LITMIR.BIZ

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He had to find her. In weeks, she’d be dead. No, worse. Frozen into stone, a living hell.

      Whirling, he dragged air into his lungs. Stronger now, there, coming from the south? He shouldered aside a tour group enjoying the banjo player’s music.

      The lost Book of Magick had a cure. Containing white and dark magick, the ten-thousand-year-old text held ancient secrets. Damian’s father had hidden it from the Morphs. Every seventy years one spell must be used to keep the magick active.

      If Damian didn’t find the book in the next three weeks, the spells would vanish forever.

      If he didn’t find the book soon, Jamie would suffer an excruciating end.

       I promise I will save you, my beloved draicara, even to my last dying breath.

      Wolf senses on alert, he followed Jamie’s scent.

      How much could someone lose? Jamie Walsh wondered. Plenty.

      So many had died before. Her parents. Her brother. Now, her magick.

      She felt numb. Dead inside. Gray, her flame extinguished. Her world. Gone.

      Jamie leaned against a broken lamppost to catch her breath. A bone-numbing wind penetrated through her thin Textually Active T-shirt. The walk to the grocery store had never tired her. She set down the plastic bag, rubbed her hands against her faded jeans. Lead weights dragged at her feet. No one to lean on. No one to help. She was alone.

      A knot squeezed her stomach. Alone was good. She could survive the odds better on her own. She didn’t need anyone.

      A familiar scent teased her senses. Fresh lake water and warm, sensual spices. The enemy. Damian.

      Adrenaline pumped energy into her tired body. Jamie’s gaze whipped around. But only tourists wended their way down the street in the bright, sharp afternoon. Wary of exposure, she turned toward home.

      Her brother Mark’s original French Quarter house near Jackson Square looked innocuous from the outside with its forest-green walls. Jamie unlocked the gate, slipped inside and bolted it. She hurried through the dark corridor, reaching the inner courtyard with a relieved sigh. Dumping the groceries on a wrought-iron table, she sank onto a chair.

      Centuries-old walls surrounded her, a safe exposed-brick cocoon. Little could penetrate her refuge, except perhaps Damian. A cold chill snaked down her spine. Draicon were ruthless. What would Damian do if he caught her? Would he exact punishment?

       You did try to kill him.

      What did he want?

      The answer came back in a rush of remembering. Sex. It came back to sex, and mating.

      Arousal rasped against fear as she thought of Damian, his large body heavy with muscle. He’d taken her virginity, now he wanted her as his mate. He would hunt her down and never stop until he caught her. Brought her to his bed, pushed his hard, heavy body against her, nudged his hips between her bare thighs and claimed her once more in the most primitive way.

      The space between her legs felt tender, wet and ready.

      Her brain pushed aside desire and concentrated on self-preservation.

      Right now she was a fortress with broken defenses, open to storming by Damian. Damian, who wanted her body, would claim her spirit, as well, drag her back to his dangerous pack of vicious werewolves as his mate. She had no weapon but her wits. A plastic sword against an invading army of sharp, lethal steel.

      After trudging upstairs and putting away the groceries, she went to a battered desk cluttered with cables, software, parts and cell phones. Jamie retrieved a new laptop and an aircard and stuffed it into her backpack. She headed for the Petite Maison Voodoo Shop. Mama Renee knew about the secret underworld of magick beings like the Draicon, just like Mark had.

      A small brass bell tinkled over the door as Jamie entered. An altar devoted to Marie Laveau sat off to the side, candles burning steadily to honor the long-dead voodoo priestess. Jamie advanced to the back and rapped on the closed door.

      Mama Renee opened the door. “Chère,” she cried, throwing her arms about Jamie. Jamie hugged her back.

      “I brought you a gift. I bought a wireless PC card and put you on my cellular service so you can e-mail your granddaughter. It’s time you joined the information age. You’re two decades behind.”

      The old joke brought a smile even as Renee shuddered at the laptop and the slim card Jamie thrust at her. The woman set them down as gingerly as handling a spider and ushered her into the kitchen where she plied Jamie with homemade herbal tea. A large black cat wound around her legs. Giving the silky fur a reassuring stroke, Jamie smiled as Archimedes purred.

      “He’s looking fat and healthy now,” she observed, a little sad as she remembered how she and Mark had found him, skin and bones, living on the porch of a house wrecked by Hurricane Katrina.

      The woman’s gaze sharpened. “You and your brother worked hard to rescue stranded animals and find them good homes. If not for you, they’d have died. He was a remarkable person, loving and with a good heart, as you are. The world suffered a great loss when he died.”

      Desperate, aching loneliness filled her. Mark rescued her from a hellish childhood. He was all she had. And you killed him, Damian. You murdered my brother.

      A lump clogged her throat. Her own heart wasn’t good, but pitch-black. What kind of woman tried to kill her lover?

      Renee searched her face. “Something’s happened. I see the darkness in your beautiful eyes. But there is still light there, struggling to free itself.”

      Stricken, Jamie explained everything. She clutched Renee’s hand. “Do you have anything, a potion, a gris-gris, that can remove Damian’s binding spell?"

      Renee gently turned Jamie’s palm over and studied it. A frown dented her brow as her gaze widened. She shook her head. “Honey, there is no magick to counteract it. You need the source. It’s more powerful magick than I can summon.”

      “I have to get my magick back. I must.”

      She didn’t mean to sound hysterical. Jamie reached for the cracked sugar bowl. She dumped several teaspoons into the china cup and drank.

      “Jamie, how many times have I warned you to avoid magick? It’s dangerous, and not for you, chère. Look at what dark magick did to you.”

      “But it was the only magick I had. Now it’s gone.” Jamie set down her cup, hugging herself. “I feel so … lost and alone. Like I’ve been trying to find myself, and when I had that power, I finally felt comfortable in my own skin, even though I detested how I’d gained it. Every time I felt guilty, I’d use my powers and remind myself of the benefit. I didn’t have to rely on anyone. I had magick.”

      Misery seeped through her. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I just want to find my way again. I don’t fit in with anyone.”

      “And the Morphs made you feel like one of them, is that what you wanted?"

      Jamie shuddered, remembering the stench of evil seeping into her spirit. “I know they used me, and I hated what they were doing. But the power, oh, Renee, you have no idea! For the very first time, I felt normal. Even if revenge, and evil, was the only way. And now I’m lost again.”

      The woman sighed. “Revenge brings only darkness. Why would you want revenge on Damian? Why did you try to kill him?"

      Jamie bit her lip. Mama Renee was the only woman she’d ever trusted. Perhaps it was time to confide in someone.

      “I want you to swear on your life you will not repeat what I say. No one knows.”

      The older woman looked startled, but nodded.

      “I saw him kill my brother.”

      Shock widened Renee’s eyes. “Non, chère, the papers said muggers attacked Mark. The police only

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