The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

and especially Maeve.’ Jane had last seen Maeve Montague, her first friend in New York, looking bruised and broken in a hospital bed. Maeve, who came from a family of witches herself (although the magic was on her father’s side, so she hadn’t inherited any), had been just about to tell Jane the truth about the family she was marrying into when Lynne had magically steered the tiny redhead out in front of a hurtling taxicab. Later that night, Malcolm, suffering from a crisis of conscience, had levelled with Jane about his mother’s power . . . but the near-fatal crash had already made things pretty clear.
    ‘Mae’s doing really well,’ Dee told her comfortingly, setting the open blue box carefully on the coffee table. ‘She had some trouble walking at first, but they got her a physical therapist. And, go figure, he’s this hunky twenty-six-year-old guy with a degree in music composition, or something, who also cooks. He got her “walking” in no time.’ Dee winked saucily, and Jane wrinkled her nose. ‘No, they’re really cute!’ Dee insisted. ‘Harris even likes him, and you know how protective he is.’
    Dee rolled her eyes conspiratorially, and Jane forced hers to follow the same track.
Harris.
His dancing green eyes, his long, lean body, the touch of his hand on her shoulder, her arm, the small of her back . . . She and Maeve’s older brother had never crossed any kind of line together, but her body could still remember every place that his skin had touched hers.
It’s just the magic,
Jane reminded herself: magical blood sparked and enhanced attraction. It had made her an easy target for Malcolm, and then had sent her into a near-swoon every time Harris brushed past her.
Plus I was lonely and scared,
Jane reminded herself,
and he’s handsome and flirtatious.
It had been a volatile situation to begin with, and Jane had done her best to keep her head, eventually even pushing Harris and Dee together. They would make a much more appropriate couple, not to mention a safer one, but Jane found that there was a sour taste in her mouth at the thought that Dee seemed to know so much about what was going on with the Montagues.
    ‘So you’ve been in touch with Harris?’ she asked awkwardly, the fork handle digging into her thigh.
    Dee, busy chewing a chunk of eggplant the size of a golf ball, didn’t seem to notice any strain in Jane’s voice. ‘Well, he was convinced that the tabloid stuff was complete fiction,’ she confirmed breezily. ‘He kept trying to tell me that you were off with Malcolm in Thailand or whatever, and that Lynne was just trying to smoke you out. He’ll be glad you’re safe, but pissed that I was right,’ she concluded with a smirk.
    ‘Don’t tell him,’ Jane blurted out, surprising them both. Her brain tried to catch up with her mouth, but there were just too many pieces of the puzzle to see the whole picture. ‘He thinks I’m safe,’ she finally said, and it rang true in her ears. ‘He’d just worry, and I
am
safe, so there’s no point in that. Plus, now that I know they’re both okay,
I
can stop worrying, and that’s all I really need. I mean, Maeve almost died.’ Jane’s eyes felt hot, and she realized that she was near tears. She flipped her fork over and stabbed it into a slice of lamb. ‘I’m sorry I ever involved them in my drama, and I’m sorry to you, too, and I probably shouldn’t have even called you today, but the least I can do to make up for that is not drag them back into this craziness.’
    She sighed, feeling almost cleansed, and waited for Dee’s inevitable sensible argument. It didn’t come, though; instead, Dee bit her lower lip and looked thoughtful. Finally she spoke, her voice even throatier than usual. ‘I won’t tell him for now. The thing with Mae was so hard on him . . . I know he would want to help you, Jane, but I think I have to agree that your way is best. For now,’ she repeated, her black eyebrows arching meaningfully. ‘If you plan to get into trouble again, I don’t make any promises.’
    Jane smiled weakly. She knew she was doing the right thing, but she had half hoped to be talked out of it. ‘It’s okay,’ she declared, to both Dee and herself. ‘I don’t have a plan yet, but I’m set up to wait it out here until I come up with a really good one. No crises, no panics. Thanks to Malcolm, I’ve got as long as I need to figure out my next step.’ A stab of jealousy twisted in her abdomen, and she