Chasing her through alleys, they wound their way to Beale Street toward a small alcove café where diners sat frozen with their forks held in midair, where a street musician’s pick clanged against guitar strings and the sound stretched eerily.

The red door with the shiny brass knob—a door that didn’t belong there—appeared once the crows bunched together before sweeping upward to disappear into the dark sky.

Cait reached out, twisted the knob, and then entered the dimly lit bookstore. Like a place out of time, gaslights flickered from old-fashioned wall sconces. Candles sat on tables awaiting a match.

Out of habit, because he could never quite believe it, he glanced over his shoulder at the large plate-glass window that looked out on the café alcove. A window where a brick wall should have been. He glanced to his right, noting a long marble counter he hadn’t paid attention to before. Behind the counter was a cabinet with small wooden cubbies, each with purple glass knobs glinting in the pale sunlight.

Footsteps scraped from the raised dais straight ahead, and he faced forward again, girding himself against Morin’s appearance.

The other man’s tall, dark figure appeared from around the corner of one of the bookshelves. In the golden lamp glow, Morin’s expression was wary as his gaze met Sam’s across the distance.

Morin was right to be hesitant. Every fiber of Sam’s body was taut. His fists curled at his sides. All it would take would be one risqué remark, and he’d let loose his fury at the man who’d taken Cait’s innocence and then continued to play with her, hoping she’d be the one to unlock him from his self-imposed prison.

Morin was the one who had made the demon that had nearly killed Cait. All because he’d desired a girl who’d wanted nothing to do with him. He’d knowingly unleashed evil and then pretended regret, trying to pluck at Cait’s heartstrings to feel sorry for him in his self-imposed exile.

Only she wasn’t seventeen anymore, and she wasn’t innocent. She’d lived in the intervening years with her personal curse.

Morin wet his lips and then offered Cait a tentative smile. “I’m so glad to see you looking well,” he said in a low tone.

A soothing voice Sam was sure would charm snakes.

Cait wasn’t as immune to his charms as she liked to believe.

She touched her hair. “Don’t flatter me. I need something. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

“I assumed as much. A cup of tea?”

Cait hesitated. “And a bite to eat? I’m starved.”

Morin nodded, and then turned to lead the way toward the small kitchen beyond his library.

Sam snagged Cait’s wrist, holding her back but not knowing exactly what to say.

She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m okay,” she whispered. But when he released her wrist, she tucked her hand inside his. “Don’t worry, Sam. I won’t ever trust him again. Not like I do you.”

Sam felt the tension inside him ease a fraction. He was right to fear Morin’s influence, but the man didn’t hold her in thrall. Cait was all grown up. If the things he’d seen her do were any indication, her powers might one day outstrip her mentor’s.

For now, she needed him, wanted him. He’d hold that knowledge close to his chest and hope that Cait’s determination to keep her feelings for Morin unentangled from her past wouldn’t falter. His thumb rubbed along her pulse. If ever her determination weakened, Sam would have her back.

6

Cait took comfort in Sam’s presence beside her as she took a seat at the small round breakfast table in Morin’s kitchen. Perhaps done with playing games with Sam, Morin had mustered up a third chair rather than offering Sam one of his tall workbench stools as he had in the past, leaving him hovering from a distance. A deliberate attempt to leave him physically outside the conversation. Not that Sam seemed any more comfortable now as he angled his long legs beneath the table.

Cait cleared her throat and turned to Morin, whose face was clear of expression. Carefully neutral.

Did he know she’d told Sam everything about her last visit? Was he actually playing it safe rather than tweaking Sam to get a rise out of him? She hoped so. She didn’t need both men posturing while the room reeked of testosterone.

Morin sat still while she studied his familiar, masculine features: his black, shoulder-length hair, straight nose, and full lips. Although Morin was still every bit as handsome and alluring as ever with his unique brand of smoldering sensuality, she wasn’t seventeen anymore. He’d used her attraction then and had tried to draw her into his world again when she’d been forced to seek his advice with the last case. Yes, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, but she’d never trust him. And trust, she’d discovered, was something she couldn’t survive without.

Morin moved around the counter, choosing a plain earthen teapot, which he rinsed with a dash of boiling water from the kettle sitting atop the old-fashioned gas stove. Then his hand hovered over a row of painted tins until he selected the desired blend of tea.

She watched, knowing he was up to something, but with his back to her, she couldn’t see what else he might be adding to the brew.

Shifting in her chair, she cleared her throat. “We have another problem.”

“You do seem to attract exciting sorts of problems, Caitlyn,” Morin murmured, still turned away and swishing the teapot.

Sam stirred, muttering under his breath.

His impatience was evident in the curling of his hand on the tabletop.

She cupped her hand over his fist and gave him a single shake of her head, telling him silently to behave. They were here because they needed help. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted the tea, allowing Morin to extend her visit. But they weren’t wasting time. Not really. While inside Morin’s domain, time outside the shop stood still. Part of her understood her old mentor’s need to prolong their stay. He was lonely and bored. No one but those he invited—and who had the magical skills to find him—ever came. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, day after day, locked inside this prison he’d created for himself as penance for one tragic mistake in his past.

Morin returned to the table with cups he set in front of her and Sam. Despite the fact he knew Sam wasn’t fond of tea, he poured him a cup, his focused stare daring her ex to complain. At Sam’s grudging nod of thanks, Morin’s mouth twisted, as though disappointed he hadn’t gotten the reaction he wanted.

Cait’s lips twitched, and she raised her cup to hide a smile. A couple of small yellow blossoms floated in her tea, and her gaze whipped to Morin’s. “Tormentil flowers?” What was it about the herb? She couldn’t quite remember.

“Sam’s tea is pure oolong,” Morin murmured. “In yours, I added powdered tormentil root. Take a sip. I also added chamomile to flavor it.”

Still hesitating to drink, she asked, “And I need tormentil root why?”

Morin shook his head. “Such a terrible student,” he chided cheerfully. “It’s a protection spell. Keep in mind I didn’t have to tell you. Your palate isn’t very discerning. The blossoms are only decorative. They were a clue I left for you, my little detective. Didn’t want to sneak anything into yours without your knowledge.” One dark brow rose, and his gaze held hers for a moment. “I’ve adopted a policy of full disclosure when it comes to you.”

Sam sputtered and put down his cup with a thump.

Ignoring his sideways glare, Cait narrowed hers on Morin, wondering how he could have known she and Sam had argued about that very same topic.

Playing innocent, Morin raised his cup and sipped.

“It’s more than a protection spell,” she said with a stony stare.

“Ah, maybe you do remember something. When you enter the land of the dead, whether a graveyard or the mystical place, you need a protective shield. Do you want to be a lightning rod again?” At her glower, he tapped the rim of her cup. “Drink down the tea like a good girl, then hold out your hand.”