I woke up the next morning with a light heart. It was Christmas, after all. I bounced out of bed and into the bathroom, where I put on Cat Stevens' "Teaser and the Firecat" album and had a nice, long bubble bath and shower. I breathed in deeply and exhaled, sinking under the surface. How I love bubble baths.

When I finally got out, I dressed in a soft, fawn-colored skirt that floated around my calves and a loose, comfortable white blouse. I towel-dried my hair and secured it loosely with a clip. Today was to be a comfy day. I padded barefoot down the hall and stopped at Draco's door—or what I was pretty sure was Draco's door. What I hoped was Draco's door. With a shrug, I knocked and waited. Just when I was beginning to think it was a broom closet or something, the door opened and Draco stuck his head out.

"Ari, what are you doing?" he croaked.

"Merry Christmas," I said cheerfully, stifling a giggle. His hair was sticking up all over the place and his eyes were all bleary. I could see that he'd been sleeping with his head on his hand from the large hand print on the left side of his face.

Draco closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door frame. "Ari, it's seven-thirty in the morning."

"Yup. I'm a half-hour late." I smiled sweetly. "But I was just enjoying my bubble-bath so much."

"It's seven-thirty in the morning," he repeated, sounding aggrieved.

"Yes, I know. Get dressed, we need to open presents," I said as cheerily as I could.

"Bollocks. I'm going back to bed," he said flatly.

"Fine. I'll wait for you."

Before he could protest, I slipped inside and sat down on the couch. I bounced up and down a couple of times, admiring the cushiness, and smiled up at him. My smile froze and my breath caught in my throat. He was shirtless and barefoot, clad only in an extremely old and faded pair of jeans. He had a tattoo of some sort on his left forearm as well as runes or symbols surrounded by celtic knot work around his biceps. As he turned to look longingly into his room, I saw a mean-looking black dragon tattooed onto his left shoulder blade. It appeared to be fighting with a leopard or panther—also black—on the right shoulder blade. Jesus. He scowled darkly at me and ran a hand through his already tussled hair, drawing my attention away from the tattoos. Then he shook his head and disappeared into the other room without a word. A second later, I heard a muffled thump.

I sat back and let out my breath all at once. My god, what a body. And the tattoos. I've always been a sucker for tattoos. I think. Mmmm...well, no. Come to think of it, I had never really cared much for tattoos—until I saw Draco's. Genevieve's advice to get pregnant by Draco was sounding better and better. Then I shook myself and looked around. The room was tastefully furnished, but with a much darker motif than my room. It was very nice. After about three minutes, I decided I'd given him enough time and cleared my throat.

"Oh, the duck says "Quack",
and the cow says "Moo",
the old red rooster says
"Cock-a-doodle-doo".
The sheep says "Baa",
and the cat says "Meow",
but I say "Good Morning"
when I see you!"

To be fair, I listened for any sounds from the other room. Then I grinned and launched into another one.

"This is the way we start the day
Start the day, start the day,
This is the way we start the day,
So early in the morning.

First we smile and shake a hand,
Shake a hand, shake a hand,
First we smile and shake a hand,
So early in the morning.."

I finished that one and sang through every song my first grade teacher had ever sung to us (and everyone hated except for me). I was really getting into the swing of it after maybe fifteen minutes—Draco lasted longer than I thought he would—when I heard some stomping and the sound of a shower turning on. With a satisfied smirk, I crossed one leg over the other and folded my hands primly in my lap.

When Draco emerged a few minutes later in a pair of slightly less wrinkled jeans and a button-down shirt, I thought about greeting him with a song, but decided not to risk it. He looked about ready to kill me. His face, though a bit pink as if it had been scrubbed vigorously, was slightly stubbly and his wet hair stood up in spikes. The cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned, as were the top few buttons (the rest were buttoned incorrectly) and the collar stood up on one side. One eyelid drooped lower than the other.

