by some tone in his voice. "Have you done something wrong?"

A bit dryly Merlin replied, "You could say that, yes."

CHAPTER FOUR

Wizards were born with finite degrees of power, some high and some low. No amount of learning could increase that inherent level of force; instruction and knowledge could only perfect the control, the mastery of what was innately possessed. Merlin was on the high end of that scale, one of the extraordinarily rare beings born with almost unlimited potential.

Jordan was at the low end of the scale.

He was almost as tall as Merlin, but lacked the other man's power in almost every respect. Jordan was fair, thin, pale-eyed, soft-voiced. Born with so little ability that he barely qualified as a wizard, he might have grown to resent those farther up the evolutionary scale than himself; instead, he had chosen to put his stronger talents of organization and efficiency to good use, and so served as a kind of administrative manager for the Council of Elders.

He met Merlin at O'Hare Airport, his cool Nordic looks and placid voice an island of tranquility in a sea of bustling humanity, and led the way briskly to the dark, inconspicuous Lincoln he had left in a no-parking zone. Naturally there was no ticket.

Merlin sat in the front beside Jordan, unwilling to give the appearance of being chauffeured, even though he was. He disliked ceremony and avoided it whenever possible. Especially whenever he was in the company of other wizards.

It was just after six o'clock, and since it was late autumn, it was both dark and chilly outside. A gloomy omen, Merlin thought, and instantly chided himself for the superstition.

"Where's the meeting?" he asked, even though he was fairly sure he already knew.

Jordan didn't turn his attention from the road. "The judge's house, as usual," he replied.

Merlin glanced at his driver, wondering idly and not for the first time why Jordan referred to the Council members by their positions or titles in the "real" world rather than their names. A mania for secrecy perhaps? If so, it was no wonder. The six men he served had in common a secret that would have rocked this technically advanced and cynical world if it had been made public.

The news wouldn't have done wizards much good, either. Though Serena had been flippant when she had described another Salem witch hunt, the truth was that the discovery of wizards in their midst could certainly have the powerless population of the world both frightened and up in arms.

Hardly something anyone wanted to happen.

The remainder of the drive out of the city and into the suburbs was spent in silence. Almost an hour after leaving the airport, Jordan turned the big car into the driveway of a secluded mansion. The gates opened to admit them, and moments later the car drew to a stop near the bottom of wide brick steps leading to a front door.

"They're already waiting for you in the study," Jordan said as the two men got out of the car. "I'll see that your bag is taken up to your room."

In the short time it took Merlin to mount the steps, the massive front door opened to reveal a soberly dressed elderly man, the very image of an old-world butler.

"Good evening, sir."

"Charles." He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the butler, then half consciously straightened his tie and shot his cuffs. Not because he was vain, but because a neat appearance was essential. A meeting of the Council of Elders demanded the semiformality of a suit; Merlin, at a much younger age, had once shown up in jeans, and it had been two years before he'd been allowed to forget that breach.

He wasn't nervous, but he did pause in the foyer for a moment to collect himself.

"The study, sir."

"Yes. Thank you, Charles."

With a deliberate tread Merlin crossed the seeming acres of polished marble floor to the big double doors of the study. He knocked once, purely as a matter of form, and entered the room.

It was quite a room. Sixty feet long and forty wide with a fifteen-foot ceiling, it held two fireplaces large enough to roast whole steers without crowding, a row of enormous Palladian windows, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on either side of both fireplaces, and a marble floor. A huge, very old and beautiful Persian rug lay beneath the long table and dozen chairs placed squarely in the center of the room, and two chandeliers were suspended above the table. The remainder of the room was furnished with groups of chairs and small tables and reading lamps scattered about as if to invite intimate conversation, but nothing would ever make that room appear cozy.

It practically echoed.

The six men who made up the Council of Elders were seated at the end of the table opposite the door. The judge was at the head; on his right were a senator, a financier, and a diplomat; on his left were a world-famous actor and a scientist. All the men were middle-aged to elderly, with the scientist being the oldest, and all possessed that indefinable look of powerful, successful men. Which they were.

They were the eldest practicing wizards-hence their name. Though from various parts of the world, they all spoke English so well, their national origins weren't obvious. Each had been selected for his position on the Council by an ancient process that clearly and precisely determined the necessary qualities of wisdom and leadership, and which allowed absolutely no chance that personal ambition could influence results.

Though all were powerful men and powerful wizards, only two had achieved the level of Master wizard. That distinction was rare because it meant, by definition, an individual with total mastery over his powers, and that demanded a strength of will so great, few were able to attain it. In actuality, fewer than one-tenth of one percent of all the wizards who had ever lived had been able to reach that stature.

And even among that exceptional company, Merlin stood out as a unique being, because no wizard in all of history had achieved the level of Master at so young an age.

Which, at the moment, mattered not one iota. The Council of Elders was grim, individually and collectively, and all they saw before them was a wizard who had broken the law.

Merlin walked to his end of the table and sat down. He was wary but not unduly nervous; this wasn't the first time he had been caught in some rebellion-he and the Council seldom saw eye to eye on even minor matters-and he had every expectation of being able to defend himself. He folded his hands on the table and waited, knowing from experience that he could shape his defense only after he had heard whatever they had to say.

It wasn't long in coming.

The judge, his expression dispassionate and his voice flat, said, "Is she a woman of power?"

"She is." Hiding Serena's existence from these men for nine years was one thing, but Merlin wasn't about to lie to them now. Defiance could be explained and perhaps understood; stupidity was something else entirely. He felt as well as heard the Council's collective indrawn breath, and realized that each man had hoped he would tell them it wasn't true.

The actor, his trained voice particularly effective in the huge room, said, "You know the law. How do you justify breaking it?"

Merlin's previous offenses had been relatively minor. This time, as he studied the somber faces at the other end of the long table, he realized there was nothing minor about his latest infraction. And the power of the Council was nothing to underestimate. If the Elders felt his offense warranted it, they could destroy him. So he gave himself a moment to think before answering, and when he spoke, he kept his voice calm and reasonable.

"It's a senseless law, and I could find no reason for it. Why should I turn away from the potential Serena represents simply because she's female?"

Merlin felt a slight ripple in the room, as if every man present had shuddered inwardly. They were nervous, all of them, tense to the point of being stiff. The reaction baffled him-and yet some part of him understood.

The diplomat, his voice unusually quavery, said, "It's forbidden to teach any woman. Forbidden for any woman to even know about us. You must stop."

"Why?" He looked at each of them in turn. "Someone tell me why it's forbidden."

"It's the law," the scientist said, as if stating an incontrovertible and absolute truth in his universe.

"It's a bad law," Merlin snapped, beginning to lose his composure in the face of their inflexible conviction. He had the odd feeling that no one at the table was listening to him, that they wouldn't-or couldn't-hear any part of his defense. "We're hardly rich enough in power to be so eager to squander it," he added more quietly.

