Face the Fire

"You did what?"



Zack stuck his head in the refrigerator and rummaged for a beer. He knew that tone. His wife didn't use it often, which was why it was so effective.



He took a long time pulling out the beer and made sure his face was relaxed and composed when he looked back at her.



She stood in front of the stove, where something wonderful was cooking. She had a wooden spoon in her fist and her fists on her hips. He thought she looked like an outraged, and very sexy, Betty Crocker. But he figured it wouldn't be healthy to say so just at the moment.



"I invited Sam to dinner." He smiled when he said it, and twisted the top off the beer. "You know how I like to show off my beautiful wife's incredible cooking."



When she only slitted her eyes, he took a deep gulp from the bottle. "Problem? You never mind company for dinner."



"I don't mind company. But I do mind sleazeballs."



"Nell, Sam might have been a little reckless as a kid, but he was never sleazy. And he's one of my oldest friends."



"And he broke the heart of one of my friends - and yours. He left her flat and went off toNew York to



do God-knows-what for more than ten years. Then - then," she continued, working up a fine rage, "he slithers back on-island and expects everybody to greet him with open arms."



She slapped the spoon on the counter. "I for one am not interested in tuning up the brass band for Sam Logan."



"How about just one trumpet player?"



"You think this is a joke?" She swiveled on her heel and strode to the back door. He managed to get there in time to brace a hand on the door. "No. Sorry. Nell." He ran his hand over her cap of hair. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened between Sam and Mia. I was sorry then, and I'm sorry now. The fact is, I grew up with Sam, and we were friends. Good friends."



"Isn't 'were' the operative word?"



"Not for me." And for Zack it was just that simple. "Mia matters to me, and so does he. I don't want to be put in the position of taking sides, not in my own home. More than that, more than anything, I don't want you and me at odds over it. But I shouldn't have asked him to dinner without talking to you first. I'll go head him off."



She bit back a sigh, but couldn't quite master the pout. "You're doing that to make me feel small and low."



He waited a beat. "Did it work?"



"Yes, damn it." She gave him a little shove. "Get out of my way. If we're having company for dinner, there's no point in burning it."



But he didn't move aside. Instead he took her hands and squeezed. "Thanks."



"Don't thank me until I've gotten through the evening without giving him hives or warts."



"Gotcha. How about I set the table?"



"How about you do?"



"You want candles?"



"Yeah, black ones." She smirked as she walked over to check her wild rice. "To ward off negative energy."



Zack heaved out a breath. "Should be some evening."



Sam brought a good wine and sunny yellow daffodils. But she wasn't mollified. She was polite, brutally so, and served the wine on the comfortable front porch, with canapes that she'd tossed together at the last minute.



Sam wasn't sure if she meant that to be friendly or to illustrate that he would be admitted to her home in stages.



"I hope you didn't go to any trouble," Sam told her. "Nothing more tedious than unexpected guests."



"No, there isn't, is there?" she replied sweetly. "But then again, I'm sure you're not used to potluck, so we'll all make do."



She swung back into the house, and Sam hissed out a breath. He was sure now. He was getting in, but in painful stages. "This is going well."



"Mia means a lot to her. For a lot of reasons."



Sam merely nodded, wandered to the rail of the front porch. Lucy, Zack's black Lab, rolled over to expose her belly for a rub, batting her tail for a bit of charm. Crouching, Sam obliged her. He knew the reasons for Nell's fierce loyalty to Mia. He'd made it his business to know what happened on the island over the years. He knew Nell had been on the run when she'd arrived on Three Sisters, escaping an abusive husband. She had faked her own death - and he had to admire her guts for it - and had changed her name and her appearance as she zigzagged across the country, picking up jobs waitressing, cooking.



He'd seen the news reports on Evan Remington, who was now serving time in a prison mental facility. And he knew that Mia had given Nell a job running the bookstore cafe, had given her a home. And he suspected, had taught her how to refine the gift.



He'd recognized Nell as one of the three the minute he saw her.



"She's had a rough time, your Nell."



"Very rough. She risked her life to save her life. When she got here, Mia gave her a chance to dig in, put down roots. I've got to be grateful to Mia for that, too. And more," he added, waiting until Sam turned back. "You've heard about Remington."



"Hollywoodpower broker, wife beater, psychopath." He straightened. "And I know he took a slice out of you trying to get to Nell."



"Yeah." Absently, Zack rubbed a hand over his shoulder where Remington had stabbed him. "He tracked her here, knocked her around before I got to her, then he took me out. Temporarily. She'd run into the woods, knowing he'd come after her and probably not take the time to finish me off." His face went grim at the memory. "When I took off after them, Ripley and Mia were here. They knew Nell was in trouble."



