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of human imagination.”
    “Okay—”
    “But,” she went on, interrupting him, “I’m not sure I want my personal views going Hollywood.”
    “We can talk.” He smiled again, and again she understood that he was a power to be reckoned with. As she considered that, Luna leapt onto the table. For the first time Nash noticed that the cat wore an etched round crystal around her neck. “Look, Morgana, I’m not trying to prove or disprove, I’m not trying to change the world. I just want to make a movie.”
    “Why horror and the occult?”
    “Why?” He shrugged his shoulders. It always made him uncomfortable when people asked him to analyze. “I don’t know. Maybe because when people go into a scary movie, they stop thinking about the lousy day they had at the office after the opening scream.” His eyes lit with humor. “Or maybe because the first time I got pastfirst base with a girl was when she wrapped herself all over me during a midnight showing of Carpenter’s
Halloween.
”
    Morgana sipped and considered. Maybe, just maybe, there was a sensitive soul under that smug exterior. There certainly was talent, and there was undeniably charm. It bothered her that she felt . . . pushed somehow, pushed to agree.
    Well, she’d damn well say no if she chose to, but she’d test the waters first.
    “Why don’t you tell me about your story?”
    Nash saw the opening and pounced. “I haven’t got one to speak of yet. That’s where you come in. I like to have plenty of background. I can get a lot of information out of books.” He spread his hands. “I already havesome—my research tends to overlap and take me into all areas of the occult. What I want is the personal angle. You know, what made you get into witchcraft, do you attend ceremonies, what kind of trappings you prefer.”
    Morgana ran a fingertip thoughtfully around the rim of the goblet. “I’m afraid you’re starting off with the wrong impression. You’re making it sound as though I joined some sort of club.”
    “Coven, club. . . . A group with the same interests.”
    “I don’t belong to a coven. I prefer working alone.”
    Interested, he leaned forward. “Why?”
    “There are groups who are quite sincere, and those who are not. Still others dabble in things best left locked.”
    “Black magic.”
    “Whatever name you give it.”
    “And you’re a white witch.”
    “You’re fond of labels.” With a restless move, she picked up her wine again. Unlike Nash, she didn’t mind discussing the essence of her Craft—but once she agreed to, she expected to have her thoughts received respectfully. “We’re all born with certain powers, Nash. Yours is to tell entertaining stories. And to attractwomen.” Her lips curved as she sipped. “I’m sure you respect, and employ, your powers. I do exactly the same.”
    “What are yours?”
    She took her time, setting her goblet down, lifting her eyes to his. The look she leveled at him made him feel like a fool for having asked. The power was there—the kind that could make a man crawl. His mouth went so dry that the wine he was drinking could have been sand.
    “What would you like, a performance?” The faintest hint of impatience had seeped into her tone.
    He managed to draw a breath and shake himself out of what he would almost have thought was a trance—if he believed in trances. “I’d love one.” Maybe it was twitching the devil’s tail, but he couldn’t resist. The color that temper brought to her cheeks made her skin glow like a freshly picked peach. “What did you have in mind?”
    She felt the quick, unwelcome tug of desire. It was distinctly annoying. “Lightning bolts from the fingertips? Should I whistle up the wind or draw down the moon?”
    “Dealer’s choice.”
    The nerve of the man, she thought as she rose, the power humming hot in her blood. It would serve him right if she—
    “Morgana.”
    She whirled, anger sizzling. With an effort, she tossed her hair back and