The senator's voice was grave. "You're obviously too dose to the subject to be able to see it dearly-"

"Her. See her dearly. The subject is a woman, Senator. And I see her dearly enough."

Several of the men began to speak at once, their voices high and agitated, and the judge held up a hand for silence. Gazing unwaveringly at Merlin, he spoke in a steady voice.

"We've lived by our laws for thousands of years, and in all that time no law has ever been renounced by a practicing wizard: You must not be the first. Our ancestors devised the laws because they saw an overwhelming need for us to control our powers, not be controlled by them. If we're to survive as a race, we must all respect and obey the rules we live by."

"Except this one," Merlin retorted. "It's a senseless law. Why should learning be denied to a female born with power? Why do you-all of you-see that as a threat? Why are you afraid of Serena?"

Very softly the judge said, "Why are you?"

Merlin stared down the table into a pair of eyes as black as his own. "I'm not afraid of her." Despite his effort, his voice lacked conviction.

"No? I think you are. Apprehensive at least. Can you honestly say you haven't felt yourself drawing away from her? That you haven't felt wariness, an uneasiness, a sense almost of panic as she has matured in her abilities and as a woman?"

Of all the Council, only the judge had married-only he had even lived with a woman, for that matter-so he was really the only one who could have imagined what Merlin might feel toward his Apprentice. Unfortunately, though that might have made him an ally, Merlin knew better. The judge had been married to a powerless woman, not an Apprentice wizard, and while that was frowned upon and discouraged, it was not forbidden.

"Whatever I've felt is beside the point," Merlin said at last.

"Hardly," the judge said. "It is the point. That a woman is forbidden to know our craft isn't simply a moldy old law written in ancient books; it's written in us. Stamped in the deepest part of us. And we must obey.'"

"You must stop teaching the woman," the actor said inexorably.

"It's the law," the scientist agreed.

"Be reasonable," the financier begged. "Stop this before it's too late. Don't force us to do it."

Merlin stiffened, his gaze again flying to the head of the table. There was a long silence, and then the judge sighed.

"According to the newspaper article, she's lived with you for years. How many?"

"Nine."

"Then she's barely into the training?"

Merlin hesitated, then shrugged. "I accelerated in several areas because of her innate power." Again there was that odd ripple through the room, and this time the men sat back in their chairs or moved restlessly.

"But her control is imperfect?" the judge demanded.

"Yes. But she's young and she did begin the training later than usual. I have every reason to believe she can one day achieve the level of Master."

If Merlin had hoped that his clear vote of confidence in Serena's potential might persuade the Council, he knew instantly that he'd been wrong. To a man, the faces across the table actually paled, and even the judge, normally impassive, was clearly appalled.

"It must stop," the diplomat whispered.

"There's no time to be lost," the actor said nervously.

Quietly the judge asked, "We're agreed, then?"

Without exception, the Council members nodded, looking away from Merlin. The judge nodded, as well, then stared down the table at his son and spoke heavily.

"The Council has decided. This woman must be rendered powerless. Because she is female and not yet in full control of her abilities, it will be possible for you to strip her of all levels of power."

"What?" Merlin whispered.

The judge went on as if nothing extraordinary had been said. "The process is an ancient one, not commonly known, requiring several weeks to complete. I'll give you the reference material before you return to Seattle. The woman will not be harmed by this, merely rendered powerless."

"Merely." Merlin's voice was still hardly louder than a whisper. "Merely rendered powerless."

"It's the only way," the senator told Merlin. "The law must be obeyed. We have no choice. Don't you see that?"

The judge again waved a hand for silence. "The decision of the Council is final. Your punishment for breaking the law will be determined at a later time; the severity of that penalty will depend on your obedience now. You will render this woman powerless."

"Or?" Merlin asked flatly. They were all staring at him with shuttered eyes and impassive faces, and in that moment he thought he could hate them.

"Or we will do it," the judge replied calmly. "And you'll pay a very high price for disobeying the Council."

Ironically, Merlin was the most powerful wizard in the room in terms of raw force, and all of them knew it. But the simple fact was that he was under their control-not because he wanted to be, but because he had to be. No society of powerful beings could exist without a governing body; for wizards that body was the Council, and their decisions were final.

If he disobeyed, the punishment could be anything from the curtailing of his freedom to the reduction or even total removal of his powers.

That last would literally kill him, but it had been done more than once in the history of wizards when an individual had committed an unpardonable offense. It was not something he could fight with any possibility of success; power against power simply canceled itself out. So if the Council voted to take his powers and he struggled against it, there would be two dead wizards instead of one. Himself… and the Elder closest to him in raw force, the natural choice to be the one to seize his powers: his father.

They had him in a neat, bitterly effective vise, and he knew it. If he obeyed the Council, Serena would be stripped of her powers, and no matter how little the process harmed her physically, Merlin knew she would be destroyed by it. If he disobeyed the Council and they voted on the ultimate punishment for him-which was highly likely-he would be destroyed, and Serena's powers would be stolen from her anyway.

Merlin didn't realize the meeting was over until he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the judge standing beside his chair. The others had gone.

"Come into the den," the judge said.

Merlin rose and followed the older man across the hall to a smaller and much more intimate room of the big house. The fireplace in here boasted a roaring fire, and Merlin was drawn to it instantly. He felt cold. He stood at the hearth, watching the leaping flames.

"Have you slept with her?"

Merlin stirred impatiently but didn't answer.

"Have you slept with her?"

"No, of course not." He turned then and stared at the still handsome, white-haired man who was sitting a few feet away from him. "She was a child when she came to me-and that's the way I saw her."

"What about now?"

Merlin hesitated, images from recent years flashing through his mind. Serena in a clingy evening gown dancing gracefully; her long legs bared by shorts as she worked in the garden in summer; regal and beautiful in her Apprentice's robe, green eyes flashing with humor and challenge…

Almost inaudibly Eric Merlin said, "I see she's no child to you now."

"Isn't that my business?"

His father shook his head. "It would be bad enough if you had told any woman what you are-but a woman of power?"

"I didn't have to tell her what I was. She recognized me the way I recognized her." Merlin kept his voice calm. "The way beings of power have always known each other. She knew what I was, and she knew I could teach her. She was drawn across three thousand miles to find me."

The judge frowned. "Then her instincts are strong. But it makes no difference. There is no place in your life for a woman of power, you know that. There's no place in our world for her."

"I can't take her powers away from her."

"You must."

"I can't!" Merlin turned back to the fire, and his voice was as fierce as the flames when he went on. "Can't you see what you're asking me to do? It would destroy her. A wizard isn't something Serena wants to become, it's what she is, as much a part of her as the blood in her veins. Taking her powers would be like… like taking the wings of a bird or the fins of a fish. She'll die."

"If the process is successful, she won't remember that she ever possessed any power out of the ordinary."

"I don't believe that. It will kill her as surely as the loss of my powers would kill me, or the loss of yours would kill you. But suppose it's true-what happens if the process isn't successful? You don't have to tell me. She'll die. I say she'll die no matter what."

