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she encountered a morning traffic jam on University, the cars didn’t miraculously disappear.
    If her powers had arrived full blown and out of control, something else would have happened by now.
    She stopped only briefly in her office before going to Michael Found’s. And during that time, she got annoyed at herself for adjusting her skirt, and brushing loose strands of hair into place. It felt like she wanted to impress him, and not because he was the new chairman of the department. Maybe she’d be able to forget how handsome he was, and concentrate instead on letting him know that she wasn’t as flaky as she seemed.
    Her high heels clicked on the concrete stairs as she made her way to Professor Found’s office. When she reached the top, she felt calmer.
    Helen sat at a large desk in a vast open area that in any other profession would have been known as reception. But she wasn’t a receptionist. She guarded the copy machine, the fax, and all the other equipment, and let a graduate assistant handle the phones.
    She waved a hand in greeting as Emma passed. Emma started toward Mort’s office, but Helen pointed her in the opposite direction.
    Emma walked down the narrow corridor, reading the names beneath the numbers on the steel doors. Ultimately, she didn’t need to: Professor Found’s door was open, and he was waiting for her inside.
    His office was a surprise. It was bigger than hers—which she expected. All offices in the administrative section of the building were large—but it seemed warm and friendly. Bookshelves covered the walls, and plants hung off every available surface.
    The furniture was ergonomically designed—she recognized the styles from the ads—except for the reading chair in the corner. It was upholstered with thick heavy cushions that bore the imprint of Michael Found’s body. A footstool sat in front of it, and books spilled off the table beside it onto the floor. She couldn’t see the titles from the door, but not all of them seemed like scholarly tomes.
    He was standing behind his desk. He wore jeans and a red and black checked flannel shirt that accented his flat torso and his blond hair. Up close, his eyes seemed even bluer than they had in the lecture hall—the bright blue of a summer sky.
    â€œProfessor Lost,” he said.
    â€œProfessor Found.”
    She suppressed the urge to giggle. No wonder the students had started cracking jokes.
    â€œI’ve read your book.”
    Her breath caught in her throat. She had been planning to ask him to reschedule the meeting, but she wanted to hear what he thought of her work first. “I hope you enjoyed it.”
    His fingers formed little tents on the desktop. His gaze hadn’t left her face, but it felt as if his expression had gotten even more remote. “Close the door, please.”
    She stepped inside and pushed the door shut with her foot. A compliment usually didn’t take a closed door. She braced herself. This wouldn’t be the first time a man had tried to take advantage of her small stature behind a closed door, although until that moment, she hadn’t thought Michael Found the type.
    â€œYour book,” he said slowly, “is the biggest pile of bunk I had ever read.”
    She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. He wanted her to close the door so that he could trash her book? No one had trashed her book. It was a critical and popular success. It had gotten her offers from some of the best universities in the nation. It had gotten her this job.
    â€œBunk?” she said softly.
    â€œBunk,” he repeated. “The research is shoddy, the conclusions poor and the study of paganism has absolutely no basis in fact.”
    No wonder he had looked so interested in her comment about magic the day before. He had read her book. She had discussed some of the systems in Chapter Fifteen.
    â€œAll of my work is based in fact,” she