Though he might have been any age and looked to be about thirty-five, he was certainly in his prime. Still, Serena would not have dared to guess how many years-or lifetimes-he had put behind him. In response to a long-ago childish question, he had said with a grimace that he was quite mortal. She hadn't believed it then, and wasn't sure she did now.

He was a compelling man physically, attractive to women of all ages. The young ones found his face exciting, and the older ones imagined tragedy in his black eyes and thought he needed taking care of.

Serena knew better.

"I wouldn't create a flood," she assured him. "Maybe a little waterfall, but not a flood."

Merlin gave her a look and opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say a word, the bulb in the lamp nearest Serena exploded with a pop. Only the shade kept her from being pelted with shards of glass.

"Serena, turn it off!"

"I know, I know." She closed her eyes and concentrated on corralling her wayward energies, drawing them in, tamping them down, erecting a kind of barrier inside herself to hold them in. It was something that tended to happen after a lesson, this "spillover" of her energies, particularly when her concentration was erratic.

Merlin had repeatedly tried to teach her that there was indeed a "switch," that she would someday be able to "turn off" her energies-something he had perfected long ago-but it was one skill Serena had failed to master.

She had, however, learned to restrain and cloak her energies well enough that she usually didn't explode light bulbs or cause other electrical problems merely by walking past.

Merlin, alert in case she needed his instruction, waited until she relaxed and opened her eyes, signaling her success. He went to get a replacement bulb from a well-stocked closet. Serena watched him dispense with the broken pieces of the exploded bulb with a flick of his finger, then screw the replacement into the socket.

She couldn't help smiling, reflecting silently that wizards were strange creatures, an odd mixture of ancient and modern. At least he was, and she seemed to be, as well. They used their powers in a peculiar patchwork of ways, often for the sake of convenience and yet in no recognizable pattern.

Serena herself had made up her bed with a sweep of her hand this morning, not because she was lazy or in the habit of doing it, but because she'd overslept and was in a hurry.

Physical gestures were not necessary to spell-casting, Serena had been surprised-and a bit disappointed-to learn; but the motions of the hands did tend to help focus concentration and were generally used, unless the wizard was in public or had some other reason for wishing to be inconspicuous. In any case Serena liked the ancient gestures.

They made her feel like a wizard.

As the new light bulb glowed to life, Merlin said almost absently, "Your powers are growing."

She knew they were; she could feel it.

"Which makes it all the more vital that you learn to find the switch, Serena," he continued, facing her again with a slight frown. "This spillover of energies-"

"I know, it's a waste and a danger," she recited.

Merlin's frown deepened, but he shook his head a little in the traditional reluctant acceptance of teachers everywhere when they recognize a lack of attention in their pupils. He glanced at his watch-unlike Serena, he could wear one, and did, even though one of his many talents was a constant and perfect awareness of time.

"It's almost noon; you wanted to break?"

"Yes." Serena got up, shrugged out of her robe, and hung it near his. "Lunch. Rachel left a casserole for us, and I put it in the oven before we started this morning."

Merlin tended to forget about unimportant things like eating when his mind was occupied with his work, but between them, Serena and their housekeeper kept most meals on a fairly regular schedule. Rachel came in daily except weekends, and kept the freezer well stocked with quick and easy-to-prepare meals for the days Richard and Serena were on their own.

It was up to Serena to make sure they observed regular meal times on weekends, and since she was almost always hungry, she rarely needed reminders herself. One delightful bonus of being a wizard, she had realized long ago, was an unusually high metabolic rate; expending as much energy as they did, both she and Merlin could eat anything they pleased, and tended to require more calories than normal people just to maintain their weights.

"Are you going out tonight?" she asked him as they descended the stairs.

"Yes. Dinner and a concert with Lenore Todd. How about you?" His tone was casual.

"No. I'm going to stay blamelessly at home tonight and study that manual of incantations you added to my reading list," she replied lightly.

"Study but don't practice," he reminded her more or less automatically.

Serena didn't say I know again, contenting herself with a nod. She was tired of saying it. She had been warned so often about not practicing new skills without Merlin's being present that it was beginning to annoy her. He just couldn't stop treating her like a child, she thought.

It didn't help that she had felt a stab of jealousy about his date, even though she knew that he dated for the same reason she did-to maintain a normal appearance for friends, neighbors, and the rest of the society in which they lived. The importance of that appearance, made up of normal jobs and regular social activities and all the other trappings of an ordinary life-style, was something Merlin had explained to Serena when she had first come to study with him and they had created the fiction of blood relation and guardianship.

Serena had long ago come to the conclusion that her Master wizard was too obsessed with his art to be concerned with lesser pursuits. Besides, since so much of his energy was focused and quite literally expended on perfecting that art, there was undoubtedly little left over for women and sex.

That was what she had told herself at sixteen, and his habits over the years seemed to bear out that deduction. If he had affairs, there was certainly no sign of them, and since he tended to date women who were in Seattle only temporarily-for business or pleasure-gossip could only speculate on his prowess as a lover.

Serena refused to speculate. As an adoring teenager, she had convinced herself that he was a monk with his mind on a much higher plane, and nothing had happened to destroy that creation.

So there was no reason for her to feel jealous about Lenore Todd. The woman would be in Seattle only a week or so for an environmental seminar, according to what Merlin had told Serena when he'd met her a few days ago. He always told Serena about the women he dated, because she always asked, and there was always an indifferent note in his voice when he answered.

Serena listened for that indifference. And heard it this time. But the increasing tension and frustration she felt made it difficult for her to be reassured.

Though her turbulent emotions had made the previous night a rather miserable one, she had managed to sleep, and today she had managed-more or less-to assume her usual relaxed attitude toward Merlin. It was getting harder, though, for her to act as if nothing had changed, as if she were still that obsessed child who had crossed a country to find him, wanting nothing in life except to be a wizard.

Because something had changed. In Serena. Her determination to become a Master wizard had not lessened, but she had grown up these last years, and she had come to the realization that there was much more to life. To her life, anyway. She was a wizard, yes, but she was also a woman, even if Merlin couldn't see that was true.

And it was getting very difficult for her to fight the resentment she felt every time he treated her like a child.