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| There was a marker in the ground where the Witch Tree had stood | |
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| The people of Monterey and Carmel valued nature | |
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| Tourists often came to study the words on the marker, or simply to stand and look at the sculptured old trees, the rocky shoreline, the sunning harbor seals | |
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| Locals who had seen the tree for themselves, who remembered the day it had fallen, often mentioned the fact that Morgana Donovan had been born that night | |
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| Some said it was a sign, others shrugged and called it coincidence | |
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| Still more simply wondered | |
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| No one denied that it was excellent local color to have a self-proclaimed witch born hardly a stone's throw away from a tree with a reputation | |
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| Nash Kirkland considered it an amusing fact and an interesting hook | |
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| He spent a great deal of his time studying the supernatural | |
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| Vampires and werewolves and things that went bump in the night were a hell of a way to make a living | |
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| And he wouldn't have had it any other way | |
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| Not that he believed in goblins or ghoulies-or witches, if it came to that | |
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| Men didn't turn into bats or wolves at moonrise, the dead did not walk, and women didn't soar through the night on broomsticks | |
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| Except in the pages of a book, or in the flickering light and shadow of a movie screen | |
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| There, he was pleased to say, anything was possible | |
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| He was a sensible man who knew the value of illusions, and the importance of simple entertainment | |
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| He was also enough of a dreamer to conjure images out of the shades of folklore and superstition for the masses to enjoy | |
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| He'd fascinated the horror-film buff for seven years, starting with his first-and surprisingly successful-screenplay, Shape Shifter. | |
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| The fact was, Nash loved seeing his imagination come to life on-screen | |
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| He wasn't above popping into the neighborhood movie theater and happily devouring popcorn while the audience caught their breath, stifled screams or covered their eyes | |
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| He delighted in knowing that the people who plunked down the price of a ticket to see one of his movies were going to get their money's worth of chills | |
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| He always researched carefully | |
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| While writing the gruesome and amusing Midnight Blood, he'd spent a week in Romania interviewing a man who swore he was a direct descendant of Vlad, the Impaler-Count Dracula | |
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| Unfortunately, the count's descendant hadn't grown fangs or turned into a bat, but he had proven to possess a wealth of vampire lore and legend | |
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| It was such folktales that inspired Nash to spin a story-particularly when they were related by someone whose belief gave them punch | |
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| And people considered him weird, he thought, grinning to himself as he passed the entrance to Seventeen Mile Drive | |
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| Nash knew he was an ordinary, grounded-to-earth type | |
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| At least by California standards | |
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| He just made his living from illusion, from playing on basic fears and superstitions-and the pleasure people took in being scared silly | |
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| He figured his value to society was his ability to take the monster out of the closet and flash it on the silver screen in Technicolor, usually adding a few dashes of unapologetic sex and sly humor | |
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| Nash Kirkland could bring the bogeyman to life, turn the gentle Dr. Jekyll into the evil Mr. Hyde, or invoke the mummy's curse | |
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| All by putting words on paper | |
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| Maybe that was why he was a cynic | |
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| Oh, he enjoyed stories about the supernatural-but he, of all people, knew that was all they were | |
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| Stories | |
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| And he had a million of them | |
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| He hoped Morgana Donovan, Monterey's favorite witch, would help him create the next one | |
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| For the past few weeks, between unpacking and taking pleasure in his new home, trying his skill at golf-and finally giving it up as a lost cause-and simply treasuring the view from his balcony, Nash had felt the urge to tell a tale of witchcraft | |
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| If there was such a thing as fate, he figured, it had done him a favor by plunking him down only a short, pleasant drive from an expert | |
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| Whistling along with the car radio, he wondered what she'd be like | |
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| Turbaned or tasseled? Draped in black crepe? Or maybe she was some New Age fanatic who spoke only through Gargin, her channeler from Atlantis | |
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| Either way, he wouldn't mind a bit | |
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| It was the loonies in the world that gave life its flavor | |
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| He'd purposely avoided doing any extensive research on the witch | |
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| He wanted to form his own opinions and impressions, leaving his mind clear to start forming plot angles | |
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| All he knew was that she'd been born right here in Monterey, some twenty-eight years before, and she ran a successful shop that catered to people who were into crystals and herbs | |
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| He had to give her two thumbs-up for staying in her hometown | |
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| After less than a month as a resident of Monterey, he wondered how he could ever have lived anywhere else | |
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| And God knew, he thought as his angular face creased in a grimace, he'd already lived just about everywhere | |
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| Again, he had to thank his luck for making his scripts appealing to the masses | |
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| His imagination had made it possible for him to move away from the traffic and smog of L.A. to this priceless spot in northern California | |
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| It was barely March, but he had the top down on his Jag, and the bright, brisk breeze whipped through his dark blond hair | |
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| There was the smell of water-it was never far away here-of grass, neatly clipped, of the flowers that thrived in the mild climate | |
