She knelt on the living room floor of her condo. The blinds were drawn, but that wasn't suspicious, given the hour. If anyone had seen her, he would have been shocked-this upright professional kneeling before an ancient spellbook, surrounded by candles, arcane symbols chalked on the floor. Unexpected, but hardly criminal, worthy only of whispers and raised brows.

The grayish powder in the bowl could be anything-probably wouldn't even be noticed. That was the beauty of it, unlike the dried body parts her nanny had used-those disgusting relics that had to be kept hidden and, when accidentally found, had cost the old woman her job. All that secrecy, shame and pain for something that hadn't even worked. Oh, her nanny had claimed otherwise-taking responsibility for accidents and strokes of good luck. That was how the ignorant practiced magic, seeing success in every coincidental occurrence.

Unlike the rituals her nanny swore by, this magic worked. As for why it worked, the group was convinced the ashes were the key. She'd believed that too. That was the one thing that made the difference between failure and success, ergo it must be the key.

And yet…

What if the magic worked with the ashes because they thought it would? Because they'd wanted this to be the key? Because they'd needed it to be the key, to excuse what they had done-taken the life of a child. Guilt, fear and conviction. All powerful motivators.

Three years ago, she'd started experimenting with using lesser amounts of ash. It had taken months of daily practice to see any results. All that practice meant she needed more than her share. Being the one in charge of the burning and the division of material had let her take that extra unnoticed, but she'd hated it. Like a company CEO who pilfered copy paper and printer ink-disgraceful and undignified.

After that initial breakthrough, though, success had come faster with each reduction. It was as if having proven to herself that she could cast with less, she'd overcome a mental barrier that said otherwise. It didn't work with all the spells. Thus far, the group had mastered just over a dozen, and fewer than half of those worked with significantly reduced amounts of human remains. But it was progress. Moving toward the ultimate goal, the one she was testing tonight.

She cast the spell again. A simple one that created a spark-barely enough to light a cigarette, but a building block to better things. One must master the elementary levels first, in magic as in all things.

After casting, she blew a fingertip of ash. The spark flared. She tried again, and was again successful. Then she reached over, picked up a moist towel and carefully wiped her finger, removing all traces of the ash.

She cast the spell. Nothing happened. Again. Nothing.

She swallowed her disappointment. Must remain calm and focused. She dipped her finger in the ash. Cast. Blew. Spark. Again. Another spark. Wipe the finger off. Cast. Failure. Cast…

The air ignited in a tiny pop of light and heat.

She took a deep breath and leaned forward, palms pressing into her thighs as she exhaled. Then she allowed herself a smile.

Only a small spell, to be sure, but she had proven her theory. She could cast without the ash-without aids of any kind.

She resisted the urge to try again. Take the success and hold the memory, untainted by later failure. That would bolster her determination, knowing that the last time she'd tried, she'd succeeded.

She picked up the bowl of ash and poured it back into the jar, watching it slide down. Here was the cement that bound the group together. Bound them in fear and guilt.

There was more than one kind of power and this one was just as essential to her quest as anything magical. She must keep the group together and striving forward, seeking and searching, working with her to achieve her goals.

To do that, she had to keep them killing.

I WOKE UP TO AN EMPTY BED. For me, that's usually a "morning after" relief-saves those invitations to an unwanted breakfast and the "I'll call you" lies, an awkwardness topped only by "what was your name again?" For the first time in my life, on waking to an empty bed, I rolled over and cursed.

I wasn't surprised that he'd left, but I'd hoped the promise of a passionate wake-up call would override his usual sense of propriety. Apparently not. He must have slipped out in the night so I'd be spared curious stares and knowing grins when we walked downstairs together.

Old-fashioned, but I couldn't complain when it was one of the things that had drawn me to him in the first place. Always a gentleman. Well, not always…

I smiled, thinking of some deliciously ungentlemanly behavior from the night before. I stretched and felt a protesting throb between my thighs. Maybe that wake-up call wouldn't have been such a wise idea. One unexpected part of having a werewolf as a lover? All that extra energy.

I grinned and rolled over. More pangs of protest. That dull throb between my legs. Tender breasts. Even my lips hurt.

Damn that was good.

The patio door opened. Jeremy walked in, pants on, shirt undone, feet bare, cell phone in his hand. Seeing me, he lifted the phone.

"My morning check-in with Elena. I didn't wake you, did I?"

I shook my head and was about to peel the covers back when I noticed that faint wrinkle between his brows had deepened.

"Everything okay with the babies?" I asked, pushing up onto one arm.

"They're fine. But Elena's already read the L.A. news online. She thinks it's just as it appeared in the articles-that you found a body. I confirmed that." A hand raked through his hair as he looked around distractedly for a place to put his cell phone. "I don't like lying to her."

"I know."

"They're going to find out, after this is done. The council has to know and Elena will need to know first. It'll take some careful explaining. "

"Do you want to call Clay in? Or Antonio?"

He shook his head. "The more people we have around you, the less likely the group will reveal itself. If I need help, I have a backup plan."

He laid his phone down on the dresser. I glanced up at his hair, glistening and damp.

"You've showered?"

"Yes. I didn't disturb you, did I?"

"No, it's just-" I motioned to the front of his pants. "Forgot to zip up."

He frowned. Before he could look down, I stretched and caught his waistband.

"Come here. I'll get it."

He moved to the side of the bed.

I undid his button, opened it, then looked at the zipped fly and smiled. "Whoops. My mistake."

I undid the zipper, reached inside and lowered my head to give him a proper good morning.

LRTER, I was curled up against him. "I was just thinking. This is probably the safest place to be."

"Hmm?"

I propped myself up to look down at him. "If I'm in danger, maybe we should just stay here until it's all over."

He gave a low laugh and rose to kiss my neck.

I sighed. "What you're politely refraining from pointing out is that that the problem won't end while I'm in bed with you."

"I'm afraid not."

"So I suppose we should…" I eyed the cold room beyond, "get up."

"Probably."

He pulled me down to him in a kiss that said we weren't going anywhere for a while yet.

IT WAS midmorning by the time I finally got into the shower. As I dressed, Jeremy slipped out. I was pretty sure it was too late to pretend he'd spent the night on the sofa, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

I'd hoped we could get a complete update from the police, but even Jeremy's polite charm could only win a grudging summary from the young woman guarding the scene. Yes, they'd uncovered a second body. Yes, they were looking for more but, no, she wasn't confirming that they expected to find more.