"G-g-good morning," I choked, trying desperately not to laugh and failing spectacularly.

Draco glared murderously at me and jerked the door open. With a pointed look at the door, he leaned against it and waited. Holding a hand over my mouth in an attempt to forcibly contain my laughter, I darted by him to avoid any outbursts of uncontrollable rage. He slammed the door shut after him and stalked down the hallway looking like an offended cat.

We arrived in the family dining room to see Uncle Mac seated at the table in a bathrobe and slippers. He was drinking tea and reading the newspaper. I grinned and waved as I took my place and Draco practically fell into his chair, pillowed his head on his arms and, to all appearances, went to asleep.

"You get up early on Christmas, too?" I asked, pouring myself a glass of orange juice and sprinkling some granola on my yogurt.

"Ordinarily, no," Uncle Mac said ruefully. "But I heard you singing and was too...enthused...to go back to sleep."

"My first grade teacher used to sing to us to wake us up in the morning," I chirped. I cast a glance at Draco, who was still passed out on the table. "I think I'd better give Draco his present now."

I ran into the parlor and snatched his present from under the tree, which had real pixies clinging to the branches. I brought it back to the dining room and prodded the back of his head. He grunted and looked up with a baleful glare.

"What?"

"Your present," I replied, holding it out to him.

Draco groaned and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked up at my expectant face and sighed. As he unwrapped the bag of gourmet coffee beans, I called for Cinders and she came out of the kitchen bearing a large mug of coffee. I took it from her and set it down in front of him. Draco stared at it wonderingly for a moment and then downed it so fast I was surprised he didn't scald his throat.

"You stole my idea," Uncle Mac said with a frown. "I got him coffee."

"The more, the better," Draco gasped, panting. He slanted me a glance. "I need it after your performance this morning. Nails on chalkboard never sounded so sweet."

"Ah! I knew you enjoyed it!"

"Swear to me that you'll never do that again. Ever."

"Not until next Christmas, anyway," I agreed. "Now, come on!"

I led the way into the parlor and tossed a package to Uncle Mac and Draco. I reached for a large present from Soula, but Draco handed me another one. It was from him. I ripped off the paper after staring at it for a moment—the stars on it were actually twinkling—and pulled out an enormous bottle of bubble bath and a book entitled Flames of Desire. The cover depicted a swooning woman in a tight red bodice and a shirtless man in tight trousers. And they were moving. I stared at it for a minute. So that's what a heaving bosom looks like, I thought.

"I thought a cheesy romance novel was the best way to introduce you to wizarding literature," Draco said with a grin. "And you seem to spend a lot of time in the bathtub, so..."

"I love it," I laughed, and applied myself to Soula's present. I gave a small squeal of delight when I discovered a brand-new guitar.

"You play the guitar, too?" Uncle Mac asked. "Heavens, child, is there anything you don't do?"

"How come we've never heard you play?" Draco demanded.

"I gave my guitar to my cousin before I left so she could learn," I explained while tuning it.

"Here, open this," Uncle Mac said, handing me a box, which yielded a neatly folded, dark gray something. I took it out and saw that it was a hooded cloak with gold embroidery along the hem. "You'll need that when you go into the wizarding parts of London," he explained.

"It's lovely," I said, and draped it over my shoulders.

I picked up a small box and tossed it to Draco. "It's from your mother."

Draco opened it and stared at it for a few seconds. I craned my neck, trying to see what it was, but he tucked it into his pocket. I shrugged and turned back to the waiting pile of presents. I had a delightful time opening them and spent the rest of the morning playing my new guitar and singing. I taught Draco some songs and he taught me a few songs in return. We had a wonderful Christmas meal and Draco took me to see a play in a place called Diagon Alley that afternoon. I wore my new cloak. It was like a dream. There were witches and wizards walking around talking about potions and brooms and carrying owls or ravens on their shoulders. We went to a bank called Gringotts, where he showed me where all of my money had been stored (as gold!). Now that I knew about the wizarding world, I could keep the key to my vault for myself. It was so cool—and it was run by goblins.