"Yes, Mia would know."



"The son of a bitch had a knife to her throat." Even now, the memory had rage swimming into him.



"He'd have killed her. Maybe I could've gotten a shot off, maybe not, but he'd have killed her either way. She's the one who took him out. She gathered what was inside her, what she is, and with Mia and Ripley, turned what he was back on him.



"I watched it happen," Zack murmured. "There in the little wood by the cottage where you're staying



now. A circle of light, out of nowhere. Then Remington was on the ground screaming."



"She has courage and faith."



"She does," Zack agreed. "She's everything."



"You're a lucky man." Though his own mind took a smart side step at the thought of a woman, any woman, who could be everything to a man. "Her love for you is a tangible thing. Even when she's pissed," Sam said with a weak smile, "the way she's pissed now that you've invited Judas to her table."



"Why did you do it? Why did you leave?"



Sam shook his head. "A lot of reasons, some I'm still figuring out. When I have them, all of them, I'll tell Mia."



"You're expecting an awful lot of her."



Sam studied the wine in his glass. "Maybe I always did."



Zack worked hard to keep the conversation light and friendly at dinner. By his calculations, he talked more during that hour at the table than he normally did in a week. But every time he sent Nell an imploring look, she ignored it.



"I can see why the cafe's taken a bite out of our lunch trade," Sam said. "You're an artist in the kitchen, Mrs. Todd. My biggest regret is that you didn't walk into the hotel instead of Cafe Book when you came on-island."



"I went where I was meant to go."



"Do you believe in that? In destiny?"



"Absolutely." She got to her feet to clear the table.



"So do I. Absolutely." He rose as well, picked up his plate. When Nell's back was turned he gave Zack a little head signal.



Make yourself scarce.



Weighing his wife's ire against the sheer exhaustion of playing buffer, Zack pushed away from the table.



"I need to round up Lucy," he said, and using his dog as an excuse, he hurried out. Nell sent a fulminating look at his retreating back. "Why don't you go on with Zack? I'll make a pot of fresh coffee in a minute."



Absently, Sam reached down to pet the gray cat that had uncurled from under the table to stretch. It hissed at him.



"I'll just give you a hand," he said after barely saving his hand from a nasty swipe. He saw Nell give the cat he'd heard her call Diego a small, approving nod.



"I don't want a hand."



"You don't want my hand," Sam corrected. "Zack's the best friend I ever had."



Rather than spare him a look, Nell opened the dishwasher and began loading. "You have an odd way of defining friendship."



"However I define it, it's a fact. He matters to both of us. So, for his sake, I hope we can call a truce."



"I'm not at war with you."



He glanced at the cat again. It had plopped down beside its mistress to wash and watch Sam narrowly.



"You'd like to be."



"Fine." She slammed the dishwasher door, turned. "I'd like to hang you by your toes for what you did to Mia. And while you're hanging by your toes, I'd like to start a nice, steady fire under you, so you'd roast slowly and in great pain. And while you were roasting slowly and in great pain, I'd like to - "



"I get the picture."



"If you do, you know just how useless it is for you to try to charm me."



"Did you make all the right choices, the best choices, the wisest choices, when you were twenty?"



She slapped on the hot water, squirted soap under the stream. "I never deliberately hurt someone."



"And if you had, deliberately or otherwise, how long would you expect to be punished for it? Damn it!"



He swore as she ignored him, then switched the water off himself.



She cursed right back, lifted a hand to turn it on again. Infuriated, he closed his hand over hers. Light, shimmering blue, sparked between their meshed fingers.



Nell went very still as her anger slid under shock. She left her hand in his as she shifted her body, angling it until they were face-to-face and she could look directly into his eyes.



"Why didn't anyone tell me?" she demanded.



"I don't know." He smiled as the light mellowed to a glow. "Sister."



Baffled now, she shook her head. "There are only three who form the circle."



"Three who came from three. But four elements. Yours is air, and she who was, lacked your courage. Mine is water. You believe in destiny, in the Craft. We're connected, and you can't change that."



"No." But she would have to think about it, hard and long. Slowly, she slid her hand from under his. "I don't have to like it, or you."



"You believe in fate, in the Craft, but not in forgiveness."



"I believe in forgiveness. When it's earned."



He stepped away, jammed his hands in his pockets. "I came here tonight planning on charming you. To scrape away a few layers of your resentment and dislike. Part of that was pride. It's tough having your oldest friend's wife detest you."



He picked up the wine bottle, poured some into the glass she'd yet to clear. "Part of that was strategy."



He drank. "I know very well that you and Ripley stand in front of Mia."



"I won't see her hurt again."



