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I could see reflections of the curtains sway lightly as a whiff of breeze came wafting up the outside corridor, and as I watched the softly undulating movement of the draperies I became aware of something else shown by the looking glass. Stretched on a pallet laid upon the floor, and looking straight at me, was the most lovely girl I'd ever seen. But I could not see my own reflection. I rose, walked slowly toward the mirror, and the girl walked toward me with a cadenced, sensuous swaying of slim hips and pointed breasts. Arm's length from the looking glass I halted and put out my hand. The mirror girl's slim hand came up to meet mine, but instead of warm flesh I encountered cool, hard glass. I turned to look behind me. Besides me there was no one in the room! And so begins the odyssey of a man trapped in woman's flesh by Oriental necromancy. But what was Hugh Arundel to believe when the woman he loved told him her strange story? Had his lifelong friend, the brilliant young archeologist Lynne Foster, really been transformed into Ismet Foulik, the beautiful daughter of a Circassian slave girl? Or was his beloved Ismet hopelessly mad . . . and obsessed by memories she had no right to have?