Heaven and Earth by Nora Roberts (4)

“And create. You create with your cooking.”

She dimpled again, with sheer pleasure. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

“It’s a gift, like your power is a gift.” Her vital signs were steady and stable. He checked the readout on the EKG, made some quick notes on his laptop.

“I wonder when you knew you were gifted. It seems to me Mia was born knowing.”

“She was. We’ve talked about it.”

“And Ripley.”

“She doesn’t talk about it as much, but I think it was almost the same. A knowing, always.”

And a burden? he wondered. Always? “For you?”

“A discovery, and a learning process. I had dreams when I was a child, of this place, of people I’d yet to meet. But I never thought of them as—I don’t know—memories or foretelling. Then, after Evan . . .”

Her hands tensed, deliberately relaxed again. “I forgot them, or blocked them. When I left, my only clear thought was to run, to get away. But the dreams started coming back.”

“Did they frighten you?”

“No, not at all. They were a comfort at first, then a kind of need. One day I saw a painting—the lighthouse, the cliffs, Mia’s home—and I needed to be there. It was a . . . a destination. Do you know what it’s like to find out where it is you finally need to be?”

He thought of the house near the cove. “Yes. I do exactly.”

“Then you know it’s not just a relief, but a thrill. I drove onto the ferry that day in June, and when I caught my first glimpse of the Sisters, I thought—there. Finally. I could belong there.”

“You recognized it.”

“Part of me did. Another part just yearned. Then I met Mia, and everything began.”

He continued to monitor her, one part of his brain ruthlessly calculating changes, peaks, dips. “Would you say she tutored you?”

“Yes, though she would say she just reminded me.” Nell turned her head so she could look at Mac. How cool he looks, she realized. Cool and controlled. And yet his voice was warm, friendly. “The first time she helped me try magic, I stirred the air.”

“How did it feel?”

“Amazing, exciting. And, somehow, familiar.”

“Could you do it now?”

“Now?”

“If you’re comfortable with it. Nothing major. I don’t want you to spin your furniture around. A little ripple for my readings.”

“You’re such an interesting man, Mac.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just a little ripple for your readings,” she said with a chuckle. “No wonder Ripley’s crazy about you.”

“What?”

“Here, then. A little ripple in the air, just a stir from here to there. A quiet breeze, this man to please.”

Even before it began, the readings popped. Like a gathering, Mac thought, noting the rise of heart rate, the fluctuation in brain-wave patterns. Then they jumped again as the air, well, rippled.

“Fabulous! Look at this pattern! I knew it. It’s not just an increase in brain activity. It’s like an expansion, almost fully right brain. Creativity, imagination. Really neat.”

Nell chuckled again, and stilled the air. Not so cool now, Dr. Booke. “Is it what you were looking for?”

“It goes a long way toward confirming some of my theories. Could you do something else? Something more complicated. Not that what you just did was small potatoes,” he added quickly. “Something that requires more effort.”

“More of a punch?”

“There you go.”

“Let me think.” Her lips bowed up as she considered. Because she wanted him to be surprised, she did the chant in her head, a call to the senses that was both sweet and stunning. This time the gathering came faster, and bigger. The needle on the EKG graph whipped in wide, rapid sweeps. Suddenly, the room was alive with music—harps, pipes, flutes. It was drenched in a rainbow of colors and tender with the scent of spring.

He could barely keep up with the changes. Desperate to be certain that he had it all on record, he checked his camera, his monitors, nearly danced around the EKG.

“You like it?” Nell asked playfully.

“It’s fucking great! Sorry, beg your pardon. Can you just keep it going another minute?” he asked as he checked his energy sensor. “It’s really pretty, by the way.”

“I’m eager for spring.”

“Me, too, after the last two days. Respiration’s up, but not that much. Pulse strong, steady. Physical exertion appears to be minimal. Hmm, heart rate’s actually back at rest. Did the use of power calm her, or the result?”

“The result,” Nell answered.

He blinked and focused on her again. “What?”

“You were talking to yourself, but I think I know the answer.” She laughed lightly when she saw Diego prance into the room to bat playfully at her rainbows. “It’s a soothing spell. It relaxes me.”

“Yeah?” Interested, he sat down on the floor beside her while harp strings wept. “Would you say your physical reactions reflect the nature of the spell or charm?”

“Exactly.”

“So, for example, the other night, in the clearing, it was more powerful, maybe edgier, because of what you were doing, and the fact that the three of you were together.”

“It’s always stronger with the three of us. I feel like I could move mountains. Afterward, I stay energized for hours.”

He remembered just how Ripley had channeled her energy and cleared his throat. “Okay. How are you able to sustain this spell while I’m distracting you with conversation?”

She looked completely blank for a moment. “I never thought about it. That was clever of you. I didn’t know you were distracting me. Let me think . . . It’s just there?” she suggested. “No, that’s not completely accurate. It’s more like the way you’re able to do two different things at one time.”

“Like patting your head and rubbing your stomach.”

“No,” she responded. “More like . . . cooking a roast and setting the table. You can keep your mind on the one so you don’t burn it and still manage the other easily enough.”

“What’s nine times six?”

“Fifty-four. Oh, I see, left-brain function. I’m good with numbers.”

“Recite the alphabet backward.”

Concentrating, she began. Twice she fumbled, backtracked, hesitated, but the music and color never faltered.

“Are you ticklish?”

Suspicion flickered over her face. “Why?”

“I want to try a physical distraction.” He squeezed a hand on her knee, made her yelp and jolt, just as Ripley and Zack came through the door.

“What the hell is going on?”

Hearing Ripley’s voice made Mac wince and curse himself for not paying attention to the time. Then, realizing he still had his hand on Nell’s knee—and her husband was armed—he quickly removed it.

“Um.”

“From the looks of it,” Zack said with a wink at Nell, “this guy’s making time with my wife.” As Lucy had come into the house with him, he leaned down casually to rub her head as she sniffed the air and batted her tail. “I guess I have to take him outside and kick his ass.”

“Get in line,” Ripley said and reminded Mac that she was armed as well.

“I, ah. . . Nell agreed to participate in a couple of tests,” he began.

“That’s not quite true,” Nell corrected, and succeeded in making all the blood drain out of Mac’s face. His sudden stricken look made her whoop with laughter. “I volunteered to participate.”

“Would you mind turning off the entertainment portion of your little program?” Ripley said coolly.

“All right.” Nell closed the spell, and there was a moment of complete silence.

“So . . .” Zack began to strip off his coat. “What’s for dinner?”

“You can help me with that.” Nell spoke brightly. “As soon as I’m unhooked from these things.”

“Oh, sorry. Let me . . .” Mac started to reach for the electrodes monitoring her heart rate, then pulled his hands back as if he’d burned them. “Nobody’s going to shoot me in the back, are they?” he asked Nell.

“I can promise Zack won’t. He was just teasing you.”

“He’s not who I’m worried about.” As delicately as possible, he unhooked her, and kept his gaze discreetly averted as she buttoned her blouse again.

“That was fun,” Nell said as she got up. “And informative. Zack, why don’t you give me a hand in the kitchen? Now!”

“All right, all right. I hate missing the fun,” he complained as she dragged him off.

“Okay, Booke, why don’t you try explaining to me why I shouldn’t start swinging?”

“Because violence is never a sensible solution?”

Her answer to that was a low, dangerous growl. He stopped shutting down his equipment and turned to her. “Okay, I figure you’re ticked off on a couple of levels, so I’ll pick one to start. There was no funny business going on between me and Nell. It was completely professional.”

“Son, if I thought otherwise you’d be braying like a jackass.”

“Right.” He took his glasses off, to see her more clearly, and because if she decided to try to deck him, he didn’t want them broken. “You’re angry because I brought equipment here and ran tests on Nell.”

“Bingo. I invited you here, to my home. It’s not a goddamn lab.”

“It’s also Nell’s home,” he pointed out. “I wouldn’t have brought anything if she hadn’t agreed.”

“You wheedled her.”

“I can wheedle when I have to,” he said equably. “I didn’t have to. The fact is, she was interested. She’s exploring herself, and this is part of it. I’m sorry it upsets you; I was afraid it would. And if I’d been paying more attention to the time, I’d have shut it all down before you got home.”

“So you’d have hidden it from me? That’s a nice touch.”

His own temper rumbled. “Tough to win with you, Deputy. No, I’ve never hidden my work from you, and I wouldn’t have done so now. But I’d have tried to respect your feelings about it, as I’ve tried to do from the start.”

“Then why—”

He cut her off by holding up one finger. “The simple fact is, this is my work, and you have to deal with that. But this is your home, and my being here under these circumstances upsets you. I’ll apologize for that. It’ll only take me about fifteen minutes to break this down and get it out. I’ll tell Nell I’ll take a rain check on dinner.”

“Oh, stop being such a jerk.”

“You know, Ripley, you just keep pushing and pushing until nobody wins.”

When he turned away to remove his camera from the tripod, she reached up, pulled her own hair until the sharp pain cleared her head. “Maybe I do. I didn’t ask you to leave.”

“What are you asking?”

“I don’t know! I come home after a pisser of a day, I’m tired and I’m irritable, and I walk in on you doing your mad scientist routine with Nell, who’s obviously not only cooperating but enjoying the hell out of it. I wanted a damn beer and a hot shower, not a confrontation.”

“Understandable. I can only apologize for the timing. It doesn’t change the fact that this is what I do.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Nor, she realized with a twinge, did it change the fact that she’d jumped down his throat because of it. That he’d expected her to.

Not only was she being a bitch, she was being a predictable bitch. It was lowering.

“You missed a level.”

He packed his camera, closed up his laptop. “Which is?”

“I want to know why you didn’t ask me.”

“I couldn’t ask you if you’d mind if I ran tests with Nell because you weren’t here to be asked.”

“No, why didn’t you ask me to run them with you?” As he stopped unhooking cables to stare at her, she shrugged. “I think it’s rude that you went to Nell before you came to me.”

Just when he thought he had her pegged, she changed the pattern on him. “Would you have agreed?”

“I don’t know.” She huffed out a breath. “Maybe. I’d have thought about it, anyway. But you didn’t ask.”

“Are you serious, or are you just using this angle to twist things up so I come out being a jerk?”

There was no arguing that however geeky he might be from time to time, his mind was a scalpel that cut through all the bullshit in one swipe. “The jerk part’s just a side benefit. I shouldn’t have jumped on you that way. Taken jabs at you and your work. I’m sorry for it.”

“Now you’re apologizing. I have to sit down.”

“Don’t milk it, Booke.” But she went to him, laid her hands on his arms. “Why don’t you get us those beers, then while I’m taking that hot shower you can explain to me what all this stuff’s for. Maybe I’ll let you use it on me.”

“I can do that.” He reached up to take her hands before she could slide them away. “But I have a question first. Why are you considering it now?”

“Because it’s like you said. It’s your work, your deal. I respect you, Mac. So it looks like I’m going to have to start respecting what you do.”

Not one of his professional or academic accolades had ever given him such pleasure as that one hard-won statement did. He stepped closer to her, framed her face with his hands. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’re still a jerk.”

“Understood.” He felt her lips curve into a smile under his when he kissed her.

“Paranormal science—”

“Now, see, there you lose me, right at the kickoff,” Ripley complained. “Because to me that’s an oxymoron.”

They were in her bedroom, with her sitting cross-legged on the bed while he set up his equipment.

“There was a time when astronomy was considered outside the mainstream. If science doesn’t push the accepted scope, study the possibilities, it stagnates. We don’t learn anything by standing still.”

“Science and education are part of what turned magic from the acceptable into the condemned, then into the dismissed.”

“You’re right, but I would add ignorance, intolerance, and fear to that mix. It’s science and education that may, in time, turn the tide back again.”

“They hunted us down, slaughtered us and countless others.”

It was in her voice, he thought. Cold rage, hot fear. “You can’t forgive that?”

“Could you?” She moved her shoulders restlessly. “I don’t dwell on it, but it pays to remember what can happen when fingers start to point.”

“You’re worried about what might happen to you if outsiders look too close.”

“I can take care of myself. Just as the sisters took care of themselves. Do you know how many witches were hanged in Salem Town, Mac? None,” she said before he could speak. “All were innocent, powerless victims.”

“So you’re a cop,” he said, “because you’ve chosen to protect the innocent and the powerless as others once weren’t protected.”

She started to speak, then just hissed out her breath. “You don’t have to be a superhero to keep order on Three Sisters.”

“That’s not the point, though, is it? You protect, Mia educates—books—and Nell nurtures. You’ve all chosen to do what you can to heal old wounds. To balance.”

“That’s all a little deep for me.”

He ran his hand gently over her hair before he bent down to hook up cables. The gesture, the simple gentleness of it, loosened every muscle in her body.

“Have you ever been hypnotized?”

Just as that question tightened all her muscles up again. “No. Why?”

