Kay Hooper - The Wizard Of Seattle

Several other friends received modest gifts, as well, ranging from a boost of willpower to help a smoker kick the habit to the deft manipulation of a virus to keep another friend from becoming ill in the coming week.

Healing was by no means Serena's strong suit. In fact, it had only recently been introduced into her potpourri of skills, and she had mastered just the rudiments. So the practice couldn't hurt, she thought.

By eleven-thirty that evening Serena had consumed three glasses of champagne and had bestowed a number of "gifts." She was standing alone near the bar, and was just about to send another little present winging across the room when a hand closed gently but firmly around her upraised wrist.

"No, Serena."

The hand, large and long-fingered, was a powerful hand, a beautiful hand, and quite distinct. She would have known it anywhere.

She lifted her gaze to the man's face, making her eyes wide and guileless. "No?"

"No." His voice was deep, calm, resonant. A voice that made people sit up straighter and listen to whatever he had to say. "I believe you've done quite enough for one night."

"I didn't do anything major , Richard," she protested.

Richard Merlin shook his head slightly, his lean, broodingly handsome face holding a touch of wryness. "No, of course not. You never do. They're playing a waltz, Serena. Dance with me."

Her wrist still held captive, Serena followed him out onto the dance floor, a bit amused that he hadn't waited for her response. But then, why would he? He hadn't asked-he'd commanded. As usual. Given their relationship, it wasn't surprising, but Serena bore the seemingly high-handed attitude only because she knew very well Richard intended no domination of her personality when he commanded.

Both skilled and graceful, they danced well together and made a striking couple. It was rare they appeared as a couple at any social function; both usually brought dates to this kind of event. In fact, their public relationship as uncle and niece was so solid, few had ever questioned it-and those few were merely vaguely skeptical without being truly suspicious.

"I really didn't do anything significant," Serena insisted as they danced.

"Serena, how many times must I tell you that everything is significant? Every action, no matter how minor, could have unimaginable consequences." The statement held the sound of a litany, often repeated, patient and unwavering.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right, I know. Because the powerless people might notice, and they'd probably see us as a threat to them. And then it'd be the Salem witch hunts all over again, except that they'd use psychologists and scientists to try to dissect and denounce us instead of priests with dunking stools, thumbscrews, and the rack."

He looked down at her for several beats, then said, "How much have you had to drink?"

"More than usual," she admitted cheerfully. "Seth wanted to celebrate, and he kept filling my champagne glass. I could hardly say no."

Merlin nodded. "Now I understand why you were dancing with Jeremy Kane earlier-to find out about the grant. I gather it will be awarded to Seth?"

"Yes, isn't it great?"

"He deserves it. But did you have to pick a man like Kane from whom to get the information, Serena?"

"There was nobody else here who's on the committee," she explained ingenuously.

Merlin's mouth twitched slightly, but his expression remained forbidding. "It's never wise to tempt the fates, and ensnaring a newspaper reporter, even a drunk, is asking for trouble. How did you do it?"

She answered readily. "He said he'd typed up the rough draft of an announcement about the grant and left it at his apartment, so I just sent for it to come to his pocket."

"And did you also send it back where it came from?"

Serena shook her head guiltily. "No, I… I forgot. I was so excited about Seth winning…" She turned her head to search the room. "But I left him at his table, so-"

"He's gone." Merlin sighed. "Guests who pass out at these functions are usually discreetly removed and sent home in a cab; Kane was carried out an hour ago."

"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Well, still, it won't matter. He was so drunk, he'll never be sure he didn't stick the announcement in his pocket himself."

"I hope you're right," Merlin murmured.

A bit unsettled by his frown, Serena said, "Richard, Kane's a long way from the reporter he used to be. He hasn't broken a story in fifteen years; I doubt he'd recognize one if it stood in front of him waving its arms. There's no way he'll get suspicious of me, I promise you."

"I hope you're right," Merlin repeated.

The music changed smoothly just then, from a waltz to a much slower and more intimate beat. It enticed the dancers to move closer and speak in murmurs. The lights in the huge room, already fairly low, dimmed even more.

Merlin automatically shifted his hold on Serena, drawing her a bit closer as their steps slowed. No observer was likely to have mistaken them for lovers even then, but their nearness made Serena struggle inwardly not to tense in his arms. She tried to avoid situations such as this one, maintaining their necessary charade in public by treating Richard exactly as a niece would treat the uncle who had virtually raised her, with affection and the gentle mockery that came with it.

She was usually successful.

Now she spoke quickly to keep her mind off the sensation of his hand at the small of her back, and his body too close to hers.

"I'm surprised Kane's the one you're worried about, actually. I did a few other things tonight, you know."

"Yes, I know," Merlin replied dryly. "Remind me to keep you away from champagne from now on. I'll remind myself to keep a closer eye on you."

It was Serena's turn to frown. "I don't like the sound of that at all. I'm not a child anymore, Richard."

He didn't meet her eyes, but gazed past her, and when he spoke, there was an odd note in his voice she couldn't define. "Yes, I know that, as well. But you still lack control. Self-control, perhaps."

She felt ridiculously sulky. "I just wanted to help my friends. What's wrong with that?"

The childishness of her words and tone drew his gaze back to her face, and he smiled. "In the general scheme of things, nothing at all. But you can't help everyone, Serena. Besides that, people are meant to solve their own problems, to use their own abilities, skills, and intelligence. I've tried to teach you that. I've tried to make you understand that we can't cure the ills of the world."

Serena knew she still looked petulant; she could feel how far her bottom lip was sticking out. But she was honestly perplexed. "I don't see why we can't try . I mean, what's so awful about me finding a lost ring for Thomas, or… or boosting Maggie's confidence before a big meeting, or fixing it so that Chris doesn't get the flu next week?"

Only the last part of the demand prompted Merlin's concern. "The flu? Serena, you aren't ready to heal yet."

"I didn't do anything major," she repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time this evening. "And it wasn't really healing, since he isn't sick yet. I just made the virus inert, that's all."

Looking stern, Merlin said, "You must promise me to never again attempt any kind of healing until I say you're ready. It's the most complex skill you'll ever learn, and demands a great deal more knowledge of human biology than you have yet."

Sobered by his grave tone, she nodded. "All right, I promise."

He relaxed visibly. Though she was a sometimes difficult pupil, Serena's word was as good as gold.

"But what if I've already screwed up?" she went on, worried now. "I might have given poor Chris the bubonic plague or something even worse."

"I doubt it. But I'll check him before we leave, just to make sure."