My face mustn’t have looked so good to him.

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes locked on mine (the way his mouth had locked on mine …). He grasped my arm and pulled me closer. His touch, even through my sweater and turtleneck, stirred that fizzy current inside me. “You look …”

“Awful?” I asked weakly.

“No, actually you look amazing, like you’re lit up from inside. But you’re dressed for subarctic temperatures in June and you’re still shivering.”

“I am?” I held out my hand and saw that it was indeed trembling. But I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt warm and tingly. I peeled off the sweater and stepped back to let him in. “This old house,” I said, “the temperature’s always fluctuating. You wouldn’t believe my heating bills last winter. Do you want some tea? Or a glass of wine. Or Scotch? I think there’s still some Scotch from when Liam lived here …”

I kept up a steady babble as I led him into the library to the cabinet where Liam had kept his Scotch. There was an open bottle on the shelf. Duncan touched my hand as I reached for it and I flinched so hard I knocked over the bottle. He caught it before a drop could spill.

“Sit down,” he barked.

Startled by the force of his command, I sank down on the couch.

“Before you hurt yourself,” he added more gently. He brought the bottle and two glasses to the couch, placed them on the coffee table, and sat next to me. He poured an inch of the amber liquid into each glass. I watched, mesmerized by the way the liquid caught the light. No wonder Liam had always drunk Scotch – it looked like liquid Aelvesgold.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked as Duncan handed me the glass. My hand was shaking so badly I could hardly hold it. He wrapped his hand around mine and guided it to my mouth. I took a long sip. When I lowered the glass, my hand was steadier.

“Sometimes Aelvesgold has this effect on new witches. Tell me what happened.”

I told him about the dream, looking down into my glass the whole time, nervously swirling the Scotch around the bottom. I told him I couldn’t see the man’s face.

“But you thought this man was your incubus … Liam?” he asked when I was done.

I gave the Scotch a clockwise swirl. “Um, yes, at first … but when I saw his face it wasn’t him.” I took a sip in mid swirl and got a mouthful.

“Did you recognize who it was?”

I swooshed the Scotch counter-clockwise and looked up. Into the same aquamarine eyes I’d seen in my dream. I felt myself gravitating toward those eyes. “It was you,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh. That’s …”

“Embarrassing?” I suggested shaking my glass at him. “Mortifying?”