He glanced back at her. Briefly, casually. “I’d like to try it. I’m licensed.”

“You didn’t do that weird stuff with Nell.”

“I’ll ignore the word weird . No, I didn’t use hypnosis with Nell. I didn’t want to push it. But you and I have a different relationship and, I like to think, a different level of trust. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know that. It probably wouldn’t work on me, anyway.”

“That’s part of what I’d like to see. It’s a simple process, based on relaxation techniques, and perfectly safe.”

“I’m not afraid—”

“Good. Why don’t you lie down?”

“Just wait.” Panic ticked at her throat. “How come you can’t just follow the same routine you did downstairs with Nell before dinner?”

“I could. I’d like to add a few tests, if you’re willing. First, I’m interested in seeing if your gift makes you more, or less, susceptible to hypnosis. And if you can be hypnotized, if you’re able to demonstrate power in that state.”

“Have you considered that in that state I might not have perfect control?”

He nodded absently while he nudged her back on the bed. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

“Interesting. Jesus. You’ll recall that Mia fried one of your toys when she was a little miffed.”

“That was cool. But she didn’t hurt me,” he reminded Ripley. “And neither will you. I’m just going to hook you up now. I explained what the machines are for.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You need to lose the sweater.”

She glanced toward the camera, smirked. “So do you and your fellow geeks watch these tapes at stag parties?”

“Absolutely. Nothing like watching a video of a half-naked woman to break up the tedium of lab work.”

He kissed her forehead before affixing the first electrode. “But I’ll keep this one in my private collection.”

He took her through the same steps as he had Nell. Casual questions, monitoring and recording her resting vital signs. There was a slight shift when he asked her to do a small, basic spell. Anxiety, he noted. She wasn’t completely comfortable opening herself to power.

But she obliged, and the lights in the adjoining bath switched off and on rapidly.

“I used to do that when Zack was in the shower, when we were kids,” she said. “Just to piss him off.”

“Give me something bigger, more demanding.” Her heart rate was up more than Nell’s had been. Anxiety again, he decided. But the brain-wave patterns were remarkably similar. She cupped her hands, lifted them. He saw the ball of light glow, then shoot up to the ceiling. Another followed, still another. As he watched them take position, he grinned.

“It’s a baseball field. Infield, outfield, nine players.”

“Batter up,” she said and sent another light into her batter’s box. “I used to do this as a kid, too.” And had missed it, she realized. “When I couldn’t sleep, or didn’t want to. Let’s see how he likes a fastball.”

Another light, small and blue, shot out from the pitcher’s mound. There was a snap of sound, a burst of streaming light. “Yes! Base hit, deep right field. Let’s stretch it into a triple.”

Forgetting his machines, Mac sat on the foot of the bed and watched, marvelously entertained, as she played through an entire inning.

“Keep it going,” he urged. “How old were you when you first recognized and used your gift?”

“I don’t know. It just always seemed to be there. Double play, smooth as silk.”

“Do you ever play on a terrestrial field?”

“Sure. Hot corner—I’ve got great hands. You?”

“No. Too clumsy. Divide eighty-four by twelve.”

“Struck him out! And the side retires. Divide what? That’s math. I hate math.” Her brow furrowed.

“You didn’t say there was going to be a quiz.”

“Give it a shot,” he told her and rose again to check the readings.

“Twelve’s one of the sucky ones. Hanging curveball, low and outside. It’s six, no, wait. Damn it. Seven, seven times two is fourteen, and carry the deal to the other deal. Seven. So what?”

Excitement trickled through him, but all that showed in his voice was amusement. “So you strained your left brain a bit, but maintained the pattern.”

She breezed through the backward alphabet. He wasn’t entirely sure what that said about her mind or her personality, but her readings remained high and steady. “Okay, close the spell.”

“But I’ve got a man out and a man on.”

“We’ll pick it up later.”

“This is starting to feel like school,” she complained, but opened her hands again and drew the lights down, extinguished them.

“I need you to relax again. Breathe in through your nose, out gently through your mouth. Slow, deep breaths.”

Ready to pout about the game delay, she looked over at him. And saw what Nell had seen. Cool, calm control. “I’m relaxed enough.”

“Breathe, Ripley. Count the beats. Slow, deep, easy.”

He sat on the side of the bed with her, checked her pulse with his fingers. “Relax your toes.”

“My what?”

“Your toes. Let your toes relax, let all the tension slide out.”

“I’m not tense.” But he felt her pulse kick. “If this is your prelude to hypnosis, it’s not going to work.”

“Then it won’t work.” Watching her face, he trailed his fingers to the pulse in the curve of her elbow, back to her wrist. Soft, steady strokes. “Relax your feet. You’ve been on them most of the day. Let the tension go out of them. Out of your ankles.”

His voice was so quiet, so soothing. His fingers on her skin were a lovely, light connection.

“Relax your calves. It’s like warm water flowing up through your body, washing out the tension. Your mind’s relaxing, too. Just let it empty out. Your knees are relaxing now, your thighs. Visualize a soft white field. Nothing on it. It’s easy on the eyes. It relaxes them.”

He drew the pendant from under his shirt. Wrapped the chain twice around his hand. “Breathe in the calm, expel the tension. It’s safe here. You can just drift.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me I’m getting sleepy?”

“Ssh. Breathe. Focus on the pendant.”

Her pulse jumped again when he held it up in her line of vision. “That’s Mia’s.”

“Relax. Focus. You’re safe. You know you can trust me.”

She moistened her lips. “This isn’t going to work anyway.”

“The pendant’s in front of that white wall. It’s all you can see, all you need to see. Let your mind clear. Just look at the pendant. Listen to my voice. It’s all you need to hear.”

He took her down in stages, gently, until her eyelids began to droop. Then slid her deep.

“Subject is unusually susceptible to hypnosis. Vital signs are steady, readings typical for a trance state. Ripley, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to remember that you’re safe and that you’re not to do anything that you’re not willing to do and comfortable doing. If I ask you to do anything that you don’t want to do, you’re to tell me no. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Are you able to stir the air?”

“Yes.”

“Will you do so? Gently.”

She lifted her arms, as if for an embrace, and the air moved over him like a soft wave of water.

“How does that make you feel?” he asked her.

“I can’t explain. Happy, and afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“I want it too much, want too much of it.”

“Close the spell,” he ordered. It wasn’t fair to ask her questions like that, he reminded himself. She hadn’t agreed to it before he’d put her under. “Remember the lights? The baseball lights? Can you bring them back?”

“I’m not supposed to play after bedtime,” she said, and her voice had changed subtly, become younger and full of mischief. “But I do.”

He stared at her rather than the lights she threw toward the ceiling. “Subject has regressed, without direct suggestion. The childhood game appears to have triggered the event.”

The scientist in him wanted to pursue it, but the man couldn’t follow through.

“Ripley, you’re not a little girl. I want you to stay in this time and place.”

“Mia and I had fun. If I didn’t have to grow up, we’d still be friends.” It was said sulkily, her mouth in a pout as she played the lights.

“I need you to stay in this time and this place.”

She let out a long sigh. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Can I touch one of the lights?”

“It won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” She brought one down until it hovered above his hands. He could trace it with his finger, a perfect circle. “It’s beautiful. What’s inside you is beautiful.”

“Some is dark.” As she said it, her body arched, and the lights flew around the room like bright stars. Instinctively Mac ducked. The lights began to whistle shrilly and pulse bloodred.

“Close the spell.”

“Something’s here. It’s come to hunt. To feed.” Her hair began to twist into wild curls. “It’s come back. One times three.”

“Ripley.” Lights flew past his face as he rushed back to her. “Close the spell. I want you to close the spell and come back. I’m going to count back from ten.”

“She needs you to guide the way.”

“I’m bringing her back.” Mac gripped shoulders he knew were no longer Ripley’s. “You have no right to take her.”

“She is mine and I am hers. Show her the way. Show her way. She must not take mine, or we are lost.”

“Ripley, focus on my voice. On my voice.” It took all his control to keep his voice soothing. Firm but calm. “Come back now. When I reach one, you’ll wake up.”

“He brings death. He craves it.”

“He won’t get it,” Mac snapped. “Ten, nine, eight. You’re waking up slowly. Seven, six. You’re going to feel relaxed, refreshed. Five, four. You’ll remember everything. You’re safe. Come back now. Wake up, Ripley. Three, two, one.”

As he counted down, he saw her come back, not just to the surface of consciousness but physically. As her eyelids fluttered, the lights vanished, and the room was still.

She breathed out, swallowed. “Holy shit,” she managed, then found herself plucked off the bed into his lap and crushed in his arms.

 

 

Chapter Seventeen

He couldn’t let her go, couldn’t stop blaming himself for taking chances with her. Nothing he’d seen, experienced, theorized, had ever terrified him the way watching Ripley change in front of him had done.

“It’s all right.” She stroked his back, patted it. Then realizing they were both trembling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held tight. “I’m okay.”

He shook his head, buried his face in her hair. “I should be shot.”

Since gentle soothing wasn’t working, she switched tactics into something more natural to her. “Get a grip, Booke,” she ordered and shoved at him. “No harm, no foul.”

“I took you under, left you open.” He pulled back, and she could see it wasn’t fear on his face but fury.

“It hurt you. I could see it. Then you were gone.”

“No, I wasn’t.” His reaction had given her little time for one of her own. Now her stomach quivered. Something had come into her. No, she thought, that wasn’t quite right. Something had come over her.

“I was here,” she said slowly, as she tried to puzzle it out for herself. “It was like being underwater. Not like drowning or sinking, but just . . . floating. It didn’t hurt. More of a quick shock, then the drift.”

Her brows drew together as she thought it through. “Can’t say I cared for it, though. I don’t like the idea of being tucked aside so someone else can have her say.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Fine. Actually, I feel great. Stop taking my pulse, Doc.”

“Let me get these things off you.” But when he started to remove the electrodes, she closed a hand over his wrist.

“Hold on. What did you get out of all that?”

“A reminder.” He bit off the words. “To be more cautious.”

“No, you don’t. Think like a scientist. The way you were when we started this. You’re supposed to be objective, right?”

“Fuck objectivity.”

“Come on, Mac. We can’t just toss the results out the window. Tell me. I’m interested.” When he frowned at her, she sighed. “It’s not just your deal now. I have a pretty personal interest in what went on here.”

She was right. Because she was right, he dug down for calm. “How much do you remember?”

“All of it, I think. For a minute I was eight years old. It was kind of cool.”

“You started to regress, on your own.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. Clear the brain, he ordered himself. Bag the emotion. And give her some answers.

“Maybe the game was the trigger,” he considered. “If you want a quick analysis, I’d say you went back to a time when you weren’t conflicted. Subconsciously you needed to go back to a time when things were simpler and you didn’t question yourself. You used to enjoy your gift.”

“Yeah. And for a while, the Craft—the learning, the refining, I guess you’d say.” Restless now, she moved her shoulders. “And then you get a little older and you start thinking about the weight. The consequences.”

He laid a hand on her cheek. “This, all of this, troubles you.”

“Well, things aren’t simple now, are they? They haven’t been for me for ten years.”

He said nothing, watching her patiently. Words trembled on her tongue, then began to spill out in a flood.

“I could see, in dreams, how it might be if I took a step too far. If I didn’t strap it in, wasn’t careful enough. And sometimes, in those dreams, it felt good. Amazingly good to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Screw the rules.”

“But you never did,” he said quietly. “Instead you just stopped it all.”

“When Sam Logan left Mia, she was a wreck. I kept thinking, why the hell doesn’t she do something about it? Make him pay, the son of a bitch. Make him suffer the way she’s suffering. And I thought of what I’d do. What I could do. Nobody would hurt me that way, because if they tried . . .”

She shuddered. “I imagined it, and almost before I realized, a bolt of light shot out of the sky. A black bolt of light, barbed like an arrow. I sank Zack’s boat,” she said with a weak smile. “Nobody was in it, but they could have been. He could have been, and I wouldn’t have been able to stop it. No control, just anger.”

He laid a hand on her leg, rubbed. “How old were you?”

“Not quite twenty. But that doesn’t matter,” she said fiercely. “You know that doesn’t matter. ‘And it harm none.’ That’s vital, and I couldn’t be sure I could keep that pledge. God, he’d been in that damn boat not twenty minutes before it happened. I wasn’t thinking of him, wasn’t concerned about him or anyone. I was just mad.”

“So you denied yourself your gift, and your friend.”

“I had to. There was no one without the other in this. They’re too twined together. She would never have understood or accepted, and damn it, she’d never have stopped nagging at me. Plus, I was pissed at her because . . .”

She knuckled a tear away and said aloud what she’d refused to admit even to herself. “I felt her pain like it was my own, physically felt it. Her grief, her despair. Her desperate love for him. And I couldn’t stand it. We were too close, and I couldn’t breathe.”

