Magic Man. At least that had meaning.

“Okay, Magic Man,” she said as she walked over to his side. “What’s next?”

* * *

Magic Man.

When he heard the nickname she had given him, he smiled.

She had been traumatized in a way that few people ever endured. She was still in danger, afraid, and vulnerable to the malignant forces all around her, and yet here she walked toward him, ready to hear what he had to say.

Bravery wasn’t facing something you knew you could vanquish, he thought. Bravery was facing the impossible and saying, what’s next?

“I know a spell,” he told her.

She chuckled quietly and touched his shoulder in a quick, affectionate gesture. “Of course you do. What is it?”

“It’s actually a battle spell,” he replied. “You can transfer your skills to another person for a battle. The effects are temporary, and the spell is draining for both people, so it isn’t something anyone would cast lightly. In battle, using it tends to be an act of desperation, in an all-or-nothing kind of scenario, because if you’re in a situation where you need to cast it, it’s unlikely either participant will survive anyway. The times I’ve seen it used were when warriors were battling for the greater good. One badly wounded soldier cast the spell to transfer his abilities to a younger man. They both died that day, but they were able to guard a narrow pass long enough for reinforcements to arrive, which saved their settlement from an invading force.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle, and he sensed her shiver. “Sounds grim.”

Putting an arm around her, he drew her against his side. “It is, rather. But here’s the thing—I’ve played both the lute and the harp before. Once, I played them quite well. But that was quite a long time ago.”

As she tilted back her head, he caught a shadowed glimpse of her sparkling, elegant eyes. “Just how old are you?”

“Very old,” he replied. “I stopped aging when I was thirty-seven. That was when Isabeau trapped me with the geas.”

Leaning against him, she turned her face into his shoulder and sighed. “I daydream about tearing her face off.”

That was so unexpectedly bloodthirsty, he coughed out a laugh. “As do I,” he told her. Obeying an impulse he didn’t want to examine too closely, he pressed his lips to her forehead and said against her soft, creamy skin, “As do I.”

Whenever she came close, he wanted to touch her, stroke her face, cradle her slender body against his, rest his cheek on top of her head. Touching her had awakened a hunger he hadn’t felt in centuries, or perhaps ever.

In his human life, he had been self-contained and autonomous, driven by his intellectual passions, the pursuit of magic, and the brilliant realization of political ambitions. Sex had been enjoyable but not something he had obsessed over, and he hadn’t needed the kind of physical demonstrations of affection that so many other people seemed to need from their lovers.

This compulsion to touch Sidonie was completely foreign to him. He didn’t understand why he had grown to need it or why it had to be her that he touched.

But it did have to be her. He wasn’t interested in seeking or offering comfort to anyone else.

Frowning, he loosened his hold on her shoulders. “The only way to know if the spell will work is to try it. Which instrument do you want to focus on?”

She blew out a sigh. “It should be the lute. I’ll have the best chance to learn and play that quickly—or at least quicker than the other instruments. I’d enjoy exploring the harp, but that will take more time.”

He liked and respected the confidence with which she spoke about her musical ability as she assessed the challenges in front of her and what she could do to meet them. When it came to music, she knew herself very well. Right now, her attitude was akin to that of a master swordsman surveying a battlefield.

Reaching around her, he picked up the lute. “Come with me.”

She followed him as he walked over to one end of the couch and sat. Snagging a footstool, he dragged it over to position it between his knees. “Have a seat here and put your back to me.”

“Okay.” She settled on the footstool, facing away from him.

He leaned forward and reached around her waist to put the lute in her lap. “I think you’re right,” he said in her ear. “A lot of what you already know from playing the guitar will be applicable to the lute, so it was a good choice. But there’s a lot that’s different as well.”

A subtle shiver ran over her, all but undetectable. She leaned back against him. “For one thing, a guitar has six strings, and this one has fifteen.”

“This is a Renaissance lute. Baroque lutes have even more strings. You won’t use a nail to play it either. You’ll use your fingers to pluck at the strings, or maybe for some songs use double-plucking. On the fretboard, you can also move the frets—they’re not fixed in place.”

“Fascinating,” she murmured. “I didn’t notice that.”

“Plus you hold it differently than you would a guitar.” Putting his arms around her, he positioned the lute against her chest and adjusted her arms and hands. “Like this.”

“Got it,” she said, somewhat breathlessly. “What about my right hand?”

“Feel for your position by touching the soundboard with your little finger, and tuck your thumb in, which is the opposite of how you’d play a guitar.” He ran his fingers along her hand, readjusting as necessary. “More like that.”

“Ah. That is very different.”

The sense of her leaning back against his chest was messing with his concentration. Her slim, lithe body felt like a perfect fit in his arms. Huskily, he told her, “Put your hand over mine, so you can feel how mine feels in the correct position.”

Readily, she complied, lifting her hand away. As he positioned his hand over the strings, she laid hers lightly over the top, her sensitive, clever fingers fitting themselves along the backs of his.

He played a simple melody slowly, allowing her to feel how his hand moved along the strings as he plucked and double-plucked at them. “Do you see?”

“Yes.” Her reply sounded husky. She cleared her throat. “It’s a completely different technique than what I’m used to.”

“You’re not going to develop a solid technique in two days,” he murmured. “I can imagine that will be frustrating, especially since your violin playing is so flawless and transcendent. But all we need to do is to get you to produce something that sounds enjoyable to someone who doesn’t know how to play the lute herself. Perfecting your technique can come later.”