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| The sky was cloudless, a beautiful blue, his car was purring like a big, lean cat, he'd recently disentangled himself from a relationship that had been rushing downhill, and he was about to start a new project | |
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| As far as Nash was concerned, life was perfect | |
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| He spotted the shop | |
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| As he'd been told, it stood neatly on the corner, flanked by a boutique and a restaurant | |
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| The businesses were obviously doing well, as he had to park more than a block away | |
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| He didn't mind the walk | |
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| His long, jeans-clad legs ate up the sidewalk | |
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| He passed a group of tourists who were arguing over where to have lunch, a pencil-slim woman in fuchsia silk leading two Afghan hounds, and a businessman who strolled along chatting on his cell phone | |
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| Nash loved California | |
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| He stopped outside the shop | |
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| The sign painted on the window simply read WICCA | |
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| He nodded, smiling to himself | |
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| He liked it | |
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| The Old English word for witch | |
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| It brought to mind images of bent old women, trundling through the villages to cast spells and remove warts | |
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| Exterior scene, day, he thought | |
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| The sky is murky with clouds, the wind rushes and howls | |
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| In a small, run-down village with broken fences and shuttered windows, a wrinkled old woman hurries down a dirt road, a heavy covered basket in her arms | |
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| A huge black raven screams as it glides by | |
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| With a flutter of wings, it stops to perch on a rusted gatepost | |
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| Bird and woman stare at each other | |
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| From somewhere in the distance comes a long, desperate scream | |
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| Nash lost the image when someone came out of the shop, turned and bumped into him | |
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| "Sorry," came the muffled apology | |
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| He simply nodded | |
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| Just as well, Nash thought | |
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| It wouldn't do to take the story too far until he'd talked to the expert | |
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| For now, what he wanted was to take a good look at her wares | |
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| The window display was impressive, he noted, and showed a flair for the dramatic | |
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| Deep blue velvet was draped over stands of various heights and widths so that it resembled a wide river with dark waterfalls | |
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| Floating over it were clusters of crystals, sparkling like magic in the morning sun | |
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| Some were as clear as glass, while others were of almost heartbreaking hues | |
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| Rose and aqua, royal-purple, ink-black | |
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| They were shaped like wands or castles or small, surrealistic cities | |
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| Lips pursed, he rocked back on his heels | |
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| He could see how they would appeal to people-the colors, the shapes, the sparkle | |
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| That anybody could actually believe a hunk of rock held any kind of power was one more reason to marvel at the human brain | |
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| Still, they were certainly pretty enough | |
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| Above the clusters, faceted drops hung from thin wires and tossed rainbows everywhere | |
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| Maybe she kept the cauldrons in the back | |
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| The idea made him chuckle to himself | |
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| Still, he took a last look at the display before pushing open the door | |
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| It was tempting to pick up a few pieces for himself | |
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| A paperweight, or a sun-catcher | |
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| He might just settle for that-if she wasn't selling any dragon's scales or wolf's teeth | |
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| The shop was crowded with people | |
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| His own fault, Nash reminded himself, for dropping in on a Saturday | |
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| Still, it would give him time to poke around and see just how a witch ran a business in the twentieth century | |
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| The displays inside were just as dramatic as those glistening in the window | |
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| Huge chunks of rock, some sliced open to reveal hundreds of crystal teeth | |
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| Dainty little bottles filled with colored liquid | |
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| Nash was slightly disappointed when he read one label and discovered that it was a rosemary bath balm, for relaxing the senses | |
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| He'd hoped for at least one love potion | |
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| There were more herbs, packaged for potpourri, for tea and for culinary uses, as well as candles in soft colors and crystals in all shapes and sizes | |
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| Some interesting jewelry-again leaning heavily on crystals-was sparkling behind glass | |
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| Artwork, paintings, statues, sculpture, all so cleverly placed that the shop might more accurately have been termed a gallery | |
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| Nash, always interested in the unusual, took a fancy to a pewter lamp fashioned in the shape of a winged dragon with glowing red eyes | |
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| Then he spotted her | |
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| One look had him certain that this was the very image of the modern witch | |
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| The sulky-looking blonde was holding a discussion with two customers over a table of tumbling stones | |
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| She had a luscious little body poured into a sleek black jumpsuit | |
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| Glittery earrings hung to her shoulders, and rings adorned every finger | |
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| The fingers ended in long, lethal-looking red nails | |
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| "Attractive, isn't he?" | |
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| "Hmm?" | |
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| The smoke-edged voice had Nash turning away from the dragon | |
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| This time one look had him forgetting the stacked young witch in the corner | |
