But the magic-intolerant, or those who had xenophobic tendencies, tended to congregate in other areas, away from the demesnes and crossover passageways. The United States had seen a backlash of opinion against the Elder Races or anyone with magical talent, and Atlanta wasn’t an area known for tolerance.

By far, most of the city’s demographic was made up of plain old nonmagical humanity, and the area’s voting majority was not pro-magic. Molly was going to live a miserable life if she couldn’t come to terms with what she was experiencing.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Her widened gaze flew back to his.

“Something is happening to you.” He leaned forward. “Maybe it was started by the trauma from your husband’s betrayal, or maybe it’s been happening over the past several months. Inexplicable occurrences… things like car breakdowns or power outages. You might be having strange dreams or seeing visions of things that can’t possibly exist. Am I right?”

Her blank expression fractured, and her lips trembled. She whispered, “It’s been a couple of months now.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. She was turning out to be surprise upon surprise, all of it entirely unwelcome.

After a moment, he told her, “When you broke that vase on Thursday, I thought you were venting your rage in a way that wouldn’t hurt anybody. It never occurred to me that you had no idea what you were capable of or what you’d done.” He couldn’t stand to look at her devastated face any longer, so he pressed the tumbler of scotch into her hands.

She blew out an unsteady breath and accepted it. In a quick move, she tossed back the rest of the drink. “I felt it,” she confessed hoarsely. “I saw sparks at the edges of my vision, and I knew something had shot out of my body. And then the vase shattered.”

“Yes.” He nodded. Obeying an impulse he didn’t stop to define, he touched her warm, soft skin, rubbing the sensitive spot at her inner elbow with his thumb. “That was you. There isn’t one in a hundred thousand people like you. Not one in a million, possibly ten million. You hold an incredibly rare Power, and you’re just now coming into it.”

Carefully, she pulled away to run her fingers through her hair. “But this doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered. “We don’t have witches in my family history, or any mention of magic whatsoever. We’re just your ordinary, garden-variety humans.”

“You may not have witches that you know of,” he replied drily. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t have any. Witches have been known to conceal their true natures so they can coexist peacefully with magic-intolerant families and communities.”

He watched his last statement slam home, and her expression filled with dismay. “But why me? Why now?”