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her when he first showed up, looking like a scared little boy, who had just lost everything precious to him. That need turned into a friendship she cherished. He became the little brother she never had, and her ability to be objective when he had to vent, give her opinion when he was brave enough to ask for it, created a bond she knew would last.
    The chime of the front door bell had her sitting up. “Thank you, whoever you are.” A distraction—she really needed a distraction about now.
    “Hi, there.” A thin, bald man walked up to the counter, with the strut that short men seemed to adopt around a tall woman. He exuded confidence, holding out one long, graceful hand. “I’m J.J., and you are gorgeous.”
    Annie felt herself blush. Even Eric hadn’t given her a compliment for some time. She pushed aside the poke of guilt at her own reaction to his latest attempts—hormone-driven sarcasm. He most likely stopped to keep from being shouted at by a pregnant woman. Annie had discovered a sharp edge to her tongue, along with a mean that colored her usual smart mouth comments. A mean she couldn’t always control.
    She smoothed her shirt, smiled at him. “How can I help?”
    He pulled out the most beautiful tarot deck she’d ever seen. “I was looking for some lessons. I inherited this from my aunt, but she never taught me how to use them.”
    “May I?”
    He smiled, holding out the deck. “They are irresistible. Painted by some gypsy artist, according to their history. I always find the history of objects so fascinating. Don’t you?”
    “It depends on the object.” She thought of the box she trapped a homicidal fire elemental in. No desire to know the history of that box. At all. “These really are . . .” Her voice faded when she touched the cards. They felt warm, and—welcoming. She learned tarot as a favor to Claire, so they could share the duty in the store. But this deck called to her, made her want to lay out a complex spread, just to see what it could do, what secrets it held. “Wow.”
    “I felt the same.” J.J. gave her a charming smile. “There really is a pull with them. I never cared one way or the other about this kind of thing,” he waved at the store, “until I first received the cards. Now, I can’t seem to learn enough fast enough.”
    “I know what you mean. I developed my power at a late age—why am I telling you that?” She looked over at him. “I never tell anyone about that.”
    “Guess I just have one of those faces. People want to reveal all to me.” He smiled again, touching the edge of the deck. “You are a practicing witch.”
    “Not at the moment, but yes.” Because she couldn’t stand the need, the itch in her fingers to work these cards, she started laying out a Celtic Cross. “Damn—these are gorgeous. Like portable works of art.”
    Her wedding ring flashed at her, red flaring through the usually clear, rich blue. Just a trick of the light—it had to be. She caressed the card she just laid down. The Queen of Swords. A proud woman sat on the throne, blonde hair curling around her face. A face that looked like—
    Like her.
    “Annie—what is it?” The card blurred, then sharpened until it looked three-dimensional. Heat shot up her arm. With a gasp she jerked her hand away, panic choking her. It faded as soon as J.J. touched her. “Annie?”
    “Did I tell you my name?”
    “Of course you did. Let me help you down.” He moved around the counter, one arm on her waist as he got her off the stool and on her feet. Her giant stomach brushed him. “You are close to your time. Women are so beautiful just before they give birth.”
    She shook her head, sure she didn’t hear such a ridiculous statement coming out of his mouth. Hormones—again. “I can’t wait. I feel like a refrigerator with legs.”
    His laugh drove into her, warm and icy at the same time. “No one would ever mistake you for anything but a beautiful woman, in the prime of her life. Can you