“It’s been as hard on you as it has on her. Maybe harder.”

“I guess. I’ve never told anybody any of this. I’d appreciate it if we kept it between us.”

He nodded, and when his lips brushed hers they were warm. “You’ll have to talk to Mia sooner or later.”

“I choose later.” She sniffled again, rubbed her face briskly. “Let’s move on, okay? Or I guess it’s back. You got your readings, you got your tape,” she said, nodding at his equipment. “I didn’t think you’d be able to put me under. I keep underestimating you. It was relaxing, even pleasant.” She pushed back her heavy hair. “And then . . .”

“What then?” he prompted. He didn’t have to check his machines to know her heart rate and respiration were spiking.

“It was like something was trying to get it. Claw its way in. Something crouched and waiting. Boy, that sounds dramatic.” And though she laughed at herself, she drew her knees up protectively. “Not her. It wasn’t her. It was something . . . else.”

“It hurt you.”

“No, but it wanted to. Then I was sliding underwater, and she was the surface. I can’t explain it any other way.”

“That’s good enough.”

“I don’t see what’s good about it. I couldn’t control it. Like I couldn’t control what happened to Zack’s boat. Couldn’t control what I started with the lights tonight. Even though she was inside me, some part of her, it didn’t seem as if she could control it either. Like the power was caught somewhere between. Up for grabs.” She shivered and felt her skin grow icy. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Okay, we’ll stop.” He took her hands, soothed. “I’m going to put everything away.”

Though she nodded, she knew he didn’t understand her. She didn’t want any of it any longer. But she was afraid, deeply afraid, that she wasn’t going to be given the choice. Something was coming, she thought. For her.

He tucked her in like a baby, and she let him. When he drew her close to comfort her in the dark, she pretended to sleep. He stroked her hair, and she felt the beginning of tears. If she was normal, if she was ordinary, her life could be like this, she thought bitterly. She could be held close in the dark by the man she loved.

A simple thing. Everything. If she’d never met him, she’d have been content to go on as she was. Enjoying a man now and then when he caught her fancy and her interest. Whether or not she would have embraced her powers again she couldn’t be sure. But her heart would have remained her own. Once you gave your heart, you risked more than self. You risked the one who held it. How could she?

Weary of the worry, she breathed him in, and gave herself to sleep. The storm was back, cold and bitter. It drove the sea into a frenzy of sound and fury. Lightning blasted over the sky, shattering it like glass. Black rain gushed from the shards to be hurled like frozen barbs by the wicked wind. The storm was feral. And she ruled it.

Power fueled her, pumping through muscle and bone with such glorious strength. Here was an energy beyond anything she’d known before, had believed possible. And with this force at her fingertips, she would have vengeance. No, no. Justice. It wasn’t vengeance to seek punishment for wrongs. To demand it. To mete it out with a clear mind.

But her mind wasn’t clear. Even in the throes of her hunger, she knew it. And feared it. She was damning herself. She looked down at the man who cowered at her feet. What was power if it couldn’t be used to right wrongs, to stop evil, to punish the wicked?

“If you do this, it ends in violence. In hopelessness.”

Her grief-stricken sisters stood in the circle, and she without.

“I have the right!”

“No one does. Do this, and you rip out the heart of the gift. The soul of what you are.”

She was already lost. “I can’t stop it.”

“You can. Only you can. Come, stand with us. It’s he who will destroy you.”

She looked down and saw the face of the man change, features over features that slid from terror, to glee, to plea, to hunger.

“No. He ends here.”

She threw up a hand. Lightning exploded, arrowed down to her fingertips. And became a silver sword.

“With what is mine I take your life. To right the wrong and end the strife. For justice I set my fury free, and take the path of destiny. From this place and from this hour. . .” Thrilled, darkly thrilled, she lifted the sword high as he screamed. “I will taste the ripe fruit of power. Blood for blood I now decree. As I will, so mote it be.”

She brought the sword down in one vicious swipe. He smiled as its tip sliced flesh. And he vanished. The night screamed, the earth trembled. And through the storm, the one she loved came running.

“Stay back!” she shouted. “Stay away!”

But he fought his way through the gale, reaching for her. From the tip of her sword, lightning erupted, and arrowed into his heart.

“Ripley, come on, honey. Wake up now. It’s a bad dream.”

She was sobbing with it, and the wrenching grief in the sound worried him more than the trembling.

“I couldn’t stop it. I killed him. I couldn’t make it stop.”

“It’s over now.” He fumbled for the bedside lamp, but couldn’t find the switch. Instead he simply sat up with her, cuddled her, rocked. “It’s all over now. You’re okay. Wake up.” He kissed her damp cheeks, her forehead.

Her arms banded around him like steel. “Mac.”

“That’s right. I’m here. You had a nightmare. Do you want me to turn on the light, get you some water?”

“No, just . . . no. Hold on to me a minute, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Not a nightmare, she thought as she let herself cling to him. But a vision, a blend of what had been and what would be. She’d recognized the face—the faces—of the man on the beach. One she had seen in other dreams. He’d died three centuries before. Cursed by the one called Earth. Another she had first seen in the woods by the yellow cottage. When he’d held a knife to Nell’s throat. And the third she had seen in the café, reading a newspaper and eating soup. Three parts of one whole? Three steps in one fate? God! How was she to know?

She had killed them. In the end she’d seen herself standing in the storm, with her sword in her hand. She’d killed because she could, because the need had been so huge. And the payment horribly dear. It had been Mac she’d seen running through the storm. Mac who’d been struck down, because she couldn’t control what was inside her.

“I won’t let it happen,” she whispered. “I won’t.”

“Tell me. Tell me about the dream. It’ll help.”

“No. This will.” She lifted her mouth to his, poured herself into the kiss. “Touch me. God. Make love with me. I need to be with you.” Fresh tears spilled as she melted against him. “I need you.”

To comfort, to fill, to want. She would take this, and give it. This last time. All that might have been, all that she had let herself wish, would gather together and stream into this perfect act of love. She could see him in the dark. Every feature, every line, every plane was etched on mind and heart. How could she have fallen so deeply, so hopelessly in love?

She’d never believed herself capable of it, never wanted it. Yet here it was, aching inside her. He was the beginning and the end for her, and she had no words to tell him. He needed none.

He tumbled into her, the yield and demand. There was a tenderness here, a depth to it that neither had explored before. Swamped by it, he murmured her name. He wanted to give her everything. Heart, mind, body. To warm her with his hands and mouth. To hold her safe forever. She rose to him, drew him down. Met his sigh with her own. Love was like a feast, and each supped slowly.

A gentle caress, a melting of lips. A quiet need that stirred souls. She opened, and he filled. Warmth enclosed in warmth. They moved together in the seamless dark, beat for sustained beat, while pleasure bloomed and ripened. His lips brushed at her tears, and the taste of them was lovely. In the dark, his hands found hers, linked.

“You’re all there is.”

She heard him say it, tenderly. And as the wave rose to sweep them both, it was soft as silk. In the dark, she slept away the rest of the night in his arms. Without dreams.

Morning had to come. She was prepared for it. There were steps to be taken, and she would take them without hesitation and, she promised herself, without regret.

She slipped out of the house early. She took one last glance at Mac, how he looked sleeping peacefully in her bed. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what might have been. Then she closed the door and didn’t look back. She could hear Nell, already up and singing in the kitchen, and knew her brother would be up and starting the day soon. She needed to get a jump on it.

She left by the front door, heading for the village and the station house at a brisk jog. The wind and rain had died in the night. Under clear skies, the air had turned bitter again. She could hear the pounding of the sea. The surf would still be high and wild, and the beach littered with whatever the water had cast out. But there would be no long, freeing run for her that morning.

The village was as still as a painting, captured under a crystalline coating of ice. She imagined it waking, yawning, stretching, and cracking that thin sheath like an eggshell. Determined that her home, and everyone on it, would wake safe, she unlocked the door of the station house. It was chilly inside and warned her they were running on emergency power. Lost power during the night, and the generator kicked on. She imagined that she and Zack would be busy later, dealing with any of the residents who didn’t have backup power.

But that was later. With a check of the time, she booted up the computer. She could run it off the battery long enough to get what she needed.

Jonathan Q. Harding. She rolled her shoulders and began her search. The basic police work steadied her. It was routine, it was second nature. Her stop at the hotel had garnered her his home address—or the address he’d given, she reminded herself. Now, she would see just who the hell he was. And with that, begin to piece together the puzzle of what part he played in her personal drama. She scanned the data as it scrolled on-screen. Harding, Jonathan Quincy. Age forty-eight. Divorced. No children. Los Angeles.

“L.A.,” she repeated, and felt the little quiver she’d experienced when she’d gotten his city of residence from the hotel registration.

Evan Remington was from Los Angeles. So were a lot of other people, she reminded herself, as she had the day before. But there wasn’t as much conviction in it this time around. She read his employment information. A magazine writer. Reporter. Son of a bitch.

“Looking for a hot story, Harding? Well, it’s not going to happen. You just try getting through me to Nell and . . .”

She broke off, blew out a breath, and deliberately, consciously, tamped down on the instinctive anger. There had been other reporters, she reminded herself. Gawkers, parasites, and the curious. They’d handled it without any real trouble. They would handle this one the same way. She went back to the data, noting that Harding had no criminal record. Not even an outstanding parking violation. So he was, by all appearances, a law-abiding sort. She sat back, considered.

If she were a reporter from L.A. looking for a story, where would she start? Remington’s family was a good bet. His sister, then some friends, some associates. Research the key players, who included Nell. From there? Police reports, probably. Interviews with people who had known both Remington and Nell. But that was all background, wasn’t it? You couldn’t get to the meat until you’d talked directly to the main characters.

She snatched up the phone, intending to contact the facility where Remington was being held. And heard the line crackle and die. First the power, she thought, now the phones. Muttering complaints, she yanked out her cell phone, hit Power. And ground her teeth when the display announced that her battery was dead.

“Damn it. Goddamn it!” Pushing herself out of the chair, she paced. There was an urgency in her now. Whether it was the cop, the woman, or the witch pushing didn’t seem to matter. She had to know if Harding had met with Remington.

“All right, then.” She steadied herself again. It was imperative to stay calm and controlled. It had been a long time since she’d attempted a flight. She had no tools with her to help focus her energy. And though she wished, just once, for Mia, she accepted that in this she was on her own. Struggling not to rush, she cast the circle, and in its center cleared her mind, and opened.

“I call to all who hold the power, unto me your help endower. Rise up the wind to aid my flight, open your eyes to aid my sight. My body remains, but my spirit flies free. As I will, so mote it be.”

It was like a drawing up, a tingling that flowed gently through the body. Then a lifting out of what she was from the shell that held it. She glanced down at her own form—the Ripley who stood, head lifted, eyes closed, in the circle. Knowing the risks of lingering, of becoming too charmed by the sensation of flight, she centered her thoughts on her target. And let herself soar.

The stream of the wind, the sea beneath. There was such joy in it—and that, she knew, was a dangerous seduction. Before she could be lulled into the glorious silence and motion, she let sounds fill her head. Voices humming—the thoughts and the speech of an entire city were alive within her. Worries, joys, tempers, passions mixed together in such a wonderfully human music. As she traveled, sliding downward, she separated them and found what she needed.

“There was no change overnight.” One nurse handed a chart to another. Their thoughts sent up a mild interference. Complaints, fatigue, a remembered fight with a spouse, and one gnawing desire for ice cream.

“Well, he’s less trouble in a coma. Strange, though, the way he dropped just a couple of hours after that reporter left. He’d been alert, stable, responsive for days, then this complete turnaround.”

As the nurses moved down the corridor, one of them shivered slightly as Ripley passed.

“Wow. Got a chill.”

She moved through the closed door and into the room where Remington lay. Machines monitored his vital signs, cameras watched him. Ripley hovered, studying him. Comatose, restrained, behind lock and key. What harm could he do now? Even as she thought it, his eyes opened and grinned into hers. She felt a stab in the heart, the pain unbelievably sharp and completely real. The power in her, around her, wavered. And she felt herself falling. His thoughts beat at her mind. Bloody, vicious fists that spoke of vengeance, death, destruction. They pinched at her, greedy fingers that were somehow, hideously, arousing. Tempting her to surrender. And more than surrender, tempting her to take.

No. You won’t have me, or mine.

She fought back, struggling to free herself. Little wings of panic fluttered at her throat as she realized the sheer strength of what had come alive in him. She tore free with a cry of both fury and fear. And found herself sprawled in the circle she’d cast on the simple wood floor of the station house. Wincing in pain, she tore open her shirt and stared down in horror at the angry red welts between her breasts. She struggled to her feet, found the control to close the circle. She was stumbling for the first-aid kit when the door burst open.

