“Ah,” Peter murmured, “I see what you mean.” He ran a hand along her side, raising goosebumps, driving Garrett out of her head. “I’m surprised you’d risk pregnancy for the experience, though. Didyousomehow manage to acquire a rubber?”
“No. I timed it carefully.” And waited in suspense until it turned out all right. It had indeed been a risk. “What about you? Any grand affairs?”
“Not until now,” he said, pulling her in for another slow kiss.
She broke it off with a sigh. “Peter—I don’t think I’ll feel the same way when I wake up. Or I’ll feel the same way but won’t act on it. It’s different here.” She traced the lines ofhis palm, gathering her thoughts. “It’s as if I’m ... not quite the same person.”
“I don’t think we are. Have you read any Freud?”
“I got to penis envy and threw the book away.”
He nuzzled her neck. “I’m thinking of his theory about the impulse-driven id and how it’s checked by the superego while we’re awake. But when we’re asleep?—”
“We’re all id?” She realized with a start that her hand had migrated to the part of him she was supposed to be envious of, which seemed to prove his point. “That’s unnerving.”
“I think we’remoreid than normal. I can’t seem to keep myself from telling you whatever crosses my mind. But you’ll recall I did manage to stop what we were doing last night when I thought it was physically happening.”
“Our daytime selves won’t appreciate what we’re up to here.”
The sly smile spreading across his face was almost unbearably appealing.
“What have those two ever done for us?” he said, and proceeded to the second round.
She arranged her brewing ingredients,fighting back a terrible, disorienting déjà vu.I remember walking here. I woke up, ate breakfast and cut through the woods. I’m not asleep.
She muddled through her first brew somehow, thoughts jittering. When she was satisfied by the muffled explosionsthat Blackwell (not Peter,Blackwell)was ensconced in the attic, she crept up the stairs in stocking feet to the second floor, tiptoed to the first door on the left and opened it.
She instantly recognized the room she had never in her waking life seen. The bed was neatly made, the scrap quilt pulled up to the pillows.
So much for the extremely slim hope that the dream had been hers alone.
She retreated, hyperaware of every part of her body he’d touched. But no—it hadn’t been her. She wouldneversleep with Blackwell. Not under any circumstances. She vowed it to herself, no magic involved but every bit as binding.
She got through the rest of her brews without seeing him. And without hearing him in the case of the last two, after he slipped out to make house calls. But as she shut the door behind her and turned to go, there he was. Walking up the driveway. Coat swirling behind him.
Her heart leapt and her stomach sank.
“All—all done?” he said, the first time she could recall hearing his voice catch.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
He opened his mouth, changed his mind about whatever he’d been about to say and pressed his lips closed, misery pinching his face. What made it worse was the memory of how radiantly he’d smiled at her the night before?—
Not him. Not her.
“They’re different people,” she murmured. “They’ll do whatever they’ll do, and it will have no bearing on us.”
He raised his eyebrows, as if words couldn’t properly express his skepticism.
“Come inside for a moment,” he said, and she realized they were talking where anyone—especially an invisible someone—could hear.
She walked in before him, waited until he shut the door and pressed on. “That’s how we must think of it. I don’t see an alternative, unless you want to destroy the contracts and remake them on different days.”
“No.” He looked away. “I think each time we try again, it’s only forging a stronger connection. It’s as if the original links were never really broken.”
“Well”—she breathed in and out, striving for elusive calm—“we’ll simply have to compartmentalize.”
He sighed. The silence stretched out, painfully, until he raised his eyes to hers. “Do you need me to cast a protection spell for the walk home?”