"And you're sure that's what I'll do." He brought his glass to the counter. "Then I came into your home, and felt what you and Zack have together. What you've made between you. I sat at your table, and you fed me, though you'd rather have hung me by my toes. So instead of charming, I'm charmed."



He glanced around the kitchen. It had always been a warm and friendly room. Once, he'd been welcome there. "I admire you, for what you made out of your life. And I envy you your clear vision and your happy home. Zack's important to me."



He looked back at her as she said nothing. "It's hard, I imagine, for you to buy that, but it's fact. I don't intend to do anything that complicates his relationship with you. I'll go out the back while he's busy with his Lucy."



Nell dried her hands. "I haven't made coffee yet."



He turned at the door, just looked at her.



And she saw why Mia had fallen for him. Not just the dangerous good looks. But in his eyes she saw so much power, so much pain.



"I'm not forgiving you," she said briskly. "But if Zack considers you a friend, you must have some redeeming qualities. Somewhere. Sit down. We're having trifle for dessert."



She had humbled him, Sam thought later as he walked back to the cottage. The pretty blue-eyed blonde who'd been bitingly polite, then brutally frank, then cautiously understanding all in one evening had brought him to his knees.



It was rare for him to want to earn someone's respect, but he now wanted badly to earn Nell Todd's. He walked the beach as he had walked it as a boy. Restlessly. And turned for home, as he had as a boy. Without any sense of pleasure.



How could he explain that while he had loved the house on the bluff, it had never been his place? He'd had no regrets when his father had sold it.



The cove, the cave, they had meant a great deal once. But the house itself had just been wood and glass. With so little warmth inside. Demands, yes. To be aLogan , to succeed, to excel. Well, he'd learned to do all three, but he wondered now what it had cost him. He thought again of the spirit in the Todd house. He'd always believed houses had spirits, and theirs was warm, affectionate. Marriage actually worked for some people, he decided. The commitment, the unity, and the promise - not just for convenience or status but for heart.



That, in his mind, was a rare, rare gift.



There'd been little affection in his house. Oh, no neglect, no abuse, no meanness. His parents had been partners, but never, in his memory, a couple. And their marriage was as coldly efficient as any merger. He could still remember being baffled, fascinated, and vaguely embarrassed when he was a boy by the open displays of affection between Zack's parents.



He thought of them now, traveling around in their house on wheels and reportedly having the time of their lives. His parents would be appalled at the idea.



How much, he wondered, did who we came from form us? Did Zack's staggeringly functional childhood predispose him to create his own functional family?



The luck of the draw?



Or was it all, in the end, what we made of ourselves? Each choice leading to another choice. He paused now, looking out and watching the swath of white light sweep over the water. Mia's lighthouse, on Mia's cliffs. How many times had he stood and studied that hopeful beam and thought of her?



Wanted her.



He couldn't remember when it had started. There were times when he thought he'd been born wanting her. And it had been terrifying, that feeling that he'd been swamped by some tide that had begun forming before his existence.



How many nights had he ached for her? Even when he'd had her, even when he'd been inside her, he'd ached. Love, for him, had been a storm, full of boundless pleasure and abject terror. For her, it had simply been.



Standing on the edge of the beach, he sent his thoughts winging over the black water, toward the beam of light. Toward the cliffs, the stone house. Toward her.



And the wall she'd built around what was hers rejected them, bounced them back at him.



"You have to let me in," he murmured. "Sooner or later."



But he left it alone, for now, and continued to walk toward the cottage. The solitude he'd welcomed on his first day pressed down on him now and became loneliness. He shook it off, and instead of going into the house, he moved into the woods.



Until Mia talked to him, he would learn what he needed to learn, see what he needed to see, by other means.



The dark was deep, with a scatter of stars and a thin sickle of moon. But there were other ways to see. He tuned himself to the night. He could hear the babble of a little stream, and knew that wildflowers were sleeping on its banks. There was the rustle of a small animal in the brush, and the plaintive call of an owl. One would feed, the other would perish.



He smelled earth, and water, and knew there would be rain before morning. And he felt power.



He moved through the dark, through the trees, as confidently as a man walks downMain Street on a sunny afternoon. Power pulsed along his skin, that awakening thrill of magic. He saw, where there was only ground scattered with fallen leaves, where the circle had been cast. The three were strong when linked, he thought. He'd felt that same trickle of energy on the beach and had known that a circle of power had been cast there. But this one had come first, and so he would look here first.



"It would be simpler if they'd just tell me," he said aloud. "But probably not as satisfying. So."



He lifted his hands with palms up, like cups ready to be filled.



"Show me. I call to the three, once and ever a part of me. I use as my mirror the night to bring what transpired to my sight. Show me how and why this circle was cast that I might begin to complete my task. Grant this vision unto me. As I will, so mote it be."