"You're being unnecessarily pessimistic."

Merlin laughed harshly. "Am I? Well, let's examine this from a more general viewpoint, shall we? How many wizards are born in this modern world? How many never realize what they're meant to be?"

"Richard-"

"You know the ones I'm talking about. The ones who take photographs with their minds, and bend spoons on television talk shows, and are studied in laboratories, wasting their powers because we didn't notice they were there until too late and now no one can tell them what they really are."

"There have always been some who didn't recognize their abilities, but-"

Merlin turned back toward his father, and another bleak laugh escaped him. "Some? And what of the ones who'll never be born, Dad, what about them?"

The elder Merlin shifted a bit in his chair. "Wizards are born in every generation. You know that."

"Fewer and fewer of us. Especially since we're all discouraged from producing offspring of our own. I must say, I'm glad you disobeyed that particular law."

"It isn't a law," his father said instantly. "And I had the permission of the Council to marry." He hadn't been a member of the Council then, nearly forty years before.

"But we are discouraged from siring children, who would certainly inherit powers as I inherited yours."

"You were born with for more than I could give you. One of the chosen few with almost unlimited power. Your equal hasn't been seen in a thousand years."

Unimpressed by the tribute, Merlin said, "And could such a wizard as I have been born to powerless people?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

Merlin shook his head. "Then don't you see how rare and valuable someone like Serena is-male or female? She was born to powerless parents. An 'accidental' addition to our race. The only way we're to generate, it seems. Why is that, Dad? Why must we survive as a species only by chance?"

Again the older man stirred in his chair. "I can only tell you what you already know. Enough wizards are born by chance to ensure our survival as a race without the risks we run in producing our own offspring. According to the most ancient of our writings, our ancestors believed that sons bred dangerous ambition."

"What about daughters?"

"There's no mention of daughters in the writings, except to note that wizards must never sire them."

… must never sire them…

Given their genetic material, which was identical in all meaningful respects to that of powerless men, wizards were as likely as any other group of randomly selected men to sire female offspring as well as males, Merlin knew. Daughters must have been born somewhere along the way, and the offspring of a wizard was always born with some degree of power.

Staring at his father, Merlin had a sudden chilly intuition that any female child sired by a wizard, no matter how healthy, had not survived long. For the first time in his life, he felt a pang of aversion for what he was.

Slowly he said, "So sons are feared because they breed ambition, and daughters are never to be born at all-or at least never to long survive their birth. I'm somewhat surprised I was allowed to survive."

His father stiffened. "What are you accusing me of, Richard? There was never any question of abortion or infanticide, if that's what you're thinking. We may be discouraged from having sex with any woman who isn't unquestionably barren, and we're certainly discouraged from marrying, but when it does happen that a son results from such a union, we're civilized about it."

"Civilized," Merlin said. "How nice."

"Your sarcasm is uncalled for. The point is that I wasn't searching for a wife when I met your mother. You know that. But there's an exception to every rule. She was… a remarkable woman."

"A woman who knew what you were."

"Yes, but she was powerless. I would never have given in to my feelings if she had been anything else. The very idea is unthinkable. Richard, sit down."

After a moment Merlin sat down across from his father in a matching chair, and sighed. "Maybe Serena's an exception. Have you considered that possibility? She has so much power, Dad, so much potential."

"Can you read her thoughts?"

Merlin shook his head. He wasn't about to confess that Serena had an absolutely unprecedented ability to slip into his consciousness; that had shocked him to his bones, and he had no doubt it would horrify his father.

"Is that why you accepted her when she came to you? Because you couldn't read her thoughts?"

"That, and the power I could feel in her. It honestly didn't occur to me that I was doing anything seriously wrong. I barely remembered the law."

"Until she got older?"

Merlin sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and stared at his father. "Yes. Until she got older. What does it mean? As a child Serena was no threat; as a woman she is. Yes, she makes me feel uneasy, wary sometimes-but why? She would never harm anyone. Least of all me."

After a moment the judge shook his head. "I don't know why. Why the law exists, what prompted it, or why we feel it so deeply. Our writings are ancient, but I've never found any reference to the creation of the law. All I know is that there must be no female wizards. And that we must never trust any woman."

"You trusted Mother," Merlin said.

The judge looked at his son, and there was an old, old pain in his eyes. "No. I didn't."

Merlin was only dimly aware that he had risen to his feet. "She lived with you for twenty years," he said slowly. "Bore you a son. And she kept your secret. How could you not trust her?"

"She asked me the same thing. Over and over again she asked me. I never could give her an answer." The judge hesitated, then went on softly. "She asked me that night, and when I had no answer for her, she rushed out of here in tears. An hour later her car crashed into a wall."

"Are you telling me-"

"I'm telling you that… accident… shouldn't have happened. That's all I'm saying. That's all I can ever know."

Merlin turned away from his father to stare into the bright heat of the fire. Suicide? Dear God, had his mother killed herself? Clearly his father believed it, or at least believed it was possible. Was that the price she had paid for loving a wizard?

"Richard, you can't blame me for being what I am. Any more than I can blame myself."

"Why couldn't you trust her?" he demanded harshly, not looking at his father because he didn't know if he could.

"It's not in me to trust a woman, just like it isn't in you."

"I don't believe that."

"You'd better. For your own sanity if nothing else, you'd better. You feel it's true even if you don't think it is, and that kind of conflict will tear you apart. Go back to Seattle, Richard, and take her powers away as gently as you can. And then send her out of your life before both of you are destroyed by this."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. You have to. Because you don't have a choice."

Serena was not, by nature, a patient woman. So it was very difficult for her to hang on to what little tolerance she had when Merlin returned on Friday afternoon and shut himself in his study. Since she was at work when he got home, she didn't even see him.

"He said he's not to be disturbed. For any reason," Rachel informed Serena when she came home.

"He has to eat," Serena objected.

"That's your problem, at least until Monday," Rachel said, a gleam of amusement in her eyes as she put on her coat and picked up her umbrella. "Dinner's in the oven, but I've a feeling you'll be eating alone tonight."

To Serena's frustration, the housekeeper was correct. Merlin's study was barred to her-just as it had been once before. The door was unlocked, she knew that, but he wasn't going to allow anybody to cross the threshold until he was ready.

That weekend turned out to be the longest one of Serena's life. Reluctant to leave the house until she found out what had happened at the meeting of the Council-a group about which she was intensely curious simply because Merlin had told her very little about them-she occupied herself as best she could with her studies.

On Saturday afternoon she canceled a planned shopping trip with Jane. By Saturday night she found herself sitting on the stairs gazing at that dosed door with what she didn't realize was so much intensity that she actually started in surprise when she felt the barrier vanish.

Hesitantly she crossed the foyer and knocked softly on the door.

"Serena." The acknowledgment was unmuffled by the thick oak of the door.

