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these clothes. Given the chance I would probably have bought several pairs of khaki's with plain shirts of white or cream and sensible black shoes that would match anything.
    I never had many clothes growing up. Celia kept me from accumulating clothes and other possessions. I usually had just four or five changes. When I outgrew something it was promptly disposed of and replaced. The same with toys, books and all the other detritus that a child collects. It made sense now that I knew we had to keep on the move, always ready to leave at a moments notice.
    “So you should keep them. It is the first gift she has been able to give you in twenty years. Don't disappoint her.” Gage said firmly, looking me directly in the eyes.
    Put that way, I would have to be truly heartless not to accept the clothes. I smiled at Taryn, “What do you think I should wear today, Taryn?”
    She clapped her hands in delight and chattered happily about the navy slacks she bought at a boutique in Notting Hill called, bizarrely, Cosmic June. Taryn was really growing on me.
    She was friendly, welcoming and didn't seem the least bit taken aback that I had no clothes WARLOCK’S BRIDE JENNIFER RINEHART 33

    except the ones I was wearing.
    When I looked toward the door again, Gage was gone.

    * * * *
Two hours later I was sitting on the edge of a chair in the blue salon. The room wasn't blue, it was decorated in neutral shades of cream and dark brown. The pictures on the walls were of more men and women in robes, this time pointing sticks (wands?) in the air. Rays of light shot up from the wands and the people in the pictures had focused expressions on their faces as they stared at the sky.
    The painting was odd in the very least until I walked closer and saw shadows in the swirling darkness around them. The shadows formed amorphous faces with pointed teeth and claw like hands. Seriously creepy is what I thought of Gage's taste in art. If I ever had any doubts about what kind of man he was, this artwork clinched it. Then again, how much worse would it be if he had paintings of clowns and bunnies on the walls? I shivered, clowns would be much worse.
    Harrison, Gage's butler, escorted me from my room to the salon and offered to bring me tea, coffee or something to eat, but I was too wired to eat or drink anything, so here I was, waiting, alone.
    Harrison was another surprise. He was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He had a ruddy complexion, wispy white hair that was balding on top and stuck out in a fuzzy band around his pink, freckled scalp.
    He wore a black suit and tie that seemed overly formal to me in this day and age. But I wasn't sure what the norm was for butlers these days. His expression was solemn and he pointed me to the salon without a word. I tried to find out about the rest of the staff, but Harrison was unusually reticent and said that I would have to 'ask the master,' to all my queries. I wasn't sure, but I hoped that calling Gage, 'the master,' was a Britishism, otherwise it was seriously yucky.
    I heard footsteps in the hall, and quickly stood up, dropping the magazine I had gamely been trying to read the last fifteen minutes. Gage stepped into the room and dropped into the chair across from me with a sigh.
    “You look lovely,” he said with an appreciative smile.
    I sank back down and settled again on the edge of the chair. My hand rose,
    unconsciously, to push my hair back from where it had curled against my cheek. With a nervous nod of thanks, I dropped my hand to my lap and leaned forward to pick up the magazine I'd dropped on the floor.
    I smoothed the wrinkles out of the glossy front page and set it on the coffee table. I glanced at the title and saw that I had been trying to read a magazine on investment banking, durrr, who read this stuff?
    “Laurent called, they just reached the village of Dawling Green, they'll be here in about ten minutes,” Gage said, his silvery eyes watching my nervous movements.
    “Tell me