Mia flew in the door like a whirlwind. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Instinctively Ripley drew her shirt closed. “What’re you doing here?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” All but shaking with anger, Mia closed the distance between them. “I wouldn’t feel? How dare you do such a thing on your own, without proper preparation? Do you know what you risked?”

“It was my risk, and you’ve got no business spying on me.”

“You risked everything, and you know it, just as you know I wasn’t spying. You woke me out of a lovely little dream.”

Ripley angled her head, took a good look. Mia’s hair was in wild disarray, her mouth unpainted and her cheeks pale. “Now that you mention it, you didn’t take time to put on your war paint. I don’t think I’ve seen you without makeup since we were fifteen.”

“Even without it, I’ll always look better than you—particularly now. You’re bone white. Sit down. Sit—” she repeated and solved the problem by pushing Ripley into a chair.

“Mind your own business.”

“You, unfortunately, are my business. If you wanted to check on Remington, why didn’t you just look ?”

“Don’t lecture me, Mia. You know I have less luck with that area than you. Plus, I didn’t have a glass or a ball or—”

“A cup of water would do, as you’re perfectly aware. It’s foolishly dangerous to fly without a partner, someone who can call you back should it be necessary.”

“Well, it wasn’t necessary. I got back fine.”

“You could have asked me for help.” Sorrow pierced the frustration. “By the goddess, Ripley, do you hate me that much?”

Simple shock had Ripley dropping her hands, gaping. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t—”

“What have you done to yourself?” Temper vanished as Mia saw the welts. Moving quickly, she pulled Ripley’s shirt aside. And her soul shuddered. “He did this. How is it possible? You were in the circle. He’s just a man. How could he break the protection and do this to your corporal body?”

“He’s not just a man,” Ripley said flatly. “Not anymore. There’s something in him, and it’s very strong, and very dark. Part of it’s here. There’s a man at the hotel.”

She told Mia what she knew, as she would tell Nell. They needed to be prepared.

“I need to study,” Mia said. “To think. We’ll find the answer. In the meantime, do you still have your amulet, any of your protective stones?”

“Mia—”

“Don’t be a fool, not now. Wear the amulet. Recharge it first. You have to stay away from this Harding until we know more.”

“I know that. I’m not going to let this happen, Mia. I need you to promise you won’t stop me, however it has to be done.”

“We’ll find a way. Let me tend to those burns.”

“You’ll stop me,” Ripley repeated, taking Mia’s wrist, squeezing urgently. “You’re stronger than I am, and you know just how close I am to the edge to admit that.”

“What needs to be done will be done.” Impatient, Mia pushed Ripley’s hand away. “These are painful. Let me tend to them.”

“For a minute, the burn was arousing.” Ripley took a steadying breath. “Seductive. I wanted it, and what it would do to me.”

“That’s part of its slyness.” But fear, cold and clammy, shivered over Mia’s skin. “You know that, too.”

“Yeah, I know it. And now I’ve felt it. You and Nell can hold out against it, and Nell stands in front of Zack. But I saw what could happen, and I’m not taking any chances. I can’t leave, it won’t work. So Mac’s going to have to go.”

“He won’t.” Mia soothed the welts with her fingertips.

“I’ll make him.”

With her hand on Ripley’s heart, Mia felt the beat that was love and fear. Her own ached in sympathy. “You can try.”

Steps to be taken, Ripley reminded herself as she approached the yellow cottage. This one, most of all, had to be faced. She didn’t need second sight or a ball of crystal to foresee that it would be painful. More painful than the raw welts that even Mia hadn’t been able to erase completely from her skin. He might hate her when she was done. But he would be safe. She didn’t hesitate, but knocked, then strolled in.

Dressed in a ragged sweatshirt and rattier jeans, he stood in the crowded bedroom. He was reviewing the tape from the night before. It was a jolt to see him on the monitor—so calm, so unruffled, so steady—sitting on the bed beside her, gently taking her pulse while his voice reassured. A jolt to see him glance over at her now, to see the concentration in his eyes, then the easy pleasure that warmed them.

He stood, blocking the monitor with his body, then switching it off.

“Hi. You snuck off on me this morning.”

“Had stuff,” she said with a shrug. “Back at work, huh?”

“It can wait. How about some coffee?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.” She didn’t avoid the kiss, but neither did she respond. She knew he was puzzled, so she breezed by him into the kitchen.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she began. “I know we’ve been hanging out a lot.”

“Hanging out?”

“Yeah. We’ve got a real nice sizzle between us, especially between the sheets.” She sat, stretching out her legs, crossing her feet at the ankles. “But the thing is, it’s getting a little intense for me. Wow, last night especially really went over the top. I’m going to have to back off.”

“Back off?” He caught himself parroting her again, shook his head. “I understand last night’s session was rough.” He got down two mugs, poured coffee. “You need a break from that.”

“You’re not following me.” Already bleeding inside, she took the mug he offered. “It’s not just the work area—I’ve got to admit, I found it a lot more interesting than I thought I would. Brains are pretty sexy. I’ve never hung out with a really smart guy before.”

She sipped the coffee, burned her tongue, and kept right on talking. “Look, Mac, you’re really a nice guy, and I think we both had a good time. You even helped me clear my head about a lot of stuff. I appreciate that.”

“Do you?”

There he was, she thought, looking at her as if she were a bug on a slide. “You bet. But I’m starting to feel a little, you know, confined. I need to move on.”

“I see.” His voice was calm, just a bit detached. “So, you’re dumping me.”

“That’s a little harsh.” He wasn’t reacting as she’d expected. He didn’t look angry, upset, hurt, shocked. He simply looked mildly interested. “Why don’t we keep it friendly and just say it’s been fun?”

“Okay.” He leaned back on the counter, crossing his long legs at the ankles in a move that eerily mirrored hers, then sipped his coffee. “It’s been fun.”

“Great.” A little sliver of resentment worked through, pricking her heart, and her voice. “Figured you for a reasonable type, which is probably why you’re not really my type. I guess you’ll be heading back to New York pretty soon.”

“No, not for several more weeks.”

“I don’t see the point in staying. I don’t want to play anymore.”

“I guess I have to make sure you’re not the center of my universe, then. I still have work to do on the Sisters.”

“You won’t get any more cooperation from me. Look, I’m just thinking of how you’re going to feel. It’s a small world here. People are going to know I broke things off. It’s going to be embarrassing for you.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Fine. Not my problem.” She pushed to her feet.

“No, it’s not.” He spoke pleasantly as he set his mug aside. She never saw it coming. One second he was studying her with that vague curiosity, and the next he’d yanked her against him. His mouth was like a fever on hers. Hot, angry, draining.

“Why are you lying to me?”

She was out of breath, and her thoughts had scattered like ants. “Hands off!”

“Why are you lying?” he repeated, and backed her up against the refrigerator door. Detached? she thought wildly. Had she thought he was detached?

“Where did all this bull come from?” He gave her one quick shake. “Why are you trying to hurt me?”

And it did hurt, a deep, throbbing ache in the pit of his stomach, a slow, twisting twinge in the heart.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, but I will if you keep pushing yourself on me. I don’t want you.”

“You’re a liar. You held me when you slept.”

“I can’t be responsible for what I do in my sleep.”

“You turned to me in the dark.” His voice was relentless. A part of him felt as if he was fighting for his life. “You gave yourself to me.”

“Sex is—”

“It wasn’t sex.” He remembered how it had been. For both of them. His hands gentled, and his anger became exasperation. “Do you think you can trick me into turning away from you, leaving the island?

Why?”

“I don’t want you here.” She shoved at him, and her voice began to hitch. “I don’t want you near me.”

“Why?”

“Because, you moron, I’m in love with you.”

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

He ran his hands down her arms, taking hers as he leaned over to touch his lips to her forehead.

“Well, you idiot, I’m in love with you, too. Let’s sit down and start there.”

“What? What?” She would have pulled her hands free, but he only tightened his grip. “Back off.”

“No.” He said it gently. “No, Ripley, I won’t back off. I won’t go away. And I won’t stop loving you. You might as well swallow that, then we can work on what’s scared you so much you want me gone.”

“Mac, if you love me, you’ll pack up and go back to New York for a while.”

“It doesn’t work that way. No,” he repeated as she opened her mouth again.

“Don’t be so damn—”

“ ‘Implacable’ is a term I’ve heard applied to me occasionally. It’s classier, I think, than ‘hardheaded.’ In this case, however, I don’t think either applies.” He angled his head. “You get spooked about something, worried about someone, your instinct is to step away. The way you did with your gift,” he continued over her protest. “The way you did with Mia. I won’t let you do that with me. With us. Ripley.” He lifted their joined hands, kissed her knuckles. “I’m so in love with you.”

“Don’t.” Her heart, she thought, couldn’t take it. “Just wait.”

“I hate to keep saying no to you. I’ll make it up to you later.” And he lowered his head and kissed her until her bones went liquid.

“I don’t know what to do, how to handle this. I’ve never had this before.”

“Me, either. We’ll figure it out. Let’s sit down and get started.”

“I told Zack I’d be back in twenty minutes. I didn’t think it would take that long to . . .”

“To dump me.” He grinned at her. “Surprise. You want to call him?”

She shook her head. “I can’t think straight. Hell, he knows where I am if he needs me.” It seemed as if everything inside her was jumping and twisting around. And yet, at the center of it, her heart was glowing like the moon. “You’re in love with me?”

“Completely.”

“Well.” She sniffled. “How come you never mentioned it before?” she demanded.

“How come you didn’t mention you were in love with me?”

“I asked you first.”

“Got me there. Maybe I was building up to it. You know . . .” He squeezed her arms before he nudged her into a chair. “Softening you up.”

“Maybe I was doing the same thing.”

“Really? Telling me you were done with me is an odd way to accomplish that.”

“Mac.” She leaned forward, and this time she took his hands. “You’re the first man I’ve ever said it to. You have to be careful throwing that word around. If you’re careless with it, casual with it, it loses power. You’re the first because you’re the first. And for me, you’ll be the only. That’s how it works with the Todds. We mate for life. So you have to marry me.”

His system kicked, a quick boot. “I have to marry you?”

“Yeah. So that takes care of that.”

“Hold on.” Pleasure trickled through him. “Don’t I get a ring or something? Then you get down on one knee and ask, and I say yes or no?”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“I feel lucky. I’m buying a house.”

“Oh.” There was a tug. Grief, sorrow. Acceptance. “New York. Yeah, well, that’s where your work is. Guess they always need cops there.”

“Probably, but I’m buying a house here. Do you think I’d ask you to leave your heart? Don’t you know mine’s here now, too?”

She stared at him. For one long moment, she could do nothing but stare at him. And saw their lives in his eyes. “Don’t make me cry. I hate that.”

“I put in an offer on the Logan place.”

“The . . .” Big and beautiful and by the sea. “It’s not for sale.”

“Oh, but it’s going to be. I can be very tenacious. I want children.”

“So do I.” Her fingers tightened on his. “It’ll be good with us. Good and solid and real. But you have to do something for me first.”

“I’m not going away.”

“Can’t you trust me enough to do this one thing?”

“That won’t work either. Tell me what’s frightening you. Start with the dream last night.”

She looked away from him. “I killed you.”

“How?” he asked, sounding intrigued.

“What, have you got ice in your veins? I ended your life, your existence.”

“We’ll figure out the solution faster if we don’t panic. Tell me about the dream.”

She shoved away from the table, paced the room three times in tight little circles trying to burn off her agitation. And told him. And in telling him brought it all back so clearly that fear crawled through her like freshly hatched spiders.

“I killed you, and destroyed everything that matters,” she finished. “I can’t carry that load, Mac. Can’t deal with it. It’s why I turned away from what I am. Turned away from Mia. It seemed the right—the only—thing to do. Part of me still thinks that.”

“But you know that won’t work and that you have to face it.”

“You’re asking me to risk you, my family, my friends, my home.”

“No, I’m not,” he said gently. “I’m asking you to protect us.”

Emotion totally swamped her. “God, Mac, that was a big button to push.”

“I know it. I’ll help you, Ripley. I think I was meant to. Meant to love you,” he added, taking her fisted hand, smoothing it open. “To be a part of this. I don’t think my life’s work is a coincidence, or my coming here, or my sitting here with you right now. And I know we’re stronger together than we are apart.”

She looked down at their joined hands. Everything she wanted, she realized, and hadn’t known she was looking for, was right here in her grasp.

“If I kill you, it’s really going to piss me off.”

His lips twitched. “Me, too.”

“Are you wearing Mia’s pendant?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t go anywhere without it. Or this.” She dug in her pocket. She should have known where it was all heading when she felt compelled to bring it with her. The ring was a complex twist of silver, a trio of melded circles, scored with symbols. “It was my grandmother’s.”

He was humbled, and incredibly moved. Had to clear his throat. “So I get a ring after all.”

“Looks like. It’s going to be too small for your hand. Wear it on the chain with the pendant.”

