Charmed by Nora Roberts

“Malachite, for clear thinking.” Her fingers walked through the smooth stones, testing, rejecting, selecting. “Sodalite to relieve mental confusion, moonstone for sensitivity. Amethyst, of course, for intuition.”
    “Of course.”
    She ignored him. “A crystal for all-around good things.” Tilting her head, she studied him. “Jessie says you’re trying to quit smoking.”
    He shrugged. “I’m cutting down.”
    She handed him the crystal. “Keep it in your pocket. Tumbling stones are on the house.” When she turned away with her colorful bottles, he picked up the crystal and rubbed it with his fingers.
    It couldn’t hurt.
    *  *  *
    He didn’t believe in magic crystals or stone power—though he did think they had plot possibilities. Boone also had to admit they looked kind of nice in the little bowl on his desk. Atmosphere, he thought, like the geode he’d bought to use as a paperweight.
    All in all, the afternoon had had several benefits. He and Jessie had enjoyed themselves thoroughly, riding the carousel at the Emporium, playing video games, just walking down Cannery Row and Fisherman’s Wharf. Running into Anastasia had been a plus, he mused as he toyed with the creamy moonstone. And seeing Nashagain, discovering that he lived in the same area, was gold.
    He’d been missing male companionship. Funny, he hadn’t realized it, as busy as his life had been over the past few months, with planning the move, executing the move, adjusting to the move. And Nash, though their friendship had primarily been through correspondence over the years, was exactly the kind of companion Boone preferred. Easygoing, loyal, imaginative.
    It would be a kick to be able to pass on a few fatherly hints to Nash once his twins were born.
    Oh, yeah, he reflected as he held up the moonstone, watching it gleam in the bright wash of moonlight through his office window, it certainly was a small and fascinating world.
    One of his oldest friends, married to the cousin of the woman next door. It would certainly be hard for Anastasia to avoid him now.
    And, no matter what she said, that was exactly what she’d been doing. He had a very strong feeling—and he couldn’t help being a bit smug about it—that he was making the fair maiden nervous.
    He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to approach a woman who reacted with faint blushes, confused eyes and rapid pulses. Most of the women he’d escorted over the past couple of years had been sleek and sophisticated—and safe, he added with a little shrug. He’d enjoyed their companionship, and he’d never lost his basic enjoyment of female company. But there’d been no tug, no mystery, no illusion.
    He supposed he was still the kind of man attracted to the old-fashioned type. The roses-and-moonlight type, he thought with a half laugh. Then he saw her, and the laugh caught in his throat.
    Down in her garden, walking, almost gliding through the silvery light, with the gray cat slipping in and out of the shadows. Her hair loose, sprinkling gold dust down her back and over the sheer shoulders of a pale blue robe. She carried a basket, and he thought he could hear her singing as she cut flowers and slipped them into it.
    She was singing an old chant that had been passed down generation to generation. It was well past midnight, and Ana thought herself alone and unobserved. The first night of the full moon in autumn was the time to harvest, just as the first night of the full moon in spring was the time to sow. She had already cast the circle, purifying the area.
    She laid the flowers and herbs in the basket as gently as children.
    There was magic in her eyes. In her blood.
    “Under the moon, through shadow and light, these blooms I chose by touch, by sight. Spells to weave to ease and free. As I will, so mote it be.”
    She plucked betony and heliotrope, dug mandrake root and selected tansy and balsam. Blood roses for strength, and sage for wisdom. The basket grew heavy and