To summarize, it was the most awesome day of my life. And the next couple of months were up there, too. Draco and I spent nearly all our free time together and some of my lesson time as well (Draco was an excellent swordsman and rider as well as a singer). He took me to a fancy restaurant in Diagon Alley for my birthday and bought me a pair of lovely silver earrings. I wondered what I could possibly get him for his birthday, which was in May. Ah, well, there was plenty of time between now and then.

What I loved most about spending time with Draco was that he treated me like a human being, not an accessory like Jared did. The fact that he was fond of buying me little presents and treating me like a princess didn't hurt at all, either. Well, it made up for the occasional—and by occasional I mean almost every morning—hurling of epithets like "poxy cow", "nosy bint", "sadistic monster", and my personal favorite, "Miss Smiley Sodding Sunshine". Although I often got the impression that he wanted to (insults notwithstanding), he never did more than kiss my cheek or my hand. It confused me, but life was still pretty sweet. Until one day in early March.

I was in my room, strumming my guitar and humming, when Draco burst in. He looked terrible—his eyes were sunken and his face haggard and unshaven. His clothes were rumpled and his hair a mess. I hadn't seen him this unkempt since Christmas. I set my guitar aside and stood up anxiously, too concerned to care that I was wearing my oldest, rattiest jeans and a faded sweatshirt.

"Draco?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"My mother is dead," he said harshly.

I gasped. "Oh, no...Draco, I'm so sorry..."

He shook his head and pulled me into my bedroom.

"Pack whatever clothes you can spare," he said. "Quickly."

"Draco--"

"Ari, please, just trust me." Draco dragged a suitcase out from under my bed. "Go on, put in whatever you won't need for the next few weeks."

I frowned, but did as he asked and threw in my summer skirts and blouses, a sweatshirt, a pair of old, thin jeans and some T-shirts.

"You're vault key, too," he said, and I handed it to him. "You have enough to last for a couple of weeks?"

I nodded and Draco zippered the suitcase shut and tapped it with his wand. It shrunk to the size of a thumbnail. I watched in consternation as he tapped it again and it transformed into a gold cross. He tapped it once more and muttered something.

"Keep this on at all times," he told me. "Don't take it off for anything. Understand?"

"No," I said angrily. "I don't. Are we going somewhere?"

"I am," he said tightly. "I have to leave for a little while."

"Leave—why?" I asked, throat constricting. "Draco, what's going on? This isn't just about your mother, is it?"

"I can't explain now," he said. "I shouldn't even be here—if he catches me..." Draco shook himself. "Please, promise me you won't take the necklace off until I see you again."

"Sure," I said, confused. "I promise—but when--"

"I don't know," he interrupted curtly. "But until then—don't trust your uncle, Ari. He's using you, but don't act as if anything is amiss. You'll find out soon enough what he wants and you must not give in. I'll come for you, I promise."

He twitched nervously as if he could hear something and pulled me close. I could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. Draco...afraid? I felt fear race through my own veins. What could possibly be bad enough to scare Draco? I lifted my face to ask him, but, with a chaste kiss on my forehead, he disappeared.

I sat down on the bed, stunned. What in the world had just happened? I looked down at the necklace in my hand and fastened it around my neck. I didn't know what was going on, but I wasn't going to wait around any more. I stood up and marched out of the room.

In the hallway, I looked around. I don't know what I expected to see, but it couldn't hurt. Then I set off in the direction of Uncle Mac's study. I knew he was away on "business" for the day, so I should have plenty of time. I hoped, anyway. But I had to take the opportunity. Who knew when he'd be out of the house next?

As I turned the last corner before Uncle Mac's study, I nearly had a heart attack. A lean, whippy blond youth with winged helmet and sandals leaned against the wall. He grinned cheekily at me as I approached and winked. I grinned back. Hermes wasn't nearly as irritating as Eros.

