Jane arrived back at the Dorans’ soaking from the cold rain that had begun as soon as she had stepped out of the hospital. Glancing at the clock as she passed through the (thankfully empty) kitchen, she grabbed a pear from the center island’s fruit bowl and took a large bite. Take that, Lynne, she thought cheerfully, still buzzed from the magic in her system. I’m not just snacking between meals—I’m snacking on carbs!

A furtive movement in the shadows of the hall caught her attention, and she froze mid-swallow. “Sofia?” she asked softly, but she knew that it wasn’t the timid maid. The figure that she was beginning to make out was tall, broad, and the slightest bit stooped. Charles.

He was watching her from the hallway, his dull, dark eyes riveted on her body. Willing him not to move, she circled slowly around the marble-covered island. He was out of her line of sight now, but here she had more access to weapons: there were about twenty copper pots and kettles within easy reach, and the massive butcher-block knife-holder was just a few steps away. She armed herself with one of each for good measure and began circling in the opposite direction toward the kitchen’s other entrance, the one closest to the nondescript wooden door that led to the stairs and the street. It was cold and wet outside, but surely that was better than being cornered by a lunatic.

Her position by the door afforded a view of the hallway again. She lifted the kettle at the ready, then blinked. The corridor was empty. Charles was gone.

Before Jane could register what this might mean, a footstep sounded loud and clear . . . and right behind her. She let out a short shriek and spun around.

“Goodness, dear,” Cora McCarroll tsked. “Are you cooking something? Did you forget where the staff call button was?” She gestured vaguely toward the electronic panel in the wall and stared hard at Jane, sucking in her lower lip speculatively.

“I . . . I thought I saw Charles,” Jane admitted, and mentally kicked herself for her uncertain tone. She didn’t “think” anything. “He was in the hallway just now,” she declared a little more firmly.

Cora blinked her gray eyes and ran her fingers along her pink pearl necklace. “He certainly wasn’t. Poor thing just can’t stand being downstairs; he’s happiest where he is. Now. Perhaps you would join me for a soothing cup of tea?” She nodded pointedly at the kettle in Jane’s hand; Jane set it down gently on the back of the range.

“Thank you,” she recited automatically, slipping the knife back into its slot, “but I think I had better get changed.”

“Yes,” Cora mused, her eyes raking Jane up and down. “You’re positively dripping.”

Jane gave a forced smile and beat a hasty retreat, tapping the code to bolt her bedroom door as soon as she was safely inside. She let out a loud sigh and kicked off her sopping suede boots. They were probably ruined—she couldn’t remember if Vivienne, her shoe shopper at Barneys, had said that they were waterproofed or “needed to be” waterproofed. Either way, they looked distressingly soggy.

She was about to go to her en-suite bathroom for a towel to pat them dry when a spark of leftover magic tingled in her fingers, giving her a better idea. “If you have a free minute, you might as well be practicing,” Dee had been reminding her about three times a day.

Jane set her dripping left boot in the center of the dark wood floor and sat down cross-legged in front of it. She worked to still her mind the way Dee had taught her, trying to gather her thoughts like fireflies in a jar. It was difficult: the loose, unconstrained power she had felt in the room with Harris kept trying to fight its way free. And as much as she knew that she couldn’t just go off like a grenade every time she got worked up, that wild magic felt . . . good.

Eventually, after many yoga fire breaths, her mind calmed. Her thoughts flowed out, and magic took their place. Electricity vibrated in her blood, unusually clear and strong. She tried to pack it all together, like a snowball, but over and over it slipped from her control.

Perhaps I should keep my distance from Harris, she considered. I clearly can’t be trusted around him, and he has enough on his plate with Maeve. Besides . . . The magic began to settle low in her body, and she shook herself all over. Snap out of it. Just focus.

Sweat dampened her temples and the nape of her neck, and Jane finally managed to concentrate a small bundle of energy behind her eyes. Snapping her eyes open, she sent the magic skittering toward the boot in a warm burst.

The boot shivered noticeably in place, like a dog shaking off after a dip in the ocean. A few droplets of water scattered onto the dark floorboards.

Jane’s muscles throbbed in exhaustion. Magic: the new core-blasting workout. That raised an interesting point: anything this tiring had to burn calories. Maybe if she practiced enough, she would lose an inch or two off her hips, and Lynne would quit harping on every little thing she ate. Maybe I’ll even be allowed to finish a complete meal sometime in the next month without something being removed, substituted, altered, or just plain snatched out from under my nose. Newly motivated, she straightened her back once again and fixed the boot with her witchiest stare.

Ten minutes later, the boot was mostly dry and lying on its side, and Jane was prepared to call that a victory. She collapsed heavily on a particularly ugly but very cushy Oriental rug, the magic still singing in her veins. Her muscles might be tired, but the power was still there, and that was somehow comforting.

Worn out though she was, the humming drone of the magic made her mind feel awake and alert, as if every sense was heightened. Her breathing sped up, and her thoughts scattered, shifting from Malcolm to Maeve and finally landing on Harris. In the steady quiet of her new focus, she could recognize that her attraction to him stemmed directly from the magic in both their bloodstreams. She also knew that there would be no happy ending for their friendship, or whatever it was they had, so long as Lynne was watching them like a well-dressed vulture.

Jane stretched her arms above her head, the magic beginning to flow out of her. That was where all of the trouble had started, anyway: those magical impulses that had drawn her so strongly to Malcolm and then to Harris.

She thought of her first encounter with Malcolm: the spark of his touch at the auction, just from his hand brushing hers when he’d given her his card. The flame had shot through her entire body when he had lifted her, broken shoe and all, off the sidewalk and into his waiting limo. No reasonable woman could be expected to resist that kind of overwhelming assault on her defenses. She pictured the dark blond waves of his hair, the deeper color of his eyebrows, and then his deep, liquid dark eyes. When her mental eye conjured the full curve of his lips, she sighed, recalling the fiery shudders those lips had sent racing across her skin.

Just like magic.

Jane’s hands moved down across her body as if they had a life of their own, following the same path that Malcolm’s large, strong hands had that very first night. The magic thrummed in response, and it felt as if every nerve ending in her body was poised and ready to fire. She undid the tiny shell buttons running down the front of her sweater and let it fall open, thinking wryly that if Malcolm really were there, a few of those buttons would be gone for good. Her fingertips brushed against her bare skin, raising goose bumps on the pale flesh.

In her mind’s eye, Malcolm’s warm mouth moved up her thighs, bare under her fluttery layered skirt, and her fingers followed after it, stroking and caressing in the best approximation of his tongue that she could manage. The pulse of the magic in her blood more than made up the difference; it was as if Malcolm were actually in the room, his breath hot against her body. The delicious tension built, her fingers moving faster, until she reached the most powerful climax of her life. She opened her eyes, breathing hard, and honestly expected to see Malcolm’s dark gaze peering down on her. But of course the room was still empty.

A tear slipped down her cheek, salty with exhaustion, release, and longing. Then her eyes fluttered shut, and she fell asleep where she lay, half-naked on the wooden floor.