She opened the door and went into the study. Lighting kept the room from being too dark, but the study was still overpowering, filled with the ancient writings of a mighty race. The tall shelves, normally bursting with age-darkened heavy volumes written in odd scripts and ancient scrolls dust-dry and fragile, now showed gaps among the old books. Volumes were stacked, open and closed, on the floor, piled on the desk, and overflowed two chairs.

In the chair behind his cluttered desk, Merlin sat in an apparently relaxed position, his hands clasped together on the parchment pages of the book open before him. He was gazing across the room at her, impassive.

He looked tired, the sharpened planes of his face telling of too many long hours of study without food or sleep. His deep-set black eyes burned with the inner energy that was always a part of him, but there was something else, something even more vibrant than she was accustomed to seeing radiating from him.

"It's been more than twenty-four hours," she offered.

He was mildly surprised. "Oh? I hadn't realized."

"You have to eat."

"Do I?"

She blinked. "Don't you?"

With a sudden, slightly rueful smile, Merlin said, "Of course I do. But I'm not hungry right now. Sit down, Serena. We have to talk."

Those four little words were enough to make her feel extremely apprehensive, and his smile didn't reassure her a bit, but she removed several books from the chair nearest his desk and sat down.

Muster and Apprentice, that's all we are. Master and Apprentice. There can't be anything else.

With forced lightness she asked, "How was the Council meeting?"

"Difficult." Without elaborating, Merlin abruptly changed the subject. "Do you trust me?" he asked her.

"Of course." Her answer was instant, unthinking, and she felt an odd jolt when he seemed to wince. Was her answer unexpected, or simply unwelcome? She didn't know. His features smoothed out quickly, and his voice was calm when he went on.

"Good. Because I'm going to have to ask you to hold on to that trust with both hands."

She eyed him warily. "Why? Are you going to do something to make me doubt I can trust you?"

"I hope not," he murmured, then shook his head a bit. "Serena, I can't explain everything just yet. I know you're tired of hearing that, but please try to be patient. I have my reasons, and they're good ones. You have to trust me on that point."

"All right," she said, slowly and reluctantly-but he definitely had her interest. Since she did trust him, it didn't seem too much to ask. For the moment.

"Thank you. If it helps, I believe you won't have too many questions left by the time we get back."

"Back? Where are we going?"

He looked down at the book lying open on his desk. "We're going through a gate, Serena. A gate into time."

That surprised her so much that she could only stare at him when he went on somewhat broodingly.

"We'll have to be careful. Our presence alone could have unimaginable consequences. To change the past is to change the present. And the future."

Serena was trying to fathom the undercurrents she could barely sense in him. It was as if he had severed some tie, burned his bridges behind him, and that unnerved her. How much was she to take on faith? Everything? Or could she ask questions? Uncertain on that point, she opted for a simple statement. "You haven't taught me about time travel."

"Of all our abilities, it's the most dangerous." His gaze turned to her, still brooding. "It's also forbidden without the approval of the Council."

"Do we… have its approval?"

Merlin shook his head.

All Serena knew of the Council of Elders was that it was the ultimate authority among wizards. Merlin hadn't told her much more than that. But it was enough to make her feel a little chilled just then.

She attempted a laugh that didn't quite come off. "You, Richard, breaking a rule?"

His mouth twisted oddly. "If I had not broken another… Well, never mind that now. I'll deal with the Council, if need be, when we return."

"This is very important," she realized.

"Very."

"Why?" She wasn't sure he would answer.

Merlin hesitated. "The less you know about the specifics, the better our chances of success."

"Really?" She couldn't help doubting that.

"Really, Serena. I'll take an oath if you like, but I hope you won't need that from me. The truth is I honestly believe that for you to know everything at this point is to invite potential disaster."

The sincerity in his voice convinced Serena he meant what he said. It was frustrating, but she had to trust that he knew what he was doing. "All right. What can you tell me?"

Merlin obviously chose his words carefully. "I believe that something went wrong in our past."

"Our past?"

"The past of wizards. I can't be sure, since it was so long ago and most of the records haven't survived- either because of the passage of time or because they were deliberately destroyed. All I am certain of is that we must go back and try to understand what happened."

She frowned. "And change it?"

Again he hesitated. "I don't know. That decision can only be made when we have more information. If we make a mistake-change too much or the wrong thing-we could destroy our present."

Serena felt another chill. "If we did that-made a mistake in the past, I mean-then couldn't we go back again and just fix the mistake?"

Merlin shook his head. "Not even a wizard can exist twice in the same time and place. Paradox: the bane of time travel. Once we go back, then we were there."

"Yes, but…" Serena chewed on her bottom lip as she tried to figure that out.

Patiently Merlin said, "There are two paradoxes in time travel. The first is our inability to alter our individual lives-our personal time lines-in any way whatsoever. Any change, however minor, affects who and what we became; that, in turn, affects our reason for going back in the first place."

Serena blinked. "Um… I'm confused."

He smiled briefly. "All right, then consider the example today's thinkers like to offer when they say time travel is impossible. Suppose you build a time machine, and it takes you back along your personal time line- which is, in effect, the direct line of your ancestry. You encounter your father years before your own conception. Either directly or merely by your presence, you influence events in his life, and he dies."

She waited, then said, "And so?"

"And so it isn't possible. If your father dies before your conception, then you are never born to build a time machine and travel back in time. Paradox."

That example worked. Serena nodded slowly. "I get it. We can't do anything that would directly affect our own present, because it would change too much for us to be able to go back."

"Close enough," Merlin murmured.

"But you said there were two kinds of paradoxes. What's the second one?"

"In a sense the second is much simpler. Once we go back, we were there. What do you suppose would happen, Serena, if you went back to the same place a second time and came face-to-face with yourself?"

She shivered. "That's eerie."

"It's also dangerous. The theory is that a duplication of self occupying the same place and time would fracture that time line. Destroy it-or unalterably change what must be."

Serena cleared her throat. "So what would happen to me in that case? Both of me?"

"I can only offer you another theoretical answer. In theory, there would be, from that point on, two separate Serena's in two separate-and probably quite different-time lines. Alternate lives, alternate futures, and both of you would be diminished."

"Yuk." She stared at him. "I don't like the sound of that at all."

"I should hope not."

"So we only go back once."

"We could go back to an earlier or later time, or another place in the same time, but we aren't allowed the luxury of repeating our actions until we're satisfied with them." He looked at her steadily. "It's a one-shot deal, Serena. We have to get it right the first time."

CHAPTER FIVE

After a moment she said, "But how can we go back into the past of wizards? Won't that affect our present?"

"Not yours or mine, no, at least not directly. I've traced our ancestries back as far as possible, and neither of our personal time lines in any way touches Atlantis."

Serena leaned forward slowly in her chair, reaching out for the edge of the desk as if for support. "Atlantis? The lost continent? That's where we're going?"

"Yes." A frown tugged at his brows, and he said almost to himself, "Still a risk if we change anything, unless there were no survivors. And if there were no survivors, how could what happened there have changed the history of wizards?"