He took it from her, squinting as he tried to make out the symbols without his glasses. “It looks Celtic.”

“It is. The middle circle says ‘justice,’ the ones on either side say ‘compassion’ and ‘love.’ I guess that covers it.”

“It’s a beautiful piece.” He took off the chain, opened it, and slid the ring on. “Thank you.”

Before he could slip the chain back over his head, she gripped his wrist. “Hypnotize me again.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t give me that crap. This is all too dangerous. I want you to take me under, give me some posthypnotic suggestion or whatever it is. Something that will stop me if I start to lose control.”

“In the first place, you’re too open to other energies when you’re in a trance state. You were like a sponge, Ripley, soaking up what others poured into you. And in the second place, I have no idea if any suggestion would hold. When you’re conscious and aware, you’re too strong-minded, too strong-willed, to be influenced in that way.”

“It’s another line of defense. We don’t know it won’t work unless we try. This is something you can do, and I’m trusting you. I’m asking you for help.”

“That’s a hell of a button, too. Okay, we’ll try it. Not now,” he added quickly. “I want some time to do a little more research and prepare. And I want Nell and Mia here.”

“Why can’t this be just between us?”

“Because it’s not. I’ll try it, but only when you have your circle. Now wait here a minute.” He said it in such a no-nonsense, don’t-bother-to-argue tone that Ripley wasn’t sure if she was irritated, amused, or impressed. But she sat, drumming her fingers on the table, as he left the room. While she listened to him rummaging around in the bedroom, muttering to himself, she drank the coffee she’d let go cold.

When he came back, he drew her to her feet. “I bought this in Ireland a dozen years ago.” Turning her hand over, he placed a silver disk in her palm. Through its center ran a swirling rise of silver, and on either side sat a small, perfectly round stone.

“Rose quartz and moonstone,” Ripley said. “For love, and for compassion. I bought it as a kind of talisman, a good luck piece. I always carry it with me. Can’t find it half the time, but it always turns up. So I think it’s been pretty lucky. It has a loop in the back, so I imagine it was once worn as a pendant. Or you can just carry it in your pocket. I didn’t know it at the time, but I bought it for you.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “This is going to make me mushy.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I have to get back to work, and I can’t be all googly-eyed. I really love you,” she told him as she turned her mouth up to his. “I really do.”

He nudged her along, careful not to behave as if he was nudging her along. He had a great deal to do. Mac wasn’t foolish enough to believe he couldn’t be hurt. Even killed. No, he believed Ripley’s dream was a foretelling of what could be. The cycle that had begun three hundred years before was still in play. But he was also smart enough to know various means to protect himself, and to believe that knowledge is power. He would gather more knowledge and strengthen the shield over both of them. He wouldn’t risk putting her in a vulnerable trance state unless he was certain she would be safe.

He got out the copies of his ancestor’s journal entry, and found the page he wanted.

February17

It is early, before dawn. Cold and deep dark. I have left my husband sleeping warm in bed, and come to my tower room to write this.

A restlessness is on me, a worry that nags like a bad tooth. A mist hangs over the house like a shroud. It presses against the glass. I can hear it scratching—sly little fingers made of bone. How it craves to come in.

I have charmed the doors and windows and all the tiny cracks, as my mother taught me before despair swallowed her spirit. How long ago that was, and yet on a night such as this it was only yesterday. And I pine for her—the comfort, the strength, the beauty of her. With this chill seeping into my bones, I wish for her counsel.

But it is barred to me, even through crystal and glass. It is not for myself I fear, but for my children’s children. I have seen the world in my dreams, a hundred years times three. Such wonders. Such magic. Such grief.

A cycle spins. I cannot see it clearly. But I know my blood, before and after me, spins with it. Strength, purity, wisdom, and, above all, love will war with what now creeps outside my house. It is ageless, it is ever. And it is dark.

Blood of mine freed it, and blood of mine will face it. From this place and time I can do little more than protect what is now and pray for what will come. I will leave what magic I can behind me for these beloved and distant children.

Evil cannot and will not be vanquished by evil. Dark will only swallow dark and deepen. The good and the light are the keenest weapons. Let those who come after hold them ready, and end this in time.

Beneath was a charm written in Gaelic that Mac had already translated. He studied it again now, hoping that the message from the past would help with the now.

Harding felt better than he had in days. The vague fatigue that had dogged him was put down to recovery from whatever bug had invaded his system. But his mind was clear, and he was certain he’d passed the crisis. In fact, he felt well enough to be annoyed that a touch of the flu had thrown him off stride and off schedule.

He fully intended to rectify that by approaching Nell Todd that very day for his first interview. In preparation for it, he decided to have a light breakfast and a large pot of coffee in his room so that he could go over his notes, refresh his memory of the details, and plan the best strategy for persuading her to talk to him for his book. The idea of the book, and the money and glamour he intended to reap from it, filled him with anticipation. For days, it seemed, he hadn’t been able to think of it clearly, to imagine it, to remember just what it was that he planned to do.

It was as if his mind had been locked away behind some thick door, and whenever it had fought its way clear again, had been too tired to function. While he waited for his breakfast, he showered and shaved. Looking at himself in the mirror, he admitted that he didn’t look his best. He was pale, a bit gaunt. Not that he couldn’t get by without the pounds he could clearly see he’d shed. But the dark circles haunting his eyes offended his vanity. He considered using a portion of his imagined advance for the book for a little nip and tuck, and a regenerative stay in some posh spa.

After he had completed his initial interview with the former Helen Remington, he would finish putting his book proposal together and send it to the New York agent he’d contacted about the idea. In the bedroom he considered the choice between tailored suit and the more casual look of slacks and sweater. He opted for the casual—more friendly, approachable. That was the image for Nell Todd, rather than the formal business attire he’d used with Evan Remington. As he thought of Remington, a wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him to grip the closet door to steady himself. Not quite a hundred percent yet, he thought. He would feel better, he was certain, after breakfast.

His next shock came when he put on his slacks. They gapped at the waist, bagged at the hips. He realized he’d lost at least ten pounds during his bout with the flu, perhaps more. Though his hands shook a bit as he cinched his belt in the last notch, he told himself he could take advantage of this unexpected development. He would just keep the weight off, start an exercise program, watch his diet more carefully. He’d look fit and trim for public appearances when his book was published.

By the time he sat down to breakfast at the table that room service had set up by the window, he’d convinced himself he was perfectly fine. In fact, better than ever. With his first cup of coffee, he gazed out the window. The sun was bright, almost too bright as it bounced off the ice that seemed to slick every surface. He found it odd that the strength of that sun didn’t appear to be melting any of the ice. And that the village street seemed so still. As if it was genuinely frozen. A bug in amber.

He hoped the bookstore wasn’t closed because of the weather. He preferred to approach Nell Todd there, this first time. She would feel safer, he imagined, and more inclined to listen to his pitch. He might also be able to set up an interview with Mia Devlin. As the person who’d hired Nell, who’d rented her a house, when she had first come to the island, the Devlin woman would add a great deal to the book. More, Mia Devlin was reputed to be a witch, not that Harding himself actually believed in such nonsense. But something unusual had gone on in the forest the night Remington had been taken into custody, and the Devlin angle was worth exploring.

Blue lightning, a shining circle. Snakes under the skin. Harding shuddered despite himself, and began to look over his notes. He could approach Nell Todd, tempering his request for information with his admiration for her courage and intelligence. And quite sincerely, too, Harding admitted. What she had done had taken guts, skill, and brains.

He would flatter her ego. Tell her how he had followed her trail across the country, interviewed dozens of people she’d worked for, or with. And ah, yes, he mused, flipping a page in his notebook, appeal to her sense of compassion, her duty to others who found themselves in abusive situations.

A beacon of hope, he scribbled down hastily. A shining example of courage. Female empowerment. For some, escape is an option too terrifying to be considered or too far beyond their crushed spirits. (Confirm latest statistics on spousal abuse, women’s shelters, victims of marital homicides. Select family therapist to interview re: most common causes, effects, results. Interview other survivors? Batterers? Potential comparisons and confirmations.)

Pleased that his thoughts were flowing smoothly again, Harding began to eat.

Conception often cubbyholes victims of this nature as being part of an abuse cycle. Helen Remington—Nell Channing Todd—appears to have no such cycle in her background. (Continue research into childhood. Obtain statistics on what portion of abuse victims have no such activities in their previous home life.) A cycle, however, must have a beginning. From all appearances, this cycle began and ended with Evan Remington.

Harding continued to write, but his concentration began to waver. His fingers dug into the pen, and the pen into the paper.

BITCH! WHORE! BURN THE WITCH!

MINEMINEMINEMINEMINEMINE!

BLOOD. DEATH. VENGEANCE.

VENGEANCE IS MINE, IS MINE, IS MINE.

He flipped pages rapidly, slashing words over them, as his breath quickened. And the writing that was not his own all but scorched the paper.

THEY MUST DIE. THEY ALL MUST DIE. AND I WILL LIVE AGAIN.

When he came back to himself, his notebook was neatly closed, his pen set aside. And he was nonchalantly drinking coffee, gazing out the window, and planning his day. He thought it might be wise to take a nice long walk, to be out exercising in the fresh air. He could fill in several areas of description of the island, take a closer look at the cottage where Nell had lived when she’d first arrived.

It was certainly time he had a personal look at the woods where Remington had chased her that night. Feeling comfortably full, Harding tucked away his notebook, secured a fresh one. He slipped it, along with a small tape recorder and a camera, into his pockets and set out to work. He remembered nothing he’d written, nor the bloodlust that had gushed inside him as he’d done so.

 

 

Chapter Nineteen

The yellow cottage stood quiet at the edge of the little forest. The trees were bare and black and cast short shadows on the ground. Within them was utter silence.

There were thin, lacy curtains at the windows and the glass sparkled in the bright sunlight. Nothing stirred. Not a blade of winter grass, not a single crisp brown leaf. There seemed to be no sound at all, though the sea was close and the village just at his back. As he stood, staring at the house by the wood, Harding thought it was like studying a photograph taken by someone else. A frozen moment, given to him for reasons he couldn’t explain.

He felt a chill run up his spine. His body shook with it, and his breath came hard and fast. He took one stumbling step back, but it seemed as if he was rammed against a wall. And could not turn and run as he so suddenly wanted to do. Then, as quickly as the sensation had come, it passed. He was only standing on the roadside, looking at a pretty cottage by a winter wood.

He would definitely get a checkup when he got back to the mainland, he decided, as he took one shaky step forward. Obviously, he was under more stress than he had realized. Once he had all the background data and research for the book organized, he would take that vacation. Just a week or two to recoup and recharge before he got down to the serious work of writing.

Cheered by that thought, he continued toward the woods. Now he could hear the soft and steady heartbeat of the sea, the careless call of birds, the light rustling of wind through naked branches. He shook his head as he marched into the trees, and glanced around with the suspicious condescension of a confirmed urbanite for the solitude of nature. Why anyone would choose to live in such a place was beyond him. Yet Helen Remington had done so.

She’d given up great wealth, a privileged lifestyle, a beautiful home, and a gilded social standing—and for what? To cook for strangers, to live on a rocky lump of land, and one day—he imagined—to raise a brood of squalling brats. Stupid bitch. His hands clenched and unclenched as he walked. Beneath his feet a dirty fog began to churn, to boil over his shoes. He quickened his pace, nearly running now, though the ground was slick and patched with ice. His breath came out in visible streams. Ungrateful whore.

She had to be punished. To be hurt. She and all the others had to pay, would pay for everything they’d done. They would die. And if they dared challenge his power, dared challenge his rights, they would die in agony. The fog ate along the ground and spilled at the edges of a circle that pulsed with a soft white glow. His lips peeled back, and a feral growl sounded deep in his throat. He lunged at the ring—and was repelled. Light rose from the circle, a thin, sparkling curtain of gold. In fury, he threw himself against it, time and time again. It burned, white fire scorching his skin, smoking his clothing. As rage devoured him, what was inside the body of Jonathan Q. Harding threw itself on the ground, howling and cursing the light.

Nell made up two orders of the day’s lunch special. She hummed while she worked and toyed with adjustments to the menu for the wedding she was catering at the end of the month. Business was good. Sisters Catering had found its feet, and even in the slow winter months kept her busy and content. But not so much so that she hadn’t eked out time to work on a proposal for Mia. A cooking club in Café Book and an expanded menu were both very doable. Once she had the details more refined, she would present the idea to Mia—businesswoman to businesswoman. After she served the orders, she glanced at the time. Another half hour and Peg would relieve her. She had a dozen errands to run and two appointments to discuss other catering jobs. She’d have to move fast, she thought, to get everything done in time to put dinner together. The simple chaos of housewifely chores and business obligations piled together in overlapping layers made her happy.

