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and vulnerabilities as well, and her demand was like a witch‟s spell. If it had been uttered twice, or more catastrophically, the irreversible three times, it would have taken him over. He would have obeyed her without thought.
    Or maybe not. Surrender and submission were inseparable from love, care, protection. Without those things, the soul was lost, along with the treasure. A Mistress had taught him that. His Mistress, or rather, the Mistress, the one who‟d allowed him to be hers, even if she belonged to another.

    Not for the first time in the past few hours, he realized that history might be problematic. Yeah, that’s an understatement. He was in uncharted territory, pursuing someone who wasn‟t part of a life that was a large part of his. Maybe that was the real reason he hadn‟t called her for months, even knowing he could have gotten the number from Marguerite. But he hadn‟t forgotten her, had wanted her, and when he‟d heard her voice on the phone, he knew he didn‟t want to deny himself the pleasure of getting to know her. He‟d accepted it as fate, but he was well aware he could be rationalizing a path to catastrophe, for both of them.
    As he helped her into the Jeep and made sure her seatbelt was securely fastened, he noted her downcast eyes, bruised with lack of sleep. Brushing her cheek with his knuckles, he won an attempt at a real smile.
    It was never easy or simple. Something worth having never was.
    * * * * *
    When Brendan dropped her off, he told her that he‟d come back for her at the end of the day. Walked her to the side porch of the tea room. Held her hand. A part of her wanted him to kiss her, but she had no idea what she herself wanted. She‟d never realized her own thoughts could turn her into a lunatic.
    She must have conveyed that indecision, because after a steady, searching look, he squeezed her hands and took a step back, nodding to her before heading back down the narrow path to the roadside parking. She thought she detected an expression of regret, like he‟d hoped for more of a signal from her for the kiss. Or she might be reading way too much into it. He could be thinking, “Okay, be a good kid, play well with others, and don‟t give away the carrots I put in your Barbie lunchbox.” He hadn‟t fucked her, though she‟d all but begged him. Maybe she understood why he‟d turned her down, but his decision not to kiss her now took some of that understanding away. A nice guy? Was that what she really wanted? Any other day there would have been callous, insensitive, only-thinking-with-their-dicks Neanderthals lined up ten deep everywhere she looked, ready to take advantage of her desire for rough, violent sex.
    He‟d stopped at the Jeep, his hand on the latch, and now he looked back, met her gaze. What was it that showed in her face? She didn‟t know, but he let go of the handle and considered her from head to toe, standing on the steps.
    She hadn‟t worn anything particularly alluring today. She was dressed up enough to be presentable for work, no more, no less. Usually she went for some kind of amulet, a few strings of colorful beads, unique costume jewelry that fit her flowing clothes or faded jeans and quirky T-shirts. She loved wild, floppy hats with feathers, decorated the brims with vintage brooches she found. She might wear a ribboned cameo at her throat, or poison vial amulets. Some days she went for the natural look, her jewelry just a seashell or rock she‟d found, strung on a silk cord.

    Rather than being the armor they were for many other people, her clothes and accessories were part of her honest language, the way she laughed and talked to the world, which sang back in multiple colors and textures.
    If anyone could live on the curve of a rainbow, it would be you. Gen had said that to her.
    Over a year ago.
    Today, her throat was painfully bare, her outfit bland. Jewelry and color were the last things she‟d been thinking about this morning. But as his gaze