A little numb, she murmured, "Another paradox?"

Merlin stopped scowling and shrugged. "Perhaps. But there must have been survivors. At least one. Someone had to tell the others what happened there. Someone had to know what had gone wrong, or else why would they have felt so strongly that they made the law-and made it so inviolate."

"What law?"

He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head a little. "The point is that someone must have survived the destruction of Atlantis, and because of that person's beliefs or experiences, a decision was made that altered the society of wizards. That's the only possible answer."

Aware that her question hadn't been answered, but assuming it was because she had strayed into the part of all this he didn't want her to know about, Serena merely said, "Are you sure it was only one person?"

"I'm not sure of anything. My guess is that there couldn't have been more than a few survivors. Atlantis was too remote, and travel too difficult in those days, for it to be very likely that many escaped."

"Surely they had time to plan their escape. Wouldn't there have been some kind of warning? I mean, the whole continent vanished. Even if it sank all at once, wouldn't the people have realized long before it actually happened that they were heading for disaster?"

Merlin shrugged again. "It's difficult to say. I doubt the continent existed in calm for years and then simply disappeared one day; there must have been earthquakes, volcanic activity-something. But that may have been going on for so long that the people simply accepted it as normal. Or they may have been trapped there with no way of escape. Or, even more likely, they may not have realized that their whole world could vanish so completely. Look at the people today who build houses and businesses along earthquake fault lines, Serena; they may know the risks intellectually, but do you honestly think they really face the knowledge that one day it could all be gone?"

"I see what you mean. So the people of Atlantis might have gone blindly to their fate. But at least one escaped."

"I believe that must have happened. Atlantis was so cut off from the other civilizations in the world that no one could have known for certain what happened there unless they were told by a witness."

"Were there a lot of wizards then?" Serena asked curiously.

"More than today-relative to the population at least. And those in Atlantis were probably in some sort of control over their society."

"I thought wizards didn't do that."

"Not now, and not for a long time. But then… who knows? Power has a way of corrupting, and at that time there weren't many other ways to be powerful. There was no worldwide society as there is today, no technology, only crude weapons. Though they were primitive by our standards, wizards must have stood head and shoulders above most others in terms of power."

Thinking of the romantic stories she knew of wizards, Serena said, "How were they primitive? I mean, look at some of the things your namesake did."

Merlin half closed his eyes in a pained expression. "Fiction, Serena. I've told you."

In a small, wistful voice, she said, "No King Arthur?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "I wouldn't go that far. But reality-if it was reality-can never measure up to legend. If there was a Merlin then, and if he was great, it was mostly by comparison to those around rum." Taking note of her dejected air, he decided to abandon the subject of Arthurian legend. "Serena, the wizards of Atlantis are probably first graders in relation to us. They're still learning to read and tell time and count without using their fingers."

She brightened just a bit and, using the same yardstick, said, "If they're first graders, where are you?"

"Working on my doctorate," he said promptly.

She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer, but asked anyway. "And me?"

He was silent and reflective long enough to make her nervous, but then said judiciously, "A few credits away from your baccalaureate, I'd say."

Surprised and a bit fluttered, she said, "I thought you'd say I was still in high school."

"You're still a long way from final graduation," he reminded her.

Serena nodded with a stab at meekness, but she was quite pleased by his assessment of her progress. One thing she did know about wizards was that it required a good many years of study to achieve the highest levels of the craft; she had gotten a late start, so if she had done as well as he said, she had every right to be proud of herself.

"In any case," Merlin went on, "we should certainly be able to hold our own with even the most powerful wizard of Atlantis."

Yanked from her self-congratulation, Serena felt a little shiver of unease. "You say that as if you expect us to land in the middle of a battle."

Merlin glanced down at the book before him again, then looked at her seriously. "I don't know what we're going to land in the middle of, but I'm expecting the worst. We should both expect the worst. The continent vanished, Serena; whatever happened there can't be good."

"That makes sense." She took a deep breath. "Okay. So what happens next?"

"First I have to teach you to completely shield your powers. After that I'll build the gate."

Somewhat confused, Serena said, "Shield my powers? You mean, from another wizard? I thought I could already do that."

"No. You shield your thoughts, but the fact that you possess power would be obvious to any other wizard who came near you. I must teach you to project a powerless facade so that no one, not even a Master wizard, will suspect you to be anything other than completely powerless."

"Why?" she asked slowly.

He looked at her for a long moment, as if considering whether to answer her, then said, "I have a hunch that it would be… more difficult for us to travel together if both of us are obvious wizards. But whether I'm right about that or not, it's still a prudent step to take. With your powers hidden from other wizards, we have an ace up our sleeve-and present a less-threatening appearance to those we encounter."

Serena chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then said, "It won't really affect me, will it? I mean, I'll still be able to use my powers if I need to?"

With that uneasy question, she reassured Merlin that he had made the right decision in electing not to tell her why they had to go back in time. If Serena had any idea that he could steal her powers from her, she would never be able to trust him-and he had a strong feeling her trust was needed.

"Of course you will," he replied calmly. "What I'll teach you to do will be rather like putting on a mask. You'll be able to see and hear clearly, and the mask will remain in place until you reach up and take it off. As long as you wear it, your powers-your true identity- will be hidden behind it. But only hidden. Not changed in any way."

Serena relaxed, not even aware until then that she had tensed. "That doesn't sound so bad. Will it take me long to learn?"

"A few days, I think. And a day at least for me to build the gate. You have a week's vacation left, don't you?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Owen won't be happy if I suddenly take off this coming week without warning," she said, referring to her boss, "but everything's caught up, so he really doesn't have an argument. I gather that's the idea? That I should start my vacation beginning tomorrow?"

"The sooner we get started, the better. I can close the office for the week and give Rachel the time off so we won't be disturbed at all."

"What'll we tell people? When we leave, I mean."

Merlin shook his head. "We won't tell them anything, because no one will ever know we even left the house. I'll set the gate to return us within minutes, no matter how long we spend in Atlantis."

Serena had to think about that for a moment, but then nodded. "We'll be in the past, so time won't advance in the present-right?"

"Right."

"So how much time will we spend in Atlantis? Relative time, I mean?"

Once again Merlin glanced down at the opened book on his desk before he replied. "If we're to be successful, I believe we have to be there at the end-or as close as possible. A month before the destruction, I think. That should give us enough time to observe and understand the society."

"You know exactly when it happened?"

He nodded. "Yes-another reason why I suspect there was at least one witness. The account of Atlantis's final hours is extremely detailed and seems to have been written from a ship at sea."

She looked curiously at the book lying open before him, but since it was upside down from her viewpoint, she was unable to see much. "That account?"

"This account," he confirmed with a slight nod.

"That isn't one of your books," she noted. From ancient times Apprentice wizards had been required, as part of their training, to hand-copy (with exquisite penmanship, no less) a complete set of spellbooks from their Master's library. This was required not only for the discipline gained in the long process of carefully copying the books, but also because spellbooks were never translated or printed.