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| He found himself lost for several heartbeats in a pair of cobalt-blue eyes | |
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| "Excuse me?" | |
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| "The dragon" | |
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| Smiling, she ran a hand over the pewter head | |
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| "I was just wondering if I should take him home with me" | |
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| She smiled, and he saw that her lips were full and soft and unpainted | |
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| "Do you like dragons?" | |
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| "Crazy about them," he decided on the spot | |
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| "Do you shop in here often?" | |
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| "Yes" | |
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| She lifted a hand to her hair | |
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| It was black as midnight and fell in careless waves to her waist | |
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| Nash made an effort and tried to put the pieces of her together | |
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| The ebony hair went with pale, creamy skin | |
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| The eyes were wide and heavily lashed, the nose was small and sharp | |
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| She was nearly as tall as he, and wand slender | |
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| The simple blue dress she wore showed taste and style, as well as subtle curves | |
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| There was something, well, dazzling about her, he realized | |
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| Though he couldn't analyze what while he was so busy enjoying it | |
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| As he watched, her lips curved again | |
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| There was something very aware as well as amused in the movement | |
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| "Have you been in Wicca before?" | |
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| "No. Great stuff" | |
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| "You're interested in crystals?" | |
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| "I could be" | |
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| Idly he picked up a hunk of amethyst | |
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| "But I flunked my earth science course in high school" | |
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| "I don't think you'll be graded here" | |
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| She nodded toward the stone he held | |
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| "If you want to get in touch with your inner self, you should hold it in your left hand" | |
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| "Oh, yeah?" | |
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| To indulge her, he shifted it | |
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| He hated to tell her he didn't feel a thing-other than a shaft of pleasure at the way the dress skimmed around her knees | |
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| "If you're a regular here, maybe you could introduce me to the witch" | |
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| Brow lifted, she followed his look as he glanced at the blonde, who was finishing up her sale | |
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| "Do you need a witch?" | |
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| "I guess you could say that" | |
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| She turned those wonderful blue eyes on him again | |
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| "You don't look like the type who'd come looking for a love spell" | |
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| He grinned | |
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| "Thanks. I think. Actually, I'm doing some research. I write movies. I want to do a story on witchcraft in the nineties. You know� secret covens, sex and sacrifices" | |
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| "Ah" | |
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| When she inclined her head, clear crystal drops swung at her ears | |
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| "Nubile women doing ring dances sky-clad. Naked," she explained | |
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| "Mixing potions by the dark of the moon to seduce their hapless victims into orgies of prurient delights" | |
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| "More or less" | |
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| He leaned closer and discovered that she smelled as cool and dark as a forest in moonlight | |
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| "Does this Morgana really believe she's a witch?" | |
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| "She knows what she is, Mr.-?" | |
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| "Kirkland. Nash Kirkland" | |
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| Her laugh was low and pleased | |
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| "Of course. I've enjoyed your work. I particularly liked Midnight Blood. You gave your vampire a great deal of wit and sensuality without trampling on tradition" | |
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| "There's more to being undead than graveyard dirt and coffins" | |
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| "I suppose. And there's more to being a witch than stirring a cauldron" | |
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| "Exactly. That's why I want to interview her. I figure she's got to be a pretty sharp lady to pull all this off" | |
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| "Pull off?" she repeated as she bent to pick up a huge white cat that had sauntered over to flow around her legs | |
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| "The reputation," he explained | |
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| "I heard about her in L.A. People bring me weird stories" | |
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| "I'm sure they do" | |
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| She stroked the cat's massive head | |
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| Now Nash had two pair of eyes trained on him | |
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| One pair of cobalt, and one of amber | |
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| "But you don't believe in the Craft, or the power" | |
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| "I believe I can make it into a hell of a good story" | |
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| He smiled, putting considerable charm into it | |
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| "So, how about it? Put in a good word for me with the witch?" | |
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| She studied him | |
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| A cynic, she decided, and one entirely too sure of himself | |
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| Life, she thought, was obviously one big bed of roses for Nash Kirkland | |
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| Maybe it was time he felt a few thorns | |
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| "I don't think that'll be necessary" | |
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| She offered him a hand, long and slender and adorned with a single ring of hammered silver | |
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| He took it automatically, then hissed out a breath as a jolt of electricity zinged up to his shoulder | |
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| She just smiled | |
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| "I'm your witch," she said | |