But there were serious issues to be faced, she couldn’t deny it. Dinner that night wasn’t just a social function. She understood Mac’s concern, and the need to focus her energies on what was to come. But she had already faced the worst and survived.

Whatever had to be done to protect who and what she loved would be done. She strolled out to clear a table in the café, pocketed her tip. Tip money went in a special jar and was considered her splurge money. Paychecks were for expenses, catering profits would be plowed back into the business. But tip money was for fun. It jingled cheerfully in her pocket as she turned to carry the plates and bowls back to the kitchen.

She stopped short, then rushed forward when she saw Harding standing by the counter staring blankly at the chalkboard menu.

“Mr. Harding, what happened? Are you all right?”

He stared at her, through her.

“You should sit down.” Quickly, she put the dishes on the counter, took his arm. She led him around the counter and back into the kitchen. He sank into the chair she pulled out for him, and she rushed to the sink to get a glass of water.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” He took the glass gratefully, gulped down the cool water. His throat felt scorched and raw, as though it had been scored with hot needles.

“I’m going to fix you some tea, and some chicken soup.”

He simply nodded, staring down at his hands. The nails were full of grit, as if he’d clawed at dirt. The knuckles were abraded, the palms scraped. He saw that his trousers were stained with dirt, his shoes filthy. Bits of twig and briar clung to his sweater.

It embarrassed him, a fastidious man, to find himself in such disarray. “Might I . . . wash my hands?”

“Yes, of course.” Nell tossed a worried look over her shoulder. A red streak, like sunburn, covered half his face. It looked vicious, painful and frightening.

She led him to the rest room, waited for him outside the door, and then walked him back to the kitchen. She ladled the soup, brewed the tea while he stood as if in a trance.

“Mr. Harding.” She spoke gently now, touching his shoulder. “Please sit down. You’re not well.”

“No, I . . .” He felt vaguely nauseous. “I must have fallen.” He blinked rapidly. Why couldn’t he remember? He’d taken a walk in the woods on a bright winter afternoon. And could remember nothing. He let her tend him the way the very young or the very old allow themselves to be tended. He spooned up the warm, soothing soup, and it comforted his aching throat and uneasy stomach. He drank her herbal tea sweetened with a generous dollop of honey. And he basked in the sympathetic silence she gave him.

“I must have fallen,” he said again. “I haven’t been feeling quite well lately.”

The scents of the kitchen were so appealing, her movements as she took and filled more orders so graceful and efficient, that his anxiety receded. He remembered his research on her, and the admiration he’d felt when he’d followed her path across the country. He would write a very good story—book—about her, he thought. One that spoke of courage and triumph.

Ungrateful whore. The words echoed dimly in his head and made him tremble. Nell studied him with concern. “You should go to the clinic.”

He shook his head. “I prefer seeing my own doctor. I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Todd. Your kindness.”

“I have something for that burn.”

“Burn?”

“Just a minute.” She moved out of the kitchen again, spoke to Peg, who’d just come on for her shift. When she came back in, Nell opened a cabinet and took out a slim green bottle.

“It’s mostly aloe,” she told him briskly. “It’ll help.”

He reached a hand to his face, snatched it away again. “I must have . . . the sun’s deceptive,” he managed. “Mrs. Todd, I should tell you I came to the island for the specific purpose of speaking to you.”

“Yes?” She uncapped the bottle.

“I’m a writer,” he began. “I’ve followed your story. First, I want you to know how much I admire you.”

“Do you, Mr. Harding?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed.” Something wanted to crawl up from his belly to his throat. He forced it down again.

“Initially, I was merely interested in the story for a magazine piece, but as I learned more I realized the value of what you experienced, what you did. It speaks to so many people. I’m sure you know how many women are caught in the cycle of abuse,” he continued as she dabbed the balm on her fingers.

“You’re a beacon, Mrs. Todd, a symbol of victory and empowerment.”

“No, I’m not, Mr. Harding.”

“But you are.” He looked deep into her eyes. They were so blue. So calm. The cramps in his gut eased.

“I followed your trail across the country.”

“Really?” she replied, then her coated fingers slid over his burned cheek.

“I spoke with people you worked with, stepped in your footprints, so to speak. I know what you did, how hard you worked, how frightened you were. You never gave up.”

“And I never will,” she said clearly. “You should understand that. Prepare for that. I’ll never give up.”

“You belong to me. Why do you make me hurt you, Helen?”

It was Evan’s voice—that quiet, reasonable voice he used before he punished her. Terror wanted to burst free. But it was terror, she knew, that it wanted.

“You can’t hurt me any longer. I will never allow anyone I love to be harmed by you.”

His skin rippled under her fingers, as if something crawled there. But she continued to smooth on the balm. He shuddered once, gripped her wrist. “Run,” he whispered. “Get away before it’s too late.”

“This is my home.” She fought her fear. “I’ll protect it with all that I am. We’ll beat you.”

He shuddered again. “What did you say?”

“I said you should go rest now, Mr. Harding.” She capped the bottle as pity for him welled up inside her. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

“You let him go?” Ripley paced the station house, tugging at her hair in frustration. “Just patted him on the head and told him to take a nap?”

“Ripley.” Zack’s voice held a quiet warning, but she shook her head.

“For Christ’s sake, Zack, think! The man’s dangerous. She said herself she sensed something in him.”

“It’s not his fault,” Nell began, but Ripley whirled to face her.

“This isn’t about fault, it’s about reality. Even if he were just some reporter with delusions of grandeur, that would be bad enough. He came here looking for you, he followed your path all across the damn country, talking to people behind your back.”

“That’s his job.” Nell held up a hand before Ripley could snap at her again. A year before, she would have backed away from the confrontation. Times had changed. “I’m not going to blame him for doing his job, or for what’s happening to him now. He doesn’t know what’s happening, and he’s sick, he’s frightened. You didn’t see him, Ripley. I did.”

“No, I didn’t see him because you didn’t call me. You didn’t bring me in.”

“Is that the real problem? I didn’t ask you for advice, for help?” Nell tilted her head. “Tell me, would you have called me? Or Mia?”

Ripley opened her mouth, then shut it again in one hard, thin line. “We’re not talking about me.”

“Maybe we are. Maybe we’re talking about all of this. It’s a cycle, after all. What started it is inside us. What’s inside us will end it. He was hurt,” she said, appealing to Zack now. “Confused, afraid. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Do you know?” Zack asked her.

“I’m not sure. There’s a power, and it’s dark. It’s using him. And I think . . .” It was hard to say it, hard to think it. “I’m afraid, it’s using Evan. Like a bridge, from wherever it is through Evan to this poor man. We need to help him.”

“We need to get him off the island,” Ripley interrupted. “We need to get his ass on the next ferry to the mainland, and it doesn’t take magic to do that.”

“He hasn’t done anything, Rip,” Zack reminded her. “He hasn’t broken any law, made any threats. We’ve got no right to order him off the island.”

She slapped her palms on his desk, leaned forward. “He’ll come after her. He’ll have to.”

“He won’t get near her. I won’t let it happen.”

She spun back to Nell. “He’ll destroy what you love. It’s his reason for being now.”

Nell shook her head. “I won’t let him.” She reached for Ripley’s hand. “We won’t let him.”

“I’ve felt what he is, and what he’s capable of. I’ve felt it in me.”

“I know.” Nell’s fingers linked with hers. “We need Mia.”

“You’re right,” Ripley agreed. “And I hate that.”

“You’re a fascinating woman, little sister.” Mia leaned on the kitchen counter and watched Nell slide pasta into boiling water. “A crisis is upon us, an event that has been brewing for three centuries. Ripley frets and curses. And you cook and serve.”

“We all do what we do best.” She glanced up as she gave the pasta a quick stir. “What do you do, Mia?”

“I wait.”

“No, it’s not as simple as that.”

“I prepare, then.” Mia lifted her wineglass, sipped. “For whatever comes.”

“Did you see this? What’s coming?”

“Not specifically. Only something strong, something blighted. Something that formed from blood and vengeance. It craves what birthed it,” she said. “And grows as it feeds. It uses weakness.”

“Then we won’t be weak.”

“It underestimates us,” Mia continued. “We should take care not to underestimate it. Evil doesn’t concern itself with rules, with what’s right and fair. And it’s clever. It can twist itself into the desirable.”

“We’re together now, the three of us. I have Zack, and Ripley has Mac. I wish—”

“Don’t wish for me. I have what I need.”

“Mia . . .” Trying to find the right words, Nell got out her colander. “Even if—when—we face what’s here now, there’s one more step. Yours.”

“Do you think I’ll fling myself off my cliffs?” Mia relaxed enough to laugh. “I can promise you, I won’t. I enjoy living entirely too much.”

There were other ways, Nell thought, to leap into a void. She started to say so, then held her tongue. They had enough to deal with for now.

What was wrong with them? Ripley listened to the conversation hum around the table, spiced with the scent of good food well served. Everyday words in easy voices. Pass the salt. Jesus.

It felt as if something was simmering inside her, right on the edge of boil, ready to bubble up and spew over the lid. And everyone else kept chatting and eating as if it were just another evening. A part of her knew it was only a lull, that space of time used to gather forces and brace. But she had no patience with it, with Nell’s utter calm, with Mia’s cool waiting. Her own brother helped himself to another serving of pasta as if everything in his life that mattered wasn’t teetering on the brink. And Mac . . .

Observing, absorbing, assessing, she thought with a helpless resentment. A geek to the last. There was something hungry out there, something that wouldn’t be sated with a tidy, home-cooked meal. Couldn’t they feel it? It wanted blood, blood and bone, death and anguish. It craved sorrow. And its need clawed at her.

“This blows.” She shoved at her plate, and conversation snapped off. “We’re just sitting here, slurping up noodles. This isn’t a goddamn party.”

“There are a lot of ways to prepare for a confrontation,” Mac began, and laid a hand on her arm. She wanted to slap his hand away, and hated herself for it. “Confrontation? This is a battle.”

“A lot of ways to prepare,” he said again. “Coming together like this, sharing a meal. A symbol of life and unity—”

“It’s past time for symbols. We need to do something definite.”

“Anger only feeds it,” Mia chimed in.

“Then it should be full to bursting,” Ripley snapped back and shoved to her feet. “Because I am supremely pissed off.”

“Hate, anger, a thirst for violence.” Mia brought the glass of wine to her lips. “All those negative emotions strengthen it, weaken you.”

“Don’t tell me what to feel.”

“Could I ever? You want what you’ve always wanted. A clear answer. When you don’t get it, you pound with your fists or turn away.”

“Don’t,” Nell pleaded. “We can’t turn on each other now.”

“Right. Let’s keep the peace.” Ripley heard the bite in her own voice, and even while it shamed her she couldn’t soften it. “Why don’t we have coffee and cake?”

“That’s enough, Rip.”

“It’s not enough.” Frustrated beyond bearing, she rounded on Zack. “Nothing’s enough until this is dealt with, until it’s over. It’ll be more than a knife to her throat this time, more than a knife already coated with your blood. I won’t lose what I love. I won’t just sit here and wait for it to come after us.”

“On that we can agree.” Mia set down her glass. “We won’t lose. And since arguing is bad for the digestion, why don’t we get to work?”

She rose, began to clear the table. “Nell will feel better,” she said before Ripley could make some snide comment, “if her house is put in order.”

“Fine, great.” She snatched up her plate. “Let’s be tidy.”

She sailed into the kitchen and gave herself points for not simply heaving her plate into the sink. What control. What amazing restraint. God, she wanted to scream! It was Mac who came in quietly behind her, alone. He set the dishes on the counter, then just turned her, put his hands on her stiff and rigid shoulders.

“You’re afraid.” He shook his head before she could speak. “We all are. But you feel that the weight of this, what happens next, is on you. It doesn’t have to be.”

“Don’t placate me, Mac. I know when I’m being a bitch.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to point that out, do I? We’re going to get through this.”

“You don’t feel what I feel. You can’t.”

“No, I can’t. But I love you, Ripley, with everything that’s in me. So I know, and that’s the next thing to feeling.”

She let herself give, just for a minute. Let herself go into his arms and be held there. Safe within the circle of him. “It’d be easier if we’d found this after.”

His cheek rubbed her hair. “You think?”

“You could’ve come along when everything was normal again, and we’d’ve gotten mushy on each other and had a regular life. Cookouts, marital spats, great sex, and dental bills.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Right this minute, it sounds aces. I’d rather be mad than scared. I work better that way.”

“Just remember, it all comes down to this.” He tipped back her head, laid his lips on hers. “Right there is more magic than most people ever know.”

“Don’t give up on me. Okay?”

“Not a chance.”

She tried to curb her impatience as the preparations were made. She refused to lie down on the couch because it made her feel too vulnerable. Instead she sat in a chair in the living room, her hands on the arms, and blocked out the monitors and cameras.