Since Serena was in the process of copying her own set of spellbooks (only those in which she had completed her training), she could recognize all of Merlin's, and all the reference books in his library, as well; the book on his desk was something else. It looked very, very old, and she had the feeling that despite all her training and learning, she wouldn't have been able to read the enigmatic script.

"No," Merlin said, replying to her comment. "It was given to me, recently, by my own Master."

She hesitated, but since the topic didn't seem to be taboo, she said, "I never thought, but of course you would have had to be apprenticed to a Master when you were a child."

"In my case, the Master was my father." With a slight smile he added, "A difficult undertaking for both of us. Wizard or powerless, fathers and sons always seem to be at odds."

"He was a difficult taskmaster?"

"Not so much that as a… difference in personalities and temperament."

"You must take after your mother then," Serena ventured.

Merlin's face closed down instantly, as if a curtain had dropped. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

He shook his head abruptly to cut off her apology. "Never mind. We wandered from the point. This account of the destruction of Atlantis is very detailed, obviously from an eyewitness who was at sea. So there must have been at least one survivor."

Serena realized she had touched a nerve in her comment about his mother, but she had no idea why. Nor could she probe for an answer; his shuttered eyes made that clear. All she could do was follow his lead.

She was relieved to find a humorous angle in her own thoughts, and that relief was audible in her voice. "It just occurred to me that since the nonwizard world has no idea about some of this stuff, any powerless historian would just love to get his hands on your books."

Merlin smiled slightly. "They wouldn't be able to read a word."

"True." Serena thought for a moment, and found a genuine worry to distract her from everything else. "Something else occurs to me. Since we'll be in Atlantis just when everything's about to hit the fan-you will be able to get us out of there in a hurry, won't you?"

"If we're near the gate, certainly."

She stared at him. "If we're near it? You mean it's a fixed gate?"

Returning her stare, Merlin said, "Well, I don't propose to carry it around in my pocket."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. If we happen to get stuck away from the gate just when we need it, wouldn't you be able to make another? A spur-of-the-moment escape hatch, so to speak?"

"No. One gate causes a small rip in the space-time continuum, which is dangerous enough; a second gate could create a crosscurrent and make it impossible for either doorway to be closed. We don't want that to happen."

"I guess not." Serena frowned. "So there really is a space-time continuum?"

"Of course."

"Oh. I thought the science fiction writers made that up."

"So do they."

Serena laughed, and realized only then that in the surprise of Merlin's announcement about their forthcoming trip, she had completely forgotten the tension between them. It felt more like old times, talking to him like this without difficulty, as if no trouble had sprung up between them.

Remembering, of course, brought all the emotions and stress back to mind, and even as Serena heard her laugh trail off, she saw Merlin's smile fade, as well. The tension hadn't vanished, it had merely been ignored for a while.

Would she really have all her questions answered by the time they returned from Atlantis? Even the painful ones-like the identity of his blond bedmate? Would this trip be a panacea for their strained relationship, or would it only make matters worse between them?

"Serena…"

She looked at him, at the awareness in his eyes, and wondered despairingly if she had forever lost her ability to keep her feelings hidden from him. It seemed so.

Carefully neutral, she said, "So you want to get started first thing tomorrow?"

He nodded slowly in reply, but said, "Serena, what we have to do is going to be difficult enough without-"

She couldn't let him finish that, and got up even as she spoke briskly. "I know. Look, neither of us has eaten supper, so why don't I go and see what Rachel left for us?"

"Fine."

When he was alone again in the study, Merlin gazed broodingly down at the open book on his desk, trying to forget the naked moment with Serena. He was able to push it aside, if only because there were so many other things to think about.

Odd the twists and turns fete pursued. If his father had not given him this book, the "reference material" that contained the procedure to take Serena's powers, he would never have found what he had searched for all these months. It wasn't an answer, but it was definitely a beginning.

The book seemed to have been written long after Atlantis's destruction and long after the law forbidding women to become wizards had been created. But in the section of the book detailing the extended and elaborate procedure used to render a female powerless (Merlin refused even to read the actual procedure), there were numerous vague references to "the dark times" and allusions to some dreadful cataclysm.

As the judge had said, there was nothing specific in this book about the reasons for the law, but the use of the word cataclysm had struck Merlin forcibly. How many true cataclysms had there been in all of history? Not many, really, given the span of time. And in the history of wizards, none was claimed to have had any meaningful effect on their society.

Yet in this same book, in another section dealing with the historical accuracy of certain events, was an old account of the destruction of Atlantis, clearly written by an eyewitness who had been, of course, a wizard. (The doings of powerless beings were detailed by their own books.) Though the account was concise and detailed, it was not dispassionate; there was anger and bitterness and pain in every word. And after the bald details of what a continent looked like as it wrenched itself apart and sank into the ocean, there was one line that had made Merlin's heart suddenly beat faster.

We mustn't let it happen to us.

A great deal of meaning could be inferred from that brief statement. "It" had to be the destruction of the continent; and "us" had to be the other wizards, the ones who had lived, then, primarily in Europe. The implication was that the eyewitness had been a visitor to Atlantis. And the statement was a strong indication that the wizards of Atlantis had somehow caused their own destruction.

Speculation, certainly, but possible.

It had taken hours of searching through his library for Merlin to find any other information about Atlantis, and what he did find was sketchy. The society there had seemed to be one of great promise, its people strong and healthy, their land fertile, and their community vigorous. There were definitely wizards among the powerless; Merlin couldn't find out how many because whole passages in several of his books and scrolls were completely illegible, and nothing he tried had any effect.

As if the information had been deliberately destroyed.

Still, there was enough to convince Merlin he was on the right track. Common sense told him that the taboos against women must have resulted from some immense traumatic event (a good definition of a cataclysm, he thought, would be the destruction of an entire continent), and it was surely no coincidence that much of the information regarding Atlantis was as elusive as that regarding female wizards.

From that deduction it was only natural to consider going back in time to find out what had happened.

It wouldn't be the first instance of time travel for Merlin, so the actual journey didn't disturb him-even without the permission of the Council. He wasn't even unduly alarmed at the prospect of landing on a continent about which he knew next to nothing except that it was about to vanish under the sea. His worries were more complicated.

What tormented him the most was Serena, and what he would have to do to her if the past held nothing to help him. He would have to destroy her. To see the astonishing trust in her eyes turn to horror and fear… and pain.

Merlin tried to shake off the thoughts; there was no use worrying until he knew whether or not the past offered anything helpful. But he couldn't stop thinking about Serena; he'd never been able to do that. Not since she'd grown up.

Was he being reckless as well as irrational in taking her with him into the past? There was no real reason for that course of action, after all. He had certainly never needed help, and given the tension between them, her presence was likely to cause more strain than he wanted or needed to deal with. There was no reason at all for her to accompany him.

