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thought, wasn’t ripped. Cautiously, she pushed up the sleeve, andthere, where she’d been badly scraped and bruised, her skin was smooth and unmarred.
    She looked back at Flynn. He stood silently as his horse idly cropped at the ground. Temper was in his eyes, and she could all but see the sparks of impatience shooting off him.
    Well, she had a temper of her own if she was pushed far enough. And her own patience was at an end. “What is this place?” she demanded, striding up to him. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done? How have you done it? How the devil can I be here when I can’t possibly be here? That car—” She flung her hand out. “I couldn’t have driven it here. I couldn’t have.” Her arm dropped limply to her side. “How could I?”
    â€œYou know what I told you last night was the truth.”
    She did know. With her anger burned away, she did know it. “I need to sit down.”
    â€œThe ground’s damp.” He caught her arm before she could just sink to the floor of the forest. “Here, then.” And he lowered her gently into a high-backed chair with a plump cushion of velvet.
    â€œThank you.” She began to laugh, and burying her face in her hands, shook with it. “Thank you very much. I’ve lost my mind. Completely lost my mind.”
    â€œYou haven’t. But it would help us both considerably if you’d open it a bit.”
    She lowered her hands. She was not a hysterical woman, and would not become one. She no longer feared him. However savagely handsome his looks, he’d done her no harm. The fact was, he’d tended to her.
    But facts were the problem, weren’t they? The fact that she couldn’t be here, but was. That he couldn’t exist, yet did. The fact that she felt what she felt, without reason.
    Once upon a time, she thought, then drew a long breath.
    â€œI don’t believe in fairy tales.”
    â€œNow, then, that’s very sad. Why wouldn’t you? Do you think any world can exist without magic? Where doesthe color come from, and the beauty? Where are the miracles?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t have any answers. Either I’m having a very complex dream or I’m sitting in the woods in a”—she got to her feet to turn and examine the chair—“a marquetry side chair, Dutch, I believe, early eighteenth century. Very nice. Yes, well.” She sat again. “I’m sitting here in this beautiful chair in a forest wrapped in mists, having ridden here on that magnificent horse, after having spent the night in a castle—”
    â€œ ’Tisn’t a castle, really. More a manor.”
    â€œWhatever, with a man who claims to be more than five hundred years old.”
    â€œFive hundred and twenty-eight, if we’re counting.”
    â€œReally? You wear it quite well. A five-hundred-and-twenty-eight-year-old magician who collects Pez dispensers.”
    â€œCanny little things.”
    â€œAnd I don’t know how any of it can be true, but I believe it. I believe all of it. Because continuing to deny what I see with my own eyes makes less sense than believing it.”
    â€œThere.” He beamed at her. “I knew you were a sensible woman.”
    â€œOh, yes, I’m very sensible, very steady. So I have to believe what I see, even if it’s irrational.”
    â€œIf that which is rational exists, that which is irrational must as well. There is ever a balance to things, Kayleen.”
    â€œWell.” She sat calmly, glancing around. “I believe in balance.” The air sparkled. She could feel it on her face. She could smell the deep, dark richness of the woods. She could hear the trill of birdsong. She was where she was, and so was he.
    â€œSo, I’m sitting in this lovely chair in an enchanted forest having a conversation with a five-hundred-and-twenty-eight-year-old magician. And, if all