"I'd hoped you might show up," I said.

"Why do you think I'm here?" he replied, shrugging. "Turning your hand to thievery, are you?"

"Possibly," I said carefully. "I was thinking more along the lines of some nice, general sort of sneaking. But thievery is a possibility."

"What for?" he asked curiously.

"I want to find out what my uncle is up to," I said grimly. "Two people have warned me that he's not what he seems, and I happen to trust one of those people with my life."

"Wait a moment," Hermes said slowly. "Who did you say was up to something?"

"My uncle," I said impatiently. "Uncle Mac."

"You mean the master of this house."

I stared at him. Was he being dense on purpose? "Yes, both Draco and Genevieve told me he's not what he seems and--"

"Well, he certainly isn't what he seems if you think he's your uncle," Hermes exploded. "I don't know who he is, but he's definitely not your uncle."

"Well, no, he isn't related by blood—but he married my mother's sister."

"No," Hermes said, shaking his head. "That man isn't any relation of yours, by blood or marriage."

"Oh." I blinked. "Well. Okay. That's...that's kind of scary. He's not my uncle. Okay. I can deal. Let's figure out what this...person wants with me."

I moved to open the door, but Hermes stopped me. "You'd better let me. He's got powerful enchantments on the door."

"Are you a wizard?" I asked. "I mean, a really powerful wizard? Is that what gods are?"

Hermes gave me a dirty look. "Certainly not. These petty magics don't even affect the gods. Wizards are human, Ariadne. Remember that. They may have magic, but they are still only human."

With an ironic bow, Hermes stepped aside and let me pass. When I turned around, he was gone. I rolled my eyes. Drama queen. I looked around the study and was disappointed by the...normalness. I scowled around the room. There must be something out of the ordinary. I reached for his desk drawer and stopped. I shouldn't touch anything, I realized. Wizards probably had some magical fingerprinting method.

I smiled. Finally, I could use my magic for something useful. I crooked my finger and the drawer opened. There was nothing there but a box of chocolates. I sniffed experimentally. The scent of magic was faint, but present. It wasn't coming from the desk. I wandered around the room with my nose in the air, trying to pinpoint the smell. I'm sure I must have looked absurd, but I was too engrossed in my mission to care. Eventually I narrowed it down to a corner of the ceiling. I studied it carefully and saw the faint outline of a trap door. But how to get it open? I tried pushing at it with my magic, but that didn't work.

Suddenly I had an absolutely ridiculous idea (which meant it was probably gods-sent). I went back to the desk and motioned to the box of chocolates, which floated onto the desktop. After some trial and error, I discovered I could open the box without touching it by moving my hands as if I were touching it and concentrating. It was rather confusing, so I tried not to think about it too much. Inside lay a wrapper. And it wasn't crumpled up--or even slightly wrinkly. It was perfectly smooth. I floated the wrapper out of the box and up the ceiling, where it settled in the center of the trapdoor. The door fell open and the stink of magic gushed out. Thank you, Hermes, I thought with a grin.

But how to get inside, I wondered. I thought for a moment then took off my sweatshirt. I held it up. Up, I thought firmly. Go up. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I felt like I was splitting my mind in half; one half was dangling from the sweatshirt and the other was pulling me up. It was very weird. It was also physically tiring. By the time I made it into the trap door, I was panting and my head was throbbing fiercely.

I looked around the dimly lit room, noting the weird looking instruments and jars that littered the place. There was another desk in the center. I pulled the same trick that I used with the other desk, this time with better results. There were several pages of notes stuck in some books on werewolves and what looked like the genealogies for several families. I frowned and started to read through some of the notes. Most of it was about how the curse was transferred.

