Your Magic or Mine? by Ann Macela Page B

from the Defenders who destroy evil magic items? The guys who can throw fireballs? Isn’t that a little extreme?”
    “We’re going to be ready for anything,” Ed answered. “The High Council and the Defenders Council both offered their services. The councils recognize the worth of what we’re doing here and want to take the opportunity you two have provided to help set policy for the next century. They could set up meetings through their auspices, but nothing will have the impact of genuine grassroots debates and decisions. Since the Swords can cast offensive spells that stop a man in his tracks, we’ll have order.”
    Gloriana looked from one man to the other. Ed was eager, and Forscher was resigned. She and her opponent were on the same side for a change. “Okay, count me in, too.”
    “Good,” Ed said. “Neither of you will regret it.”
    “I hope not,” she and Forscher said at the same time.

CHAPTER
FOUR
     
    About two hours later, Marcus pulled his silver BMW into his garage. His home in the hills west of the city had never looked so good. He was worn out from dealing with Ed and … that Morgan woman.
    In the past four weeks, he’d put her completely out of his mind—if you didn’t count some extremely arousing dreams. He knew he couldn’t be responsible for his subconscious; he hadn’t, after all, been on even a simple date for a while. He’d been too busy in California, and being back in Austin had been a nonstop marathon of holding classes, working with his grad students on their dissertations, and writing his latest books and articles.
    He’d barely gotten back to normal before Ed and his traveling circus returned and wanted him to run away with them.
    He entered the house to Samson’s chortling greeting, a definite request from the red and white basenji to be let out of his crate, the sturdy wire-framed inside doghouse. He knew Samson didn’t like being cooped up, but that was better than having him loose to get into things like closets, boxes, and cabinets. Marcus had learned his lesson early of how disruptive and messy a curious puppy could be.
    He looked around the room before opening the door. Everything was in its place, neat, clean, uncluttered, exactly the way he liked it. One woman had called the white walls, light oak floors, and gray, beige, black, and white furnishings “austere,” but it suited him. So did his collection of art photographs. When she brought him a plant with long thin green and white leaves, claiming it made the space “more cheerful,” he’d put it out on his deck and forgotten about it after they stopped dating. He found it dead the following spring. Oh, well, if he wanted color, he had Samson for that. He opened the crate’s door.
    With a frown at his master to remind him of his displeasure, the red and white dog came out and stretched, graceful and almost catlike in his movements.
    Marcus knelt down and held out his hand to rub Samson’s wrinkled forehead. The dog, however, smelled his hand first and even licked it, making a grunting noise as he did so.
    “What’s gotten into you?” Marcus asked when he was finally allowed to pet the animal. What had Samson smelled? He hadn’t eaten after lunch, and he’d washed his hands since then. He’d left the HeatherRidge and come straight home … but he’d shaken hands with Hearst and Morgan … Did the dog smell
her?
    He himself certainly had, that same mix of floral and spice she’d worn before. Despite the distance, her scent had pulled at him from across the table, like a flower attracting insects. Hell, if he were a bee, he’d be diving into …
    Stop! A bee? A flower? What was the matter with him?
    He hated to admit it. The woman affected him, aroused him, tightened his muscles to the point that he could barely move. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her dark curly hair, run his hands over her skin to see if it was as soft as he imagined, kiss those …
    Samson bumped his hand, and Marcus came