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"This is a well-known meeting place for those who dabble in magick. Of course, we get outsiders from time to time, but most of Myra 's customers are serious practitioners." He leaned forward. "Are you by chance a witch?"
She shook her head, unable to voice the lie.
He settled back in his chair again. "Were you looking for anything in particular?" he asked. "Or are you just curious?"
"Just curious," she said. Although Anthony Loken seemed gentlemanly enough, she was reluctant to trust him, though she couldn't say why. She certainly had no intention of telling him that she was interested in finding a cure for vampirism. She wasn't even sure why she was looking for one. Roshan had never said anything about wanting to be mortal again.
"Thanks, Darlene," Loken said, smiling at the pretty serving girl who brought their order.
Darlene smiled back, a blush rising in her cheeks. "Would you like a cinnamon roll or a tart?" she asked. "Nicole just made some fresh."
"Nothing for me," Loken replied. "Miss Flanagan, would you care for anything?"
"No, thank you."
With a last adoring look at Anthony Loken, the waitress left the table.
"So," Loken said, stirring a bit of cream into his coffee, "are you new in the city?"
Brenna nodded. Picking up her cup, she sipped it slowly.
"I didn't think I'd seen you in here before," Loken remarked. "I must say, I hope you're here to stay. We can always use another pretty face."
"That is very kind of you to say," Brenna replied politely. "But you should not pay me such compliments."
He studied her for several moments. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"No."
"And not very talkative." He lifted his cup and took a drink. "I can tell you're wondering if I'm a practitioner. Well, I am. I specialize in channeling and cartomancy."
"You don't care that people know you're a"— she lowered her voice— "warlock."
He shrugged. "Why should I care? This isn't seventeenth-century Salem. No one cares about witchcraft anymore. There are too many other scary things going on in the world for people to worry about witches and warlocks, even if they believed in them."
Though he spoke openly of being a warlock, she couldn't bring herself to tell him that she was a witch. She had spent too many years hiding what she was to share such personal information with a man she had just met. Back home, the villagers had thought of her as a healer, or so she had foolishly believed, until the night her neighbors came to accuse and condemn her.
"Yon are not into the dark arts, are you?" Brenna asked. Black magick was used to bring harm to others and reeked of negative energy. White magick, intended for doing good to one's self or others, was always positive. If there was one thing Granny O'Connell had instilled in Brenna, it was the law of threefold return. Any witch who used her power for evil could expect to reap three times the amount of whatever harm she caused another.
"No," Loken said. "We only practice white magick here. Healing, finding lost objects, things like that." He leaned forward again. "Do you need help with something, lessons in witchcraft, perhaps? I'd be happy to instruct you."
"No, I was just taking a walk through the city, finding my way around, as it were."
"So you just stumbled in here by chance?"
"Yes. And I really should be going," Brenna said. "Thank you for the coffee."
"My pleasure." He rose when she did. "I'll walk you to the door."
With a nod, Brenna left the coffee shop, conscious of Anthony Loken walking at her side. She stopped at the door that led to the street. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Loken."
"Please, call me Anthony," he said. "I'd like very much to see you again. Perhaps I could take you out to dinner one evening next week?"
"Thank you, but I cannot."
"I see. Who is he?"
"He?"
"My competition."
"I do not understand."
"I'm assuming the reason you can't go out with me is because you have a steady boyfriend."
She started to deny it and then decided it would be easier to let him think just that. "Yes," she said, "and he can be very jealous."
Loken laughed good-naturedly. "Well, perhaps we can have coffee together again."
"Yes, perhaps. Good day to you, sir."
She left the shop, conscious of Anthony Loken's gaze on her back. She didn't relax until she was in the car and headed back to the relative safety of Roshan DeLongpre's house.
CHAPTER 12
Roshan woke as the setting sun slipped behind the horizon. One minute he was caught in the web of the death-like sleep of his kind, the next he was fully awake and alert. He knew, with his first in-drawn breath, that he was alone in the house.
Throwing back the quilt on his bed, he sat up. A moment later, the overhead lights which were hooked up to an automatic timer came on, illuminating his lair. It was a large rectangular room, usually furnished with little more than his bed and a comfortable chair. However, since Brenna's arrival, he had moved his clothing down here. At the moment, his entire wardrobe was arranged in several neat piles on the floor. Since it looked like Brenna was here to stay for awhile, perhaps it was time to think about furnishing one of the empty bedrooms upstairs so he wouldn't have to carry his clothes back and forth from his lair to the shower.
On the other hand, he might be wise to wait. She had taken his car and left the house. Who was to say she would return? And if she didn't, who could blame her? Even though she had said she wasn't afraid of him, what woman in her right mind would want to live here, with a creature like him?
Rising, he collected a change of underwear, a pair of slacks, a sweater, and a pair of black leather boots. Unlocking the door, he made his way up the winding staircase to the portal that opened onto the first floor.
He unlocked that door, as well, ducked into the hallway, then locked the door behind him. Bent on a shower, he bypassed the small half bath on the main floor and went up the stairs to the master bathroom, noting, as he passed by, that the door to Brenna's bedroom was closed.
He thought about her as he turned on the water in the shower and stepped under the spray, surprised at how empty the house felt without her. How empty he felt without her. He hadn't shared a dwelling with anyone since he became a vampire and yet, in a matter of weeks, Brenna Flanagan had moved into his house and into his heart.
