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melt rock. He admitted he could be dangerous, so bloody hell, why was she
going to allow him to live above her shop? “Because I’m an idiot,” she
muttered. “An insane idiot!”
    But she needed the money she’d collect now to order next
week’s supplies for the shop.
    “You’re not insane,” he said, “unless you consider talking
to yourself a sign of mental illness?”
    She hesitated before hurrying on up the stairs. Don’t
think about him. Simply rent him the room and be done with him. Ha! Easier
said than done with this—this— waken person hovering around—oozing sex
appeal like syrup from a maple tree. She only thought there might be a
streak of insanity in her family. There wasn’t any doubt he was nuts,
claiming to be a male witch and such.
    Oh yes, they were a pair.
    Waken ,
indeed.
    If
she wasn’t careful, they’d be sharing straightjackets!

 

     

     

     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    Although Osborne and Good
maintained their innocence, Tituba confessed to seeing the Devil who appeared
to her “sometimes like a hog and sometimes like a great dog.” But worse, Tituba
testified that there was a conspiracy of witches at work in Salem.

     
      ~Salem Witch Trials
    Late-February, 1692

     
    Page Entry…
    Five
hundred years had passed since Leyla accepted the throne. They were lonely
years for the queen. She was quickly approaching the age past her child bearing
years. In urgent need to produce an heir, she took a risk the following Beltane
and bonded with the waken known as Zoman.

     
    On All
Hallows’ Eve, Leyla gave birth to her first child, a son, Kran.

     
    To the
witches’ consternation and disbelief, Zoman immediately proclaimed Kran heir to
the witches’ throne.

     
    ~Pages of
history from the Winslow witches.
    In the
Year of Samhain, 800

     

     
    Sanctuary

     
    Saylym
finished counting the cash for the day. What a strange day it’d turned out to
be. A tiny frown creased her brows as she stared at a ragged, unfamiliar bill
in her hand. Someone had slipped her a ten dollar bill with the face of an old
crone engraved on it. She shook her head. She would have to pay closer
attention or get one of those counterfeit pens and check each bill.
    She assumed she could trust the people in Sanctuary unless…
    Her thoughts trailed away as a thought sprang to mind.
Perhaps Sanctuary had its own money and she was making change back to the
customers with the wrong money. Crap! She hadn’t thought of that, but since
everything else was crazy—no, she had to stop thinking like that. Everything
else wasn’t crazy–just her.
    The bell over the door chimed its sweet melody. Although
she’d closed the shop fifteen minutes earlier, she’d given Talon a key to the
front door since the only entrance to his apartment was through the shop. She
looked up and smiled. The smiled faded when she took in his rugged appearance.
    Good grief! He was covered with a layer of grime,
garage-floor type grime. The black leather pants were replaced by a pair of
ragged, faded jeans. A blue cambric shirt rippled across wide shoulders, ripped
in a few places and missing buttons. The shirt fell apart and revealed a small
patch of dark, curly hair covering a nicely toned body. Darn if he didn’t look
almost normal…for a waken.
    He gave her a bright grin, that tiny dimple flashing at
the corner of his mouth. Shutting the door behind him, he flipped the closed
sign back in place. “I bought a house just outside the border of Sanctuary a
few weeks ago, a fixer-upper, but worth it. I like working with my hands. It
gives me a sense of accomplishment, as if I’m not wasting the life given to me.
Does that make sense?”
    Saylym blinked, wondering how his callused hands would
feel on her. Callused? She couldn’t imagine a prince doing manual labor, but
the solid proof stood before her in scruffy work boots. What was it he said to
her, something about making sense? “Uh…yeah. Sure. It makes perfect sense.
That’s why I