Was there?

He'd been sitting here at the desk for hours with that question in his mind, and had come to a decision only when Serena walked into the study. It might have been because he was a fair man and this certainly concerned her; it might have been because he had a hunch that this time he would need help-her help-to attempt to understand what had gone wrong in the society of wizards.

Might have been, but wasn't.

Ever since he had talked with his father, Merlin had been struggling to cope with the painful knowledge that the older wizard had not trusted his wife of twenty years, despite her fidelity, trust, and devotion, and that she might have killed herself because of it. That, more than anything else, revealed to Merlin just how tragic and unnatural was the wizards' reflexive wariness and mistrust of women.

When Serena had walked into the study, he had looked at her and had felt the disturbing jumble of emotions that had become painfully familiar these days-and his father's words had echoed inside his head. There is no place in your life for a woman of power… It's not in me to trust a woman, just like it isn't in you… You feel it's true even if you don't think it is, and that kind of conflict will tear you apart.

His deepest instincts were at war with his intellect, and Serena, innocent and unsuspecting, was in the middle of that battle. If there was something in Atlantis that would help resolve his conflict, Merlin intended to find it, and he wanted Serena to be with him when he did. In the end his decision to take her with him was just that simple.

As it turned out, both Serena and Merlin had to go to their offices early on Monday to arrange to take the remainder of the week off, so they decided at breakfast to begin getting ready for their forthcoming trip in the early afternoon.

Serena met Jane for lunch, mostly because she knew her friend was sincerely worried about her. Their broken shopping date on Saturday, as well as Serena's recent preoccupation, had convinced the lively brunet that Kane's column had caused all kinds of problems, and it required Serena's best efforts to convince her otherwise.

After soothing her friend, she returned home to find the house deserted. Rachel had gone, and Merlin apparently hadn't gotten home yet. Serena changed into jeans and then, on impulse, went downstairs to his study. The door wasn't barred, which was something of a relief for more reasons than one.

What she wanted were a few answers. She didn't know if she could find anything Merlin wanted to keep from her, but she had to try because she had the uneasy feeling that what he was doing-his apparent dispute with the Council of Elders and his flouting of their authority in his decision to travel through time without permission-was somehow her fault.

Besides that, there was simply too much curiosity in her nature to allow a puzzle to continue unchallenged.

For the first time, Serena entered Merlin's study with her mind and senses deliberately wide open-and as soon as she crossed the threshold, she felt breathless. She realized that her own strong mental shields had always blocked whatever energies were contained in the ancient writings-but she felt them now.

Not a negative force, the sense she had was of sheer power, muted and dormant. She leaned back against the doorjamb and half closed her eyes, cautiously probing. And at the extreme edge of her awareness, she almost heard soft whisperings of a hundred, a thousand voices.

The languages were varied, but all were obscure and contained Latin phrases and strange words that belonged to no language mankind had ever known. Or had ever heard, even when it had been spoken.

Her veiled gaze traveled slowly around the room, sliding over books and scrolls, then stopped. She pushed herself away from the door and walked to the shelves between two windows. A particular book, oversize and so old that the leather had been worn almost to nothing, seemed to pull at her. She had never noticed this book before. It wasn't the one that had lain open on his desk; that book was not in the room.

Damn him-he knew her too well.

She got the other book down, the one that seemed to tug at her senses. Handling it carefully, she carried it to Merlin's desk; then holding it balanced on its spine, she allowed the book to open where it would.

A glance showed Serena that the language was totally alien to her, and she wasted no time in trying to decipher the unfamiliar symbols. But there was a full-page illustration on the righthand side, a stark, black-and-white drawing. It was faded by time so that little of it was even identifiable to her. She thought it represented a terrible conflict; bright jagged lines like lightning bolts seemed to be emanating from some kind of structure, and framed by what looked like a lighted window, two human figures struggled.

Serena touched the drawing and almost instantly drew her fingers back. She felt unsettled, strangely anxious and almost afraid. It was a primitive fear, like something rustling in a dark corner of her mind.

Bad. The simple word of a child, yet it encompassed what Serena felt about the drawing.

Unwilling to look through the rest of the book, she closed it and returned it to the shelf. That was when she saw the box. It lay on a higher shelf and was built of some glossy dark wood, every inch of which was carved with strange symbols. She'd never seen it before, even though she had been in this room often over the years.

Had she missed it until now because her senses had never been open? Was the strange box one of the things in a wizard's world that had no substance until it was seen? She lifted it down; it was about two feet long, eight inches wide, and eight inches deep. It was heavy, and she could see no seam, no hinge or lid of any kind.

She carried it to the desk and set it down, then studied the box intently. The symbols were vaguely familiar to her, and she thought she might have seen them somewhere else, in a different combination, perhaps in one of Merlin's spellbooks. She felt along the edges of the box very carefully with just the tips of her fingers, but could still distinguish no seam or opening of any kind.

"Damn," she muttered.

"Ever heard of Pandora's box?"

With a guilty start she looked up to find Merlin leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look angry-but then, she hadn't had much luck in interpreting his expressions lately, so she couldn't be sure.

Sighing, she said, "Yes, I've heard of it. Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop. Well, I did, actually, but I shouldn't have, so I'm sorry."

Merlin inclined his head slightly, as if accepting the apology, but his eyes were speculative. "Open the box, Serena."

She started to say she could see no way to open it, but then she realized. If there was no apparent seam, no hinges or handles or obvious lock, then clearly it was meant to be opened by less-conventional means.

This was not something Serena had been taught to do. And since she hadn't been able to open the study door when Merlin had barred it, she wasn't at all sure she would have much luck with the sealed box. But given his permission and urged on by her own curiosity, she gave it her best shot.

Without actually touching the wood, she glided her fingers along the edges very slowly, allowing her senses to probe. She could feel something inside the box, something that radiated the warmth of power, and her fascination grew. She focused her concentration even more, using her energies to delicately explore the box. Searching… searching…

The lid of the box silently lifted.

Serena caught her breath, staring. Inside, cradled on a bed of black silk, lay the most curious-looking thing she had ever seen in her life. It was a staff about twenty inches long and made of carved wood that was heavily inlaid with gold and crusted with numerous jewels. At one end, obviously the top, was a large round crystal, polished to a flawless finish and about the size of a man's fist. Below the crystal, a narrow band of gold encircled the staff, and below that were diamond-shaped bits of inlaid gold, each set with a marquise diamond of several karats.

The handgrip, about halfway down the staff, was made of brushed gold; immediately above and below the grip was a heavy ridge of large rubies encircling the staff, the stones a brilliant scarlet. Below the handgrip, the staff began to narrow, finishing almost at a point. Along the lower section were three inlaid bands of gold, each set with several radiant sapphires.