I scanned the page and blinked. Huh. It was genetic. Or, at least, it seemed to run in families. And doctor Stanley had implied that not everyone survived the bite. Yes, there it was on the page...only those who survive the bite are turned into werewolves. So werewolves must have had a genetic predisposition for it, otherwise they would have died when they were bitten. But what were the genealogies for? There was a connection there, I knew it. Suddenly I couldn't think clearly. What was happening? It was right under my nose—why couldn't I make that final step?

Suddenly a slight shimmer caught my eye. I made may way carefully across the room and saw a shiny, silky veil that seemed to shimmer first blue, then silver, and sometimes purple. I stood there for a moment, mesmerized, then shook myself. I looked at it more closely and saw that there were scorched spots, as if something had burned through the material. Something (Hermes, most likely) told me I should see what was under it. I raised my hand and the veil rose with it, revealing a perfect wax miniature of myself, right down to my favorite dress and shoes. In my shock, I nearly let the veil fall.

As soon as the veil was lifted, several things became clear. This was why I kept losing interest when I started to wonder about things. This was why it took me so long to wonder what Uncle Mac did for a living. He had pulled the wool—or whatever it was—over my eyes quite literally. I also realized now that I had never told Uncle Mac that I was an unusual werewolf. So how did he know? An image of a spider flashed across my mind.

There had been a spider in the room when Dr. Stanley told me that I was a werewolf, and again when I told him that I was changing early. I remembered running in the woods and finding a scent that changed from human to something I couldn't identify. I had a pretty good feeling that the strange scent had been that of a spider. It was probably a whatchamacallit—an Animagus.

I glanced back at the genealogies and felt the blood seep out of my face. If susceptibility to the curse was genetic, it stood to reason that my unique traits were genetic, too. And if Uncle Mac was looking for wizards with werewolves in the family...well, then. I had to resist the urge to sit down. He was going to use me as breeding stock.

I took a deep breath and replaced everything the way I had found it. The veil now had a rather large hole in it. I looked at the charred edges nervously and rearranged it slightly so the hole wouldn't be immediately visible. I looked around nervously. I had to get out of there. I suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable, as if a layer of protection had been stripped away.

My head hurt like hell and I felt oddly drained. I didn't think I could get down using magic. I squatted next to the trapdoor and looked down. No, it was too far to jump. I'd sprain an ankle at the very least. And anyway, the door was closed and I didn't want to get zapped or whatever. I looked around again. The study seemed to be in a kind of loft. The rafters above looked like they might extend beyond the walls of the study. That was worth looking into. But how to get up there?

I glanced around. There was nothing. I looked up at the rafters and held my hands up. It was maybe three or four feet above my arms. And there was a bare bit of wall there. I could probably propel myself off the wall if I got a running start. I eyed the rafters warily. They seemed smooth enough, but getting out of this without a few splinters was probably too much to hope for. Especially since I wasn't wearing any shoes.

"Ugh," I groaned. This was going to hurt. But I got as far away from the wall as I could and fixed my eyes on the spot I needed to hit. "Here we go..."

I sprinted at the wall and rocketed upward, kicking off from the wall. I snatched at the beam wildly—and missed. I fell the floor with a dull thud. I got up, biting my lip. That hurt, but nothing was damaged. And I could have gotten the beam but I had timed it wrong. I just had to try again, that's all.

It actually took me a couple more times to get it, but I finally snagged the beam and swung myself up. I lay there for a minute, panting, and then crawled along the beam. I got out of the workshop, but I had no idea where I was. Wherever it was, it was miserable—hot, dusty, smelly, and cramped. I just kept going until I caught a whiff of fresh air. I followed it eagerly and spotted a small, circular window. I looked out and nearly cried with relief. It opened onto a slanted roof, but it wasn't steep and there was a tree growing right next to it. I just had to hop a little and swing myself onto a branch and make my way down. Which I did, but not without getting scratched, scraped, and poked repeatedly.

