Morgana glanced over and spotted Nash through the front window. He'd had more luck with parking this time, and was unfolding himself from the front seat of his convertible.

"Down, girl." Chuckling, Morgana shook her head. "Men like that break hearts without spilling a drop of blood."

"That's okay. I haven't had my heart broken in days. Let's see…" She took a swift and deadly accurate survey. "Six foot, a hundred and sixty gorgeous pounds. The casual type—maybe just a tad intellectual. Likes the outdoors, but doesn't overdo it. Just a few scattered sun streaks through the hair, and a reasonable tan. Good facial bones—he'll hold up with age. Then there's that yummy mouth."

"Fortunately I know you, and understand you actually do think more of men than you do puppies in a pet-store window."

With a chuckle, Mindy fluffed her hair. "Oh, I think more of them, all right. A whole lot more." As the door opened, Mindy shifted position so that her body seemed about to burst out of the jumpsuit. "Hello, handsome. Want to buy a little magic?"

Always ready to accommodate a willing woman, Nash flashed her a grin. "What do you recommend?"

"Well…" The word came out in a long purr to rival one of Luna's.

"Mindy, Mr. Kirkland isn't a customer." Morgana's voice was mild and amused. There were few things more entertaining than Mindy's showmanship with an attractive man. "We have a meeting."

"Maybe next time," Nash told her.

"Maybe anytime." Mindy slithered around the counter, shot Nash one last devastating look, then wiggled out the door.

"I bet she boosts your sales," Nash commented.

"Along with the blood pressure of every male within range. How's yours?"

He grinned. "Got any oxygen?"

"Sorry. Fresh out." She gave his arm a friendly pat. "Why don't you have a seat? I have a few more things to—Damn."

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't get the Closed sign up quick enough," she muttered. Then she beamed a smile as the door opened. "Hello, Mrs. Littleton."

"Morgana." The word came out in a long, relieved sigh as a woman Nash judged to be somewhere between sixty and seventy streamed across the room.

The verb seemed apt, he thought. She was built like a cruise ship, sturdy of bow and stern, with colorful scarves wafting around her like flags. Her hair was a bright, improbable red that frizzed cheerfully around a moon-shaped face. Her eyes were heavily outlined in emerald, and her mouth was slicked with deep crimson. She threw out both hands—they were crowded with rings—and gripped Morgana's.

"I simply couldn't get here a moment sooner. As it was, I had to scold the young policeman who tried to give me a ticket. Imagine, a boy hardly old enough to shave, lecturing me on the law." She let out huff of breath that smelled of peppermint. "Now then, I hope you have a few minutes for me."

"Of course." There was no help for it, Morgana thought. She was simply too fond of the batty old woman to make excuses.

"You're a dream. She's a dream, isn't she?" Mrs. Littleton demanded of Nash.

"You bet."

Mrs. Littleton beamed, turning toward him with a musical symphony of jaggling chains and bracelets. "Sagittarius, right?"

"Ah…" Nash heedlessly amended his birthday to suit her. "Right Amazing."

She puffed out her ample bosom. "I do pride myself on being an excellent judge. I won't keep you but a moment from your date, dear."

"I don't have a date," Morgana told her. "What can I do for you?"

"Just the teensiest favor." Mrs. Littleton's eyes took on a gleam that had Morgana stifling a moan. "My grandniece. There's the matter of the prom, and this sweet boy in her geometry class."

This time she'd be firm, Morgana promised herself. Absolutely a rock. Taking Mrs. Littleton's arm, she edged her away from Nash. "I've explained to you that I don't work that way."

Mrs. Littleton fluttered her false eyelashes. "I know you usually don't. But this is such a worthy cause."

"They all are." Narrowing her eyes at Nash, who'd shifted closer, Morgana pulled Mrs. Littleton across the room. "I'm sure your niece is a wonderful girl, but arranging a prom date for her is frivolous—and such things have repercussions. No," she said when Mrs. Littleton began to protest. "If I did arrange it—changing something that shouldn't be changed—it could affect her life."

"It's only one night."

"Altering fate one night potentially alters it for centuries." Mrs. Littleton's downcast look had Morgana feeling like a miser refusing a starving man a crust of bread. "I know you only want her to have a special night, but I just can't play games with destiny."

"She's so shy, you see," Mrs. Littleton said with a sigh. Her ears were sharp enough to have heard the faint weakening in Morgana's resolve. "And she doesn't think she's the least bit pretty. But she is." Before Morgana could protest, she whipped out a snapshot. "See?"

She didn't want to see, Morgana thought. But she looked, and the pretty young teenager with the somber eyes did the rest. Morgana cursed inwardly. Dragon's teeth and hellfire. She was as soppy as a wet valentine when it came to puppy love.

"I won't guarantee—only suggest."

"That will be wonderful." Seizing the moment, Mrs. Littleton pulled out another picture, one she'd cut from the high school yearbook at the school library. "This is Matthew. A nice name, isn't it? Matthew Brody, and Jessie Littleton. She was named for me. You will start soon, won't you? The prom's the first weekend in May."

"If it's meant, it's meant," Morgana said, slipping the photos into her pocket.

"Blessed be." Beaming, Mrs. Littleton kissed Morgana's cheek. "I won't keep you any longer. I'll be back Monday to shop."

"Have a good weekend." Annoyed with herself, Morgana watched Mrs. Littleton depart.

"Wasn't she supposed to cross your palm with silver?" Nash asked.

Morgana tilted her head. The anger that had been directed solely at herself shot out of her eyes. "I don't profit from power."