Serena understood the significance of the various stones. The crystal was the most obvious; from ancient times it had been used by wizards, seers, and other beings of power to divine the future. Diamonds were known as the "king-gems" and symbolized fearlessness and invincibility, as well as conferring superior strength, fortitude, and courage on one who possessed them. Rubies symbolized command, nobility, and lordship, as well as vengeance. Sapphires, particularly blue ones, represented wisdom, high and magnanimous thoughts, and vigilance.

Gold, in the society of wizards, denoted absolute truth-and absolute power.

Tearing her eyes away from the incredibly beautiful staff, Serena looked across the room at Merlin and almost whispered, "What is it?"

For a moment he didn't move or answer, merely looking back at her with a slight frown and narrowed eyes. But then he left the open doorway and came to the desk, halting to the left of Serena so that no more than a foot of space separated them.

He wasn't looking at her now, but at the staff. With his left hand he lifted it from its box, holding it horizontally, then turning his wrist so that the staff came upright, the crystal at the top gleaming and every gem catching the light and reflecting it in white, red, and blue fire. The gold handgrip fit his hand perfectly.

"The staff of a Master wizard," Merlin said slowly. "Made by his hand, without power. The stones have to be gathered from all over the world, and the gold has to be mined. Everything borrowed from the earth, from the wood of the staff to the crystal crowning it."

Serena turned her head to stare up at him. "You made it? Without any of your powers?"

He met her gaze, his own grave. "With my powers, it would have been easy. But the final step from Advanced wizard to Master is the learning of a very simple lesson. Nothing should be too easy, Serena. We can never forget that we were meant to work at life."

Gazing into his black eyes, she felt… caught. Had they been this close before? Yes, when they danced. But dances were public, and this felt very, very private.

"If you made it without power," she managed to say, "then why can I feel power emanating from it?"

"What you feel is my power." He spoke as quietly as she had, his low voice a little husky. "The staff is a conduit, channeling and focusing energies. In ancient times, it was used like a wand to direct the current of a wizard's energy in a specific direction; now it's more a symbol. But a Master's staff always absorbs and holds a part of his power. A part of himself."

From the corner of her eye, Serena caught movement and realized that he was returning the staff to its box, but she couldn't take her eyes off his face. She had the curious idea that she had never looked at him before.

Merlin half turned toward her and lifted one hand as if to touch her. But then his face changed subtly and he was moving away from her, around to the other side of the desk. Serena was left feeling bereft, struggling silently against the urge to reach out to him or say his name-anything to recapture that instant of closeness.

But she knew it was gone, gone because he had pushed it away. Gone because there were boundaries they weren't supposed to cross, that was what he'd said.

Serena drew a breath. "Do you want me to put the box back on the shelf?"

"No, leave it." He was opening one of several books on the big desk, frowning down at it. "We'll need the copy of Gray's Spells and Incantations. Could you get it, please?"

"Yes, of course." She left the study without another word. Obviously he wanted to be alone for a couple of minutes, she decided. Not a bad idea; she could use a little time to pull herself together.

When she'd gone, Merlin looked after her for a moment and then turned his gaze to the staff in its box. The lid of the box closed silently when he directed it to, and it returned to the shelf where Serena had found it.

He sat down in the chair behind the desk and drew a deep breath. This time the tightness in his chest didn't ease at all. Once again Serena had jarred him with an unprecedented ability. Only a Master wizard could open the box containing his staff, and her ability to open his had caught him completely off guard despite his invitation for her to do it.

What else could she do? Three times now she had gotten closer to him than anyone ever had, twice inside his very consciousness and now this.

The urge to protect himself was almost overwhelming, and his struggle to master that instinctive alarm was a fierce inner battle. In the end all he could do was reach a truce with the primitive emotions Serena had awakened inside him-a momentary peace, but no resolution.

It was enough, he thought as he heard Serena's light step on the stairs. It would have to be enough.

"It doesn't look like a gate," Serena said, contemplating one corner of Merlin's study.

The corner did indeed look quite innocent on this Friday morning, with nothing to mark its importance except for a very slight shimmer in the air-like heat radiating off pavement on a summer's day-which seemed to hold the shape of an arch.

"Why that corner?" she asked. "I mean, why not one of the other corners?"

Merlin leaned back against his desk, one hand resting lightly on the box containing his staff, and shook his head. "We're about to journey back in time to a lost continent-a lost world-and you're worried about why I chose a particular corner among four of them in which to build the gate?"

Serena sighed. "Okay, so I'm nervous. I've never traveled through time before. What do I expect?"

"It won't be like stepping through a doorway," he told her. "There will be a period of… unusual sensation. Darkness probably, and sounds."

She didn't have the nerve to question him for more specifics. "Oh."

Merlin smiled slightly, but went on in the same matter-of-fact tone. "I've set the gate to help us blend into our surroundings once we reach Atlantis. We'll hear the people there speak in English, and they'll hear us respond to them in their own language; that way, if the language is completely unfamiliar to us, we won't be at a disadvantage. And our clothing will be whatever is suitable."

Serena looked down at her sweater and jeans. "Suitable? What if they're nudists?"

"Then we'll be naked."

She wasn't particularly shy, but found that idea appalling. "I hope you aren't serious."

Still smiling faintly, Merlin said, "Serena, communal nudity isn't at all likely. In feet, you'll no doubt think they wear far too many clothes-especially since you'll presumably be in some kind of skirt."

She winced. "Great. Something guaranteed to get in my way for sure. Can't I keep my jeans and call it a new style?"

"No."

She watched him pick up the box containing his staff and tuck it underneath one arm, and felt a wave of panic. They were going. They were really going, right now. "Um… are you sure I'm ready for this?"

"Certain. Your mask of powerlessness is perfect, Serena. No wizard we encounter will be able to sense anything else."

"Maybe, but I could always use another lesson. For instance, I'm not quite sure-"

"Serena."

She looked at him, then drew a breath. "All right. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

He held out his free hand to her, and when she took it, twined their fingers together securely. "Hold on," he instructed.

That was something Serena didn't need to be told. She wasn't about to let go of him. The reality of what they were about to do had hit her only last night when she was supposed to be resting for the trip, and now only her trust in Merlin enabled her to walk to the gate beside him.

They paused for an instant, their glances meeting briefly, green eyes and black both holding glimmers of wariness and uncertainty-and then stepped through the gate together.

She knew the village men had finally left her even though there was no respite from the pain they had inflicted. It washed over her in glittering white-hot waves, causing her muscles to jerk feebly in a response far beyond her control. But her mind was clear and calm, her thoughts almost peaceful and detached from the pain of her poor, tortured body.

She was dying. Roxanne knew that, but it didn't seem to matter very much to her. She wished idly that they hadn't left her naked, but the coldness of doe ground beneath her no longer disturbed her, and she fancied she could feel the first warmth of the rising sun and sense its light.

She heard a faint sound and, untroubled and vaguely curious, considered what it might be. Footsteps? Perhaps. Coming toward her, she thought. It was morning now, and the village men wouldn't hurt her anymore. Couldn't hurt her anymore.

No one in Atlantia could hurt her now.