When I finally staggered into my room sometime later, I made a beeline for the bathroom and didn't emerge for a good three hours. When I did, it was nearly time for dinner. I hauled myself out of the tub, and dried myself off, wincing as my many bruises and scrapes protested. I looked at the jeans laid out on my bed and shuddered. The thought of pulling those over my raw, shredded knees was unbearable. I wore a skirt long enough to cover my knees and put on a soft, loose sweater instead. But even that made my cuts sting every time I moved.

Even though I had fulfilled my shock quota for the day and more, I was nevertheless shocked to see my Unc...Person Mac sitting calmly at the dinner table and a stranger sitting in Draco's place. He looked to be somewhere between thirty and thirty-five. He was tall and lean--almost thin, but not quite—with black hair and hard gray eyes. Not silver, like Draco's, but gray. A cold, dead gray--like slate. He scared me. Even without the tell-tale hint of wolf in his scent that proclaimed him a werewolf.

"Ariadne, my dear," Mac greeted me. "I would like you to meet my good friend Ira Bellum."

"How do you do?" I murmured and shook his hand without looking him in the eye. To The Man Posing As My Uncle, I said, "Where is Draco? Didn't you say he was coming home tonight?"

"Draco has been called home," Man Who Was Not My Uncle replied smoothly. "His mother is unwell, poor chap. He will likely be gone for a few weeks."

I resisted the urge to snort. 'Unwell'. Yes, dead people generally are. Instead, I put a hand to my mouth and said, "Oh, no...I hope it's not serious..."

"It's nothing," he assured me. "I think she's just worried and feels more comfortable with Draco at home."

"I'm sure she does," I murmured, and sat down.

"May I pour you a drink?" Mr. Bellum asked politely. I shivered; his voice was as cold as his eyes.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, and accepted the goblet of wine he handed me.

Suddenly Eros was at my side. I stiffened in surprise but didn't jump.

"Don't drink it," he said urgently. "It has a powerful love potion in it. Pretend to drink it but don't let a single drop of it touch your lips."

I obeyed and set the goblet down with trembling hands. Both The Impostor and Mr. Bellum were leaning forward eagerly.

"Smile at the tall one," Eros urged me. "Go on."

I smiled sweetly and Mr. Bellum, who smirked back. I would have dearly loved to smack that smart-ass smile off his face but I was too afraid. Fake Uncle Mac leaned forward and took my hand in his. My stomach clenched painfully but I kept smiling.

"Mr. Bellum is a wonderful man, you know," The Impostor told me. "He's very rich and of impeccable breeding."

Breeding is right, I thought darkly. You sick bastard. But I kept smiling.

"Say something," Eros whispered.

"You've forgotten handsome," I said breathlessly, peeking through my eyelashes at Mr. Bellum.

"Indeed," Sick Bastard agreed. "And I'm glad you think so. He has come to ask for my blessing."

"Blessing?"

"To marry you," Mr. Bellum explained, as if to a child. "Will you marry me, Ariadne?"

"Don't say yes," Eros warned me. "If you say yes, it's binding."

"But we've only just met," I giggled. "I really must think about it first."

"If you must," Mr. Bellum sighed. "But you must know that I am very much in love with you."

I laughed. Even as terrified as I was, I couldn't help it. It was just so ridiculously fake. I managed to turn it into a ditzy giggle and let Mr. Bellum kiss my hand before rising. I giggled again as vacuously as I could.

"What was that noise you just made?" Eros said in tones of deepest revulsion. "Never do that again. Every time you do that a kitten dies."

I choked back my laughter with difficulty and smiled at Bellum.

"Aren't you going to finish your dinner?" Fake Uncle Mac asked.

"Oh, I'm much too excited to eat another bite," I said, still smiling. I batted my eyelashes at Mr. Bellum. "Goodnight, Mr. Bellum."

I beat a hasty retreat and Eros followed. Once in my room, I thew myself on the bed and started laughing and crying hysterically. I didn't snap out of it until Eros slapped me sharply across the cheek.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Someone might have heard."