She knew she should have felt comforted by having Mia and Nell standing on either side of her, like sentinels. But she felt foolish.

“Just do it,” she told Mac.

“You need to relax.” He’d pulled a chair up to face hers, and sat there, almost idly holding the pendant.

“Breathe slow. In and out.”

He put her under. So effortlessly this time, so swiftly, it brought him a quick ripple of nerves.

“She’s tuned to you,” Mia said, herself surprised at how completely Ripley had given herself over. “And you to her. That, itself, is a kind of strength.”

They would need it, she thought, as she felt something cold shiver along her skin. In response to it, she stretched out her arm and, across Ripley, clasped Nell’s hand.

“We are the Three,” she said clearly. “And two guard the one. While we are joined, no harm can be done.” As warmth seeped back, she nodded to Mac.

“You’re safe here, Ripley. Nothing can harm you here.”

“It’s close,” she said with a shudder. “It’s cold, and tired of waiting.” Her eyes opened, stared blindly into Mac’s. “It knows you. Watched you and waited. You share the blood. You’ll die through me, that’s what it wants. Death to power, and power to destruction. Through my hand.”

Grief ground down to her bones. “Stop me.”

Her head fell back, her eyes rolled back white. “I am Earth.”

She changed, even as they watched, her hair springing into curls, her features subtly rounding. “My sin must be atoned, and the time grows short. Sister to sister, and love to love. The storm is coming, and with it the dark. I am powerless. I am lost.”

Great tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Sister.” Mia laid her free hand on Ripley’s shoulder, and felt the cold again. “What can we do?”

The eyes that focused on Mia weren’t Ripley’s. They seemed ancient, and unbearably sad. “What you will. What you know. What you believe. Trust is one, justice makes two, and love, without boundaries, makes three. You are the Three. Be stronger than what made you or all is for nothing. Should you live, your heart will break again. Will you face that?”

“I’ll live, and guard my heart.”

“She thought the same. I loved her, loved them both. Too much or not enough, I’ve yet to see. May your circle be stronger and hold.”

“Tell us how to hold.”

“I cannot. If the answers live inside you, the questions won’t matter.” She turned to Nell then. “You found yours, so there is hope. Blessed be.”

Ripley gasped again, and came back. “In the storm,” she said as the first flash of lightning burst blue light into the room.

A lamp crashed to the floor. A vase of Nell’s flowers spun into the air to hurl itself against the wall. The sofa upended itself, then shot across the room. Even as Zack whirled toward Nell, a table tumbled into his path. He leaped it, cursing, and gripping her, used his body to shield hers.

“Stop.” Mia called into the wind that had gushed into the room. “Nell, stay with me.” She tightened her hold on Nell’s hand, used her other to take Ripley’s limp one. “Still the power and quiet the air. Challenge this circle, he who dares. Here we stand, we are the Three. As we will, so mote it be.”

Will pressed against will. Magic thrummed against magic. Then as abruptly as it had begun, the wind died. Books that had been spinning in the air fell to the floor with a thud.

“Ripley.” Mac’s voice remained utterly calm, in direct opposition to his speeding heart. “I’m going to count back from ten. You’re going to wake up when I reach one. Slowly.”

He leaned close to her, brushed his lips over her cheeks, and whispered the magic he’d read in the journal.

“You’ll remember that,” he promised her, hoping it would stay in her mind when she needed it most.

“You’ll hear that. You’ll know that.”

She felt herself rising as he brought her back, as if waking from a hill of feathers. The closer she came to the top, the more she began to feel the cold. And the dread. When her eyes were open, and her vision clear, she saw the blood on Mac’s face. It trickled down his forehead, down his cheek.

“God! My God!”

“It’s nothing.” He hadn’t realized he was cut until she touched her hand to his face and brought it back smeared with blood. “Some flying glass. It’s nothing,” he repeated. “A couple of scratches.”

“Your blood.” She fisted her hand over it, felt the guilt, the power. The hunger and the fear.

“I’ve done worse shaving. Look at me. Relax. Nell, maybe you could get Ripley a glass of water. We’ll take a little break here before we talk about all this.”

“No.” Ripley snapped as she rose. “I’ll get it. I need a minute.” She touched his face lightly. “I’m sorry. I

couldn’t control it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

She nodded as though she agreed with him, but she knew as she walked back toward the kitchen that it wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be. She knew what she had to do. What had to be done. His blood was already cool on her fingers as she walked out the back door and into the rising storm.

 

 

Chapter Twenty

She stepped out into the wind with only one clear purpose. She would get Harding and herself off the island. Away from Mac. Away from Nell and Mia and her brother. After that, she would do whatever came next. But the most immediate danger to those she loved was inside her, and linked to whatever was inside Harding. She had shed Mac’s blood.

She curled her fingers, still damp with it, into a fist again. Blood was power, one of its most elemental sources. The darker magic's used it as a conduit, or fed on it. Everything she was and believed rejected that. Refused it. Refuted it. Do no harm, she thought. She would try to do no harm. But first, she would see to it, she would ensure, that no harm could or would be done to those she loved.

The murdered innocents.

It was a whisper in her ear, so clear, so urgent, she spun around expecting to see someone standing behind her. But there was nothing but the night—the dark, and the bright and brutal force of the storm. The farther she got from the house, the more violent the storm raged, and the more her anger grew. It would use her to hurt Mac, to get to Nell, to destroy Mia.

She would die first, and take it with her. When she reached the beach, she quickened her pace, then whirled around at the sound behind her. Lucy bolted out of the dark, ears alert. She nearly sent the dog back home with one abrupt command. But Ripley lowered the arm she had lifted to point and hissed out a breath.

“All right, then, come along. Might as well have a goofy dog as a familiar as none at all.” She rested her hand on Lucy’s head. “Protect what’s mine.”

Her hair flew in the wind as she and the dog jogged across the sand. The surf pounded, a wall of black water that slammed relentlessly against the shore. The sound of it beat in her head. Her sister was dead. Slain like a lamb for her love, for her heart. For her gift. Where was the justice?

The air itself was full of howls and screams, a thousand tormented voices. Under her feet, a dirty fog began to creep along the ground, rising until it was up to her ankles, then halfway to her knees. The chill of it seeped into her bones. Blood for blood. Life for life. Power for power. How could she have believed there was any other way?

Something made her look over her shoulder. Where the house should have been, with its lights glowing against the window, was nothing but a curtain of dirty white. She’d been cut off from home—and she could see now, as the fog continued to rise and swirl and thicken, from the village as well. Fine and good, she thought, shoving fear down beneath fury.

“Come on, then, you bastard.” She shouted it, and her voice cut through the fog like a scalpel through gauze. “Take me on.”

The first punch of power knocked her back a full three steps before she dug in. Rage curled inside her. As she threw up her arms, embraced it, lightning slashed the sky and sea like red-tipped whips. Ah, here, she thought, here was magic with muscle. She saw herself, and not herself, standing in the gale, gathering forces. Air, Earth, Fire, Water. Beside her, Lucy lifted her head and let out a long, ululant howl. Harding, or what had mastered him, stepped out of the fog.

“Rip always did throw a good tantrum,” Zack said to try to lighten the mood. The living room was in shambles, and if he let himself, he could still feel the buzz of what had whipped through it sting along his skin.

“Fear and anger, anger and fear.” Mia paced as she spoke. “I couldn’t get through it. Ripley’s and the one she comes from. It’s so strong, so thick.”

“Like her skull?” Mac said with a faint grin.

“Precisely. I’d hoped to see what tactic would be taken next, so that we could counter it. That, naturally, would be too simple.”

“This hurts her,” Nell commented.

“I know it does.” Mia patted Nell’s arm absently. “And I’m sorry for it. The thing to do now is to sit down and figure out how to use those emotions, their negativity, in what comes next. A protective spell, at this point, is only a stopgap. As much as I hate to agree with the deputy, we have to take action.”

She stopped to gather her thoughts. “You haven’t had much experience, Nell, and it wouldn’t be an easy matter in any case.”

“What wouldn’t?” Mac asked. “You’re thinking of a casting out?”

“So handy to have a scholar around. Yes,” Mia continued. “There are five of us. We’d do better with twelve, but there isn’t time to round up recruits. Just as there isn’t time to do much in preparation. We’ll use what we’ve got. Once we’ve . . .” She trailed off, and her cheeks went deathly pale. “She’s gone. She’s outside the protective boundary.”

Fear leaped out of her before she could cage it. “She’s broken the circle.”

Even as Mac rushed for the door, Mia grabbed his arm. “No, no. Think. Feeling’s not enough, which is her problem. We go together.” Her gaze swept the room. “And we go ready. Do you know how it’s done?”

Mac struggled against panic. “In theory.”

Mia watched Zack snap on his holster. She wanted to tell him that wasn’t the way, but the expression on his face warned her not to bother.

“Tell us what to do,” Nell said urgently. “And let’s do it quickly.”

Ripley planted her feet, legs spread, body braced. It was a dare, and she knew it. Draw him out, she thought. Draw him to her, and save the rest. And destroy him.

Beside her, Lucy growled low in her throat.

“Harding.” She frosted her voice with amused derision. “Middle-aged, paunchy city boy. Not such a keen choice, if you ask me.”

“A useful shell.” The voice was deeper, and somehow wetter, than it should have been. “We’ve met before,” he told her.

“Have we? I only remember interesting people.”

“What’s in you remembers what’s in me.” He circled her, light on his feet. Ripley turned with him, careful to keep face-to-face. She slid her fingers into Lucy’s collar to hold her in place as the dog leaped and snapped. “You reached for what I have once, took it into you like a lover. Remember the ecstasy.”

It was not, she discovered, a question. But a command. A fast, pulsing thrill pumped through her. Heady and full. Glorious. A kind of full-body orgasm that nearly brought her to her knees with its sheer and ferocious pleasure. She shuddered from it, didn’t quite bite back a moan. Yes, God, yes. She could have this? Such a thing would be worth any price. Betrayal, damnation. Death. As she struggled to clear her head, she caught the flash of movement. She stumbled to counter, and ended up sprawled on her face in the frigid sand. It felt as though she’d been rammed by a truck. He was chuckling, a kind of tickled delight as she shoved to her hands and knees. She watched Lucy charge, leap, teeth bared, and slam into a shield of air that went flaming at the edges at impact.

“No! Lucy, no! Hold.”

“I can give you what you want, and more. But it won’t be free. Not free, yet easy. Why don’t you take my hand?”

She had her breath back, barely. Held a hand out for the dog that trembled with each growl. “Why don’t you kiss my ass?”

He knocked her flat again. One wicked sweep of wind. “I could crush you. Such a waste. Join your power with mine, and we’d rule.”

Liar, she thought. He lies. And he’s toying with you. Be smarter, she told herself. Be meaner. “I’m confused,” she said weakly. “I can’t think. I need to know the people I love are safe.”

“Of course.” He crooned it. “Whatever you want can be yours. Give me what you are.”

She kept her head down as she got slowly to her feet, as if with great effort. It was her mind she shot at him when she tossed her head back. All the fury of it. It was shock she saw on his face, for one gratifying instant. Then his body flew back, hurled by her temper. The sand where he landed turned black beneath the fog, as if scorched.

“I’m going to send you to Hell,” she promised him.

The light was blinding, and heat and cold burst in the air like shrapnel. She went on pure instinct, leaping away, countering, attacking. She felt pain—bright and stunning—and used it as she would a weapon.

“You and yours will suffer,” he told her. “There will be agony, then there will be nothing, which is worse than agony. What you love will cease to be.”

“You can’t touch what I love. Until you get through me.”

“No?”

She could hear his breathing, ragged, strained. He was tiring, she thought darkly. She would win. And even as she gathered herself to end it, he clasped his hands, raised them. Black lightning spewed out of the churning sky, pierced his joined hands and formed a glinting sword. He sliced it once through the air, then twice. His face was triumphant as he came toward her. She called to the Earth, felt it tremble lightly. As it began to quake, Lucy leaped to defend her. Even as Ripley screamed, the sword bit.

“Everything you love,” he said as the dog lay still on the ground. “Everything dies tonight.”

“For that alone—” She threw her hand skyward, and her power with it. “I’ll kill you.”

She felt the hasp of the sword in her hand. The fit true as a glove, the weight familiar. She swept it down, and the clash of blade to blade rang like doom. Now it was she who called the storm, a hundred bolts that lanced the sand and water until they circled like fiery bars and caged them. Its rage and violence fueled her, became her. Her hate grew with an appetite so greedy it swallowed all else. “You killed the innocents.”

He was grinning, lips peeled back. “Every one.”

“You destroyed my sisters.”

“They died weeping.”

“You murdered the man I loved.”

“Then, and now.”

