I was about to prompt her, hoping she'd go on, when she began to laugh. I waited it out.

“A real asshole,” she said then. “But talented. Give him that.”

“Uh, what do you mean?” I asked.

“After a time he began speaking of the development of personal power, using all those circumlocutions the halfenlightened love to play with. He wanted Rinaldo to know he was an occultist with something pretty strong going for him. Then he began to hint that he might be willing to pass it along to the right person.”

She began laughing again. I chuckled myself, at the thought of that trained seal addressing the genuine article in such a fashion.

“It was because he realized Rinaldo was rich, of course,” she continued. “Victor was, as usual, broke himself at the time. Rinaldo showed no interest, though, and simply stopped taking painting lessons from him shortly after that-as he felt he'd learned all he could from him. When he told me about it later, however, I realized that the man could be made into a perfect cat's-paw. I was certain such a person would do anything for a taste of real power.”

I nodded.

“Then you and Rinaldo began the visitation business? You took turns clouding his mind and teaching him a few real things?”

“Real enough,” she said, “though I handled most of his training. Rinaldo was usually too busy studying for exams. His point average was generally a little higher than yours, wasn't it?”

“He usually had pretty good grades;” I conceded. “When you talk of empowering Melman and turning him into a tool, I can't help thinking about the reason; You were priming him to kill me, in a particularly colorful fashion.”

She smiled.

“Yes,” she said, “though probably not as you think. He knew of you, and he had been trained to play a part in your sacrifice. But he acted on his own the day he tried it, the day you killed him. He had been warned against such a solo action, and he paid the price. He was anxious to possess all of the powers he thought would come of it, rather than share them with another. As I said-an asshole.”

I wanted to appear nonchalant, to keep her going. Continuing my meal seemed the best measure to indicate such poise. Then I glanced down, however, I discovered that my soup bowl had vanished. I picked up a roll, broke it, was about to butter it when I saw that my hand was shaking. A moment later I realized that this was because I wanted to strangle her.

So I took a deep breath and let it go, had another drink of wine. An appetizer plate appeared before me, and a faint aroma of garlic and various tantalizing herbs told me to be calm. I nodded thanks to Mandor, and Jasra did the same. A moment later I buttered the roll.

Several mouthfuls after that, I said, “I confess that I do not understand. You say that Melman was to play a part in my ritual slaying-but only a part?”

She continued eating for a half minute or so, then found another smile.

“It was too appropriate an opportunity to pass up,” she told me then, “when you broke up with Julia and she grew interested in the occult. I saw that I would have to get her together with Victor, to have him train her, to teach her a few simple effects, to capitalize on her unhappiness at your parting, to turn it into a full-blown hatred so intense that she would be willing to cut your throat when the time came for the sacrifice.”

I choked on something which otherwise tasted wonderful.

A frosty crystal goblet of water appeared beside my right hand. I raised it and washed everything down. I took another sip.

“Ah, that reaction is worth something, anyhow,” Jasra remarked. “You must admit that having someone you once loved as executioner adds spice to vengeance.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Mandor was nodding. And I, also, had to agree that she was right.

“I must acknowledge it as a well-conceived bit of revenge,” I said. “Was Rinaldo in on this part?”

“No, you two had grown too chummy by then. I was afraid he'd warn you.”

I thought about it for another minute or so, then, “What went wrong?” I asked.

“The one thing I'd never have guessed,” she said. “Julia really had talent. A few lessons from Victor, and she was better than he was at anything he could do-except painting. Hell! Maybe she paints, too. I don't know. I'd dealt myself a wild card, and it played itself.”

I shuddered. I thought of my conversation with the ty'iga at Arbor Horse, back when it was possessing Vinta Bayle. “Did Julia develop the abilities she sought?” it had asked me. I'd told it that I didn't know. I'd said that she'd never shown any signs... And shortly thereafter I'd remembered our meeting in the supermarket parking lot and the dog she told to sit that may never have moved again... I'd recalled this, but—

“And you never noticed any indication of her talent?” Jasra ventured.

“I wouldn't say that,” I replied as I began to realize why things were as they were. “No, I wouldn't say that.”

... Like that time at Baskin-Robbins when she caused a change of flavors 'twixt cone and lip. Or the storm she'd stayed dry in without an umbrella...

She frowned a puzzled frown and narrowed her eyes as she stared. “I don't understand,” she said. “If you knew, you could have trained her yourself: She was in love with you. You would have been a formidable team.”

I writhed internally She was right, and I had suspected, had probably even known, but I'd been suppressing it. I'd possibly even triggered its onset myself, with that shadow walk, with my body energies...

“It's tricky,” I said, “and very personal.”

“Oh. Matters of the heart are either very simple or totally inscrutable to me,” she said. “There doesn't seem to be a middle ground.”

“Let's stipulate simple,” I told her. “We were already breaking up when I noticed the signs, and I'd no desire to call up the power in an ex-lover who might one day want to practice on me.”

“Understandable,” Jasra said. “Very. And ironic in the extreme.”

“Indeed,” Mandor observed, and with a gesture he caused more steaming dishes to appear before us. “Before you get carried away with a narrative of intrigue and the underside of the psyche, I'd like you to try a little breast of quail drowned in Mouton Rothschild, with a bit of wild rice and a few amusing asparagus tips.”

I had driven her to her studies by showing her another layer of reality, I realized. And I had driven her away from me because I had not really trusted her enough to tell her the truth about myself. I suppose this said something about my capacity for love as well as trust. But I had felt this all along. There was something else. There was more...

“This is delicious,” Jasra announced.

“Thank you.” He rose, rounded the table, and refilled her glass manually rather than use a levitation trick. As he did, I noticed that the fingers of his left hand lightly brushed her bare shoulder. He sloshed a little into my glass as an afterthought then and went back and sat down.

“Yes, excellent,” I observed as I continued my quick introspect through the dark glass suddenly cleared.

I had felt something, had suspected something from the beginning, I knew now. Our shadow walk was only the most spectacular of a series of small, off the-cuff tests I had occasionally thrown her way, hoping to catch her off guard, hoping to expose her as – what? Well, a potential sorceress. So?

I set my utensils aside and rubbed my eyes. It was near, though I'd been hiding it from myself for a long while...

“Is something the matter, Merlin?” I heard Jasa asking.

“No. Just realized I was a little tired,” I said. “Everything's fine.”

A sorceress. Not just a potential sorceress. There had been the buried fear, I now understood, that she was behind the April 30 attempts on my life-and I had suppressed this and kept on caring for her. Why? Because I knew and did not care? Because she was my Nimue? Because I had cherished my possible destroyer and hidden evidence from myself? Because I'd not only loved unwisely but had had one big death wish following me around, grinning, and any time now I might cooperate with it to the utmost?