"Thanks," I said ruefully, rubbing my cheek. "Did Hermes tell you what we found out? He was with me in the attic, am I right?"

"Yes," Eros replied. "They want to use you as a brood mare."

"Really, don't water it down for my sake," I said dryly. "But here's the thing—there's, like, a point-two percent chance of it actually working."

"Why?" Eros asked. "They've obviously found matches with werewolf blood in them."

"You're a god," I said, almost accusingly. "You don't know anything about genetics."

"Parents pass on traits to their children," Eros said with a shrug.

"Have you ever wondered why two people with brown eyes can have a child with blue eyes?" I asked. "Look, this is how it works: what we look like, what talents we have, what immunities we have, and so on are all determined by what we call 'genes' that are passed down from parent to child." Eros nodded. "Now, there are two kinds of genes: dominant and recessive. A dominant gene is always expressed, while a recessive gene is not. So, if two people have a dominant gene for brown eyes and a recessive gene for blue eyes, then they both have brown eyes because brown is the dominant gene. But if they both pass on the recessive gene to their child, the child will have blue eyes because he has two recessive genes."

"I understand," Eros said slowly. "You're saying that for your child to have your same abilities, you would have to have the correct match for your genes."

"Right," I confirmed. "And we don't know whether the genes for my abilities are a dominant and a recessive or two recessives or what. And he might not have the gene at all. So the gene that I pass on would have to be dominant for it to be expressed. And since werewolves are rare and I'm the only known werewolf with these traits, I think we can safely assume that the gene is recessive. So unless he had a recessive gene of the same type floating around, it just wouldn't work. This is vastly over-simplified, you understand, but the concept is sound. I'm simply a freak of nature and I'd need another freak of nature to make baby freaks of nature."

"Well," Eros said. "This changes things."

"Is that all they want me for?" I asked desperately. "If I explained it to them, then they would see that they don't need me anymore and--"

"And probably kill you, or worse," Eros interrupted. "No, you need to stall until Lover Boy comes for you."

"Draco," I breathed, and suddenly I felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice down my back. "He—he must have been the first match. That's why he was here, that's why he was so nice to me--"

"So what?" Eros said rudely. "Are you going to tell me that you would have minded marrying him?"

Frankly, I would have been thrilled.

"That's not the point," I snapped. "He's as bad as that pervert downstairs. He lied to me."

"Didn't I tell you you could trust him?" Eros demanded peevishly. "He's trying to protect you. If he had told you, you would have flown off the handle and 'that pervert downstairs' would have had to eliminate you. Now, if you have any sense, you'll do as he told you and wait for him. I'm too far from home—I must leave soon. So don't do anything stupid."

"But what do I tell Bellum?" I asked. "I can only keep up the giggling so long before they get suspicious. How well was that potion supposed to work, anyway?"

"You should have thrown yourself into Ira's arms the moment he asked you," said a dangerous voice. The Impostor was there in the doorway. "I don't know how you found out about my plans or who you are talking to, but I must say I am impressed. And very grateful to you for finding such an egregious flaw. But what shall I do with you, if you can't give me what I need?"

Suddenly I realized Eros was gone. I was alone.

"Who are you?" I asked, heart pounding. "I know you're not my uncle. Who are you?"

"You don't need to know that," he said. "Now. If you are indeed correct, you are useless to me."

"Are you going to kill me?" I whispered. His wand thing was out. If I changed, no doubt he would.

"No," he said, raking his eyes over my body. "No, I don't believe I will. I am a man of business, I have never lied about that. And I think I can still make a profit out of this little adventure."

I did not like the way he was looking at me. "What are you--"

"Stupefy!" A jet of red light exploded from his wand and hit me in the chest. Stupefy? I thought incredulously. What a stupid spell. And then everything went dark.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

le gasp! what will dear Uncle Mac do with her! Dun dun DUNNN!