After my parents died I imagined that the prince in the story himself would come and tell me the story – only it wasn’t imagined. My imagined prince and the incubus were one and the same. I’d brought him into the world by a leap of faith, just as Jennet had saved her prince.

But I wasn’t a child anymore and love meant looking squarely in your lover’s eyes and seeing past illusions. I couldn’t shut my eyes and pretend I didn’t know what I knew. If Duncan turned into a beast in my arms, I would have to hold on until he was human again.

I went into the kitchen and gathered the supplies I would need for the spell to uncover a warded disguise. I brought what I needed back into the library and found Ralph sitting on top of Wheelock rifling through the pages. “You have got to cut this out,” I told him, taking the book away from him. “Some of these books are old …” I stopped when I noticed the page Ralph had turned to was the section on correlative spells. He was tapping his little paw on the sentence I had read last night. “The most powerful – and dangerous – form of correlative magic is when a witch creates a bond between herself and the object or person she wishes to control.1”

“Yes, I know, Ralph, but I’m not trying to create a bond with Duncan …” And then I noticed the footnote. I looked down to the bottom of the page and read the footnote, my eyes widening and my heart pounding as I read the tiny print.

“Ralph!” I cried, patting the mouse on his head. “You’re a genius! This might just be the answer.” He preened under my praise and I reread the footnote again. It explained how a doorkeeper could keep a door open by creating a bond between herself and the door itself. At the end of the footnote was a magical icon shaped like an open doorway that promised to disclose the spell. Before I could press it the doorbell rang. I quickly bookmarked the page and went to answer it.

Before opening the door I looked up at the fanlight. With no sun shining through it the stained glass face was dim and opaque, like the face of a dead person. As if I’d already killed Liam with my plans.

I opened the door, braced for reproach and recriminations. Instead I got flowers. Duncan stood on the porch, dripping from the rain, holding a bouquet of wildflowers. His eyes slid down the length of my body, practically carving the curve of my hips with his eyes.