The thirst for his blood burned in her throat, seemed to feed her with impossible strength. She beat him back, back toward those flaming bars. Dimly she heard someone calling her—in her mind, in her ears. She blocked it out as she continued to hack and thrust, as she felt his sword tremble and give a bit more each time. She wanted nothing—nothing—so much as the glory of running her blade through his heart. And feeling the power sing through her at that murderous stroke. It coursed through her, a little deeper, a little truer every moment. Closer, she thought, so much closer. She could taste the promise of it—dark, bitter, seductive.

When his sword spun out of his hand, and he fell at her feet, she felt the thrill of it, like sex. With the hilt of her sword gripped in both hands, she raised it high over her head.

“Ripley.”

Mac’s voice was so quiet through the roaring in her head that she barely heard it. But her hands trembled.

“It’s what he wants. Don’t give him what he wants.”

“I want justice,” she shouted as her hair flew around her head in coils and snaps.

“You’re too weak to kill me.” The man at her feet lay back, deliberately exposing his throat. “You haven’t the courage.”

“Stay with me, Ripley. Look at me.”

With the sword gripped in her hands, she stared through the bars. She saw Mac only inches away. Where did he come from? she thought dully. How did he get here? Beside him stood her brother, and on either side Mia and Nell. She heard the wheeze and panting of her own breath, felt the cold sweat sliding over her skin. And the pulse of that greed swimming in her veins.

“I love you. Stay with me,” Mac said again. “Remember.”

“Lower the barrier.” Mia’s voice was brisk. “And cast the circle. We’re stronger.”

“They’ll die.” The thing with Harding’s face taunted her. “I’ll kill them slowly, painfully, so you hear them screaming. My death or theirs. Choose.”

She turned away from those she loved and met her match. “Oh, yours.”

The night exploded with sound as she brought the sword down. A thousand images echoed through her mind. Through them she saw the triumph in his eyes, the sheer glee in them. An instant later, they were baffled and lost. And Harding’s. She stopped the blade an inch from his throat.

“Help me.” He whispered it, and she saw his skin ripple.

“I will. The root of magic is in the heart,” she began, repeating the words Mac had put in her subconscious. “From this the gift of power must start. With its light we burn off the dark, with its joy we leave our mark. To protect and defend, to live and to see. As I will, so mote it be.”

Beneath her ready blade, Harding began to laugh. “Do you think such weak women’s spells will hold me?”

Ripley tilted her head, almost in sympathy. “Yes. As will this.” Her mind was clear as glass as she closed her hand over the edge of the blade. It sliced into her palm, already stained with Mac’s blood. Against her heart, the amulet Mac had given her glowed warm and bright.

“His blood,” she said. “And my blood. Mixed now and true.” She squeezed until drops fell on his skin. And he began to yell. In rage, she thought as she continued. Wonderful rage. “Poured from the heart, they conquer you. This is the power that I set free. As I will, so mote it be.”

“Bitch! Whore!” He bellowed as she stepped back, strained to snatch at her, to rise. Snarled when he could do neither.

Her vision was suddenly so incredibly clear. Hope, she realized, was blinding bright. She vanished the bars of light, turned. “We can’t leave Harding like this.” Pity for him swarmed into her. “Poor bastard.”

“We cast it out,” Mia said.

They laid out a circle of salt and silver. Inside it Harding spat and howled like an animal, and his curses grew more foul, his threats more hideous. Faces shivered across his face, as if the bones knit and re-knit themselves. Thunder rolled across the sky in waves as wild as the surf. The wind cried piercingly. Harding’s pupils rolled as they ringed him and clasped hands.

“We cast you out, dark into dark, from here till ever, you bear our mark.” Mia focused. A small white pentagram scored Harding’s cheek. He howled like a wolf.

“Into the void and into the night,” Nell continued. “Out of this soul and beyond the light.”

“Helen, I love you. You’re my wife, my world,” he said in Evan’s voice. “Have pity.”

It was pity she felt. But the single tear that slipped down Nell’s cheek was all she could give.

“In this place and in this hour,” Ripley chanted. “We cast you out and scorn your power. We are joined, we are the Three. As we will, so mote it be.”

“We cast you out,” Mia repeated, and each who clasped hands repeated, one by one until the words overlapped into a single voice.

The force of it came like a gale, cold and fetid. It swirled up, a black funnel, then spewed into the air. And into the sea. On the sand Harding, his face gray but unmarked, groaned.

“He needs tending,” Nell said.

“Go ahead and take care of him, then.” Ripley stepped back. Immediately the strength went out of her legs and she buckled.

“Okay, baby. Okay.” Mac caught her, lowering her gently to her knees. “Catch your breath, clear your head.”

“I’m all right. Just a bit wobbly.” She managed to lift her head, look at her brother. “Guess you won’t have to lock me up for homicide.”

“Guess not.” He knelt as well, took her face in his hands. “Scared me, Rip.”

“Yeah, me, too.” She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. “We’re going to be busy tomorrow. Storm damage.”

“We’ll handle it. Todds take care of the Sisters.”

“Damn right.” She breathed in, breathed out, and felt free. “You ought to give Nell a hand with Harding. Poor sap. I’m okay.”

“You always were.” He kissed both her cheeks, held on for another minute. Then looked at Mac as he got to his feet. “Make sure she stays that way.”

She drew in another breath. “Give me a minute, will you?” she asked Mac.

“I can probably spare two, but not much more.”

“Okay,” she agreed as he helped her up.

Her knees were jelly, but she willed them to hold her, steadied herself, and turned toward Mia. Then she forgot the weakness, the shock, even the echoes of power. Mia stood, smiling just a little, one hand on Lucy’s head. The dog’s tail was wagging like a madcap metronome.

“Lucy!” In one leap she had her face buried in the dog’s fur. “I thought she was gone. I saw . . .” She jerked back and began stroking at Lucy, searching for the wound.

“It wasn’t real,” Mia said quietly. “His sword was only an illusion, a trick of violence to test you. He used it to push you to repeat the sin. He didn’t want your death—not yet. He wanted your soul, and your power.”

Ripley squeezed Lucy one last time, then straightened and turned to Mia. “Well, he lost, didn’t he?”

“So he did.”

“Did you know, all along?”

“Pieces.” Mia shook her head. “Not enough to be sure, just enough to doubt and worry.” She held out a hand as Nell crossed to them. “In my heart, I knew you wouldn’t fail. But in my head, I wasn’t sure. You’ve always been a difficult puzzle for me.”

“I might have done it. I was mad enough, frightened enough. But I felt both of you, inside. I never wanted this,” she said in a furious whisper. “You know I never wanted this.”

“Life’s tough,” Mia said with a shrug. “You play the cards you’re dealt or you fold.”

“I knew you’d win.” Nell took her injured hand, gently uncurled the fingers. “You need to see to this.”

“I will. It’s not bad.” She pressed her lips together. “I want the scar,” she said. “I need it.”

“Then . . .” Slowly, Nell curled Ripley’s fingers into a loose fist. “Zack and I are going to take Mr. Harding back to the house for now. He needs a hot meal. He’s shaken up, confused, but all in all”—she glanced back to where Zack had Harding on his feet—“amazingly unharmed. He remembers little.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Ripley demanded. “All right, let’s go back, clean the rest of this up.” She tilted her head up to the sky, saw the clouds dissolving, and the halo of the moon glowing pure and white.

“Storm’s passing,” she murmured.

Mia nodded. “For now.”

Ripley opened her mouth, looked toward Harding again. “Maybe the guys could take Harding back, give us another minute here.”

“All right. I’ll tell Zack.”

The wind had gentled to a breeze, and the breeze smelled of night and of water. Ripley waited until the men, and the cheerful dog, turned toward home.

With Mia and Nell she closed the circle they had cast. She took her ritual sword—that had been real enough—and cleansed it. The surf foamed up, tame now and lovely, and dampened her boots.

“When I lifted the sword,” she began, knowing her friends were beside her, “I wanted blood. Like a craving. Bringing it down seemed to take hours.” She shifted her feet. “I’m not big on this vision crap. That’s your deal, Mia. Usually. But I saw images. I saw Mac, Mac and me. My parents, my brother. I saw the three of us in the forest the way we were last fall. I saw Nell. You had a baby in your arms.”

“A baby.” Nell’s voice went soft, dreamy, as she pressed a hand to her belly. “But I’m not—”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh, boy!” Nell let out a thrilled and baffled laugh. “Oh, boy, oh, boy!”

“Anyway,” Ripley continued, “I saw those things, and more. The three sisters, in a dark wood, in a circle of light. The one who was Earth on this very beach, in a storm. There were so many, coming so fast they overlapped, but each was perfectly clear.

“And I saw you, Mia. Standing on your cliffs, on the edge of your cliffs. Alone and crying. There was darkness all around you, the kind that came out of Harding tonight. It wanted you. Somehow, I . . . It’s always been you, most of all.”

Even as the chill crept up her spine, Mia nodded. “Are you telling me to . . . beware?”

“Very ware. I saw something else, at the instant I stopped the sword. One last flash. The three of us, in a circle. And I knew it was okay. What I’m saying is, I know it can be okay. If we do what we’re supposed to do, make the right choices.”

“You made yours tonight,” Mia reminded her. “Trust me to make mine.”

“You’re the strongest.”

“Well, well. Is that a compliment I hear?”

“Can it, okay? In the magic stuff, you’re the strongest. What comes at you’s going to be the strongest, too.”

“None of us is alone now.” Nell took Mia’s hand, then Ripley’s. “We’re three.”

Ripley took Mia’s hand to finish the link. “Yeah. Witches Are Us.”

Ripley told herself she was doing what needed to be done, but that didn’t mean she would enjoy it. She watched Nell soothe and charm Harding. Bolster him with soup and tea. She let Mia treat and bind her hand. And avoided being alone with Mac until they left to walk to the yellow cottage.

“We can load up your equipment tonight if you want.”

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” he answered. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t know why, but he sensed she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I guess Harding’s going to write his book after all.”

“Not the one he might have had in mind. But, yeah, I think Nell likes the idea of a book that offers hope to people in an abuse cycle. He’s barely the worse for wear now that he’s . . .”

“Exorcised?”

“In a manner of speaking. Can I ask you a technical question?”

“I guess.” It was a beautiful night. Cool and fresh and clear. There was no reason, she told herself, to be so edgy now.

“How did you know the blood would hold him?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“Hereditary knowledge?” Mac offered and got a shrug.

“Maybe. That kind of thing’s your bag. Magic runs through the blood. Mine,” she said, lifting her hand.

“Yours, even though it’s pretty diluted.” She glanced over when he laughed. “That’s accurate enough,”

she said testily. “And blood is a transmitter, a sacrifice, whatever. It’s life.”

“No argument.” He stopped, turned at the verge of the trees where the shadows were soft and the moonlight dappled through black branches. “Was that all?”

“There’s a bond. It’s emotional—apart from intellect or logic, even from ritual, I guess.”

“Love.” He waited a beat. “Why can’t you say it now?”

“You’ve never seen me like that before,” she said in a rush. “Everything that’s come before has been like kid stuff compared to tonight.”

“You were magnificent.” He watched her eyes widen. It was going to be fun, he thought, to blindside her with statements like that for the next fifty or sixty years. “Did you think that seeing what I did would change what I feel for you?”

“No. I don’t know. Mac, I was nearly seduced. Maybe when I went out it was with the idea that I could sacrifice myself—and don’t tell me that’s lame. I’ve already figured that out.”

“Then I’ll restrain myself.”

“Good. But the farther I got from the house, from all of you, the more I wanted blood. There was a moment, more than a moment, when I might have turned, when I might have grabbed what was offered. The power was outrageous—huge, seductive, staggering.”

“But you didn’t take it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I wanted me more. I wanted you more. And I . . . this sounds hokey.”

“Say it anyway.”

“I wanted justice more.”

He laid his hands on her shoulders, brushed a kiss over her brow. Then he lifted her bandaged palm and kissed that, too. “I said you looked magnificent. That’s accurate, too. There was a light, bursting out of you. Nothing could have dimmed it. And now . . . you’re just my girl.”

“Your girl.” She snorted. “Please.”

“All mine,” he said, and did what he’d wanted to do since he’d seen her with a shining sword gripped in her hands. He lifted her off her feet, nearly crushing her in an embrace as his mouth sought hers. “Marry me. Live with me in the house by the sea.”

“Oh, God, Mac, I love you. It’s better than everything, more than everything. Hell, Mac”—she tipped her head back—“it is everything.”

“And we’re just getting started.”

She laid her head on his shoulder while he stroked her hair. Brilliant mind, tough body, generous heart. Her lips curved as she thought, All mine.

“When the power was in me, I felt invincible, tremendous. It’s like having molten gold running through your veins. Do you know how I feel right now?”

“How?”

“Even better.”

She lifted her face to his once more so their lips met, once more. The sound of the sea was a steady heartbeat in the distance, the moon sailed white overhead. Around them the night shimmered with the echoes of magic.

And was enough.

 

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