The night thinned, and billowed like a blowing curtain. Parted. Fear, like a rabbit in a trap. Hate, sharp as ravaging teeth. And love, wrapped warm in courage.



He saw what Zack had told him, saw Nell racing through the woods, and her thoughts were clear to him. Fear and grief for Zack, a desperation not only to escape what pursued her but to save the man she loved.



Sam's hands fisted as he saw Remington leap at her, angle the knife at her throat. Emotions pounded at him. There was Mia, in a black dress scattered with silver stars, and Ripley, holding a gun. Zack, bleeding, his own weapon pointed.



The night was alive with madness and terror.



The magic began to hum.



It pulsed from Nell, who glowed as she rejected her fears. It shimmered around Mia, whose eyes gleamed as silver as the stars she wore. And slowly, almost reluctantly, it sparked from Ripley when she lowered her gun and clasped Mia's hand.



And then the circle burned like blue fire.



The punch of it caught Sam unprepared and pushed him a full two paces back before he regained himself. But he'd lost his hold on the vision, and it wavered, faded.



"The circle's unbroken." He lifted his face, watched clouds stream across the stars. "You have to let me in, Mia, or this was for nothing."



Late into the night, without plan, without design, he reached out to her in dreams. Floating back in time to when love was fresh and sweet, and everything.



She was seventeen and leggy, with hair a tumble of fire and eyes as warm as summer fog. Her beauty struck him, as always. A fist in the heart.



She laughed as she waded in the cove. She wore trim khaki shorts and a bright-blue top that left her arms and an inch of her midriff bare. He could smell her, over the scents of salt and sea, he could smell that heady, taunting fragrance that was Mia.



"Don't you want to swim?" She laughed again as she splashed up water. "Sad-eyed Sam, what are you brooding about today?"



"I'm not brooding."



He had been. His parents were freezing him out because he'd chosen to work on-island that summer in the hotel rather than inNew York . He'd been wondering if he was making a mistake, a terrible mistake, by being so desperate to stay on-island because of Mia.



Because the idea of being away from her month after month was both tantalizing and unthinkable. Yet he had begun to think it. To wonder about it more and more every time he left the Three Sisters to go back to the mainland and college. He'd begun to consider testing himself by making some excuse not to come back to the island, back to her, some weekend during the semester. Every time he left the mainland on the ferry, they pulled him back. The island and Mia. Now he was refusing to take the escape hatch that had been tailor-made for him. He needed to think it over again. Reconsider.



But when Mia had come along to his beach, he'd been too crowded with lust and longing to brood or to think about being anywhere but with her.



"If you're not brooding, prove it." She walked backward in the water so that it lapped at her calves, her knees, those long white thighs. "Come in and play."



"Too old for games."



"I'm not." She slid into the water, skimmed through it like a mermaid. And when she surfaced, water raining from her hair, her shirt clinging seductively to her breasts, he thought he'd go mad. "But I forgot. You're nearly nineteen. Too dignified to splash around in the water."



She did a surface dive and streaked through the dark blue water of the cove. When he grabbed her ankle, she kicked and came up laughing.



Her laughter, as always, bewitched him. "I'll give you dignity," he said, and dunked her. It was innocent. Sun and water, the bright beginning of summer, the slippery edge between childhood and the future.



It couldn't stay innocent.



They splashed, warred, swam as sleekly as dolphins. Then came together as they always did, lips meeting first under the surface, then clinging when they burst through into air. Need rose with them, strong and urgent, so that she trembled as she wrapped herself around him. Her lips, warm and wet, parted for his with a trust and acceptance that shook him to the bone.



"Mia." Knowing that he would die wanting her, he pressed his face into the wet ropes of her hair. "We have to stop. Let's go for a walk." Even as he spoke, his hands were moving over her. He couldn't help himself.



"I dreamed last night," she said softly. Cradled in his arms, she sighed. "Of you. It's always of you. And when I woke, I knew it would be today." She dipped her head back, and he all but fell into those great gray eyes. "I want to be with you, and no one else. I want to give myself to you, and no one else."



His blood pounded for her. He tried to think of right and wrong, of tomorrow. But could only think of now. "You have to be sure."



"Sam." She traced kisses over his face. "I've always been sure."



She slid away from him, but only to take his hand. It was she who led him out of the water and to the cave tucked into the bluff.



The cave was cool and dry, high enough at its heart for him to stand upright. He saw the blanket spread near the far wall, and the candles scattered over the floor. And looked at her.



"I told you I knew. This is our place." Watching him, she reached for the tiny buttons running down the front of her shirt. And he saw her fingers tremble.



"You're cold."



"A little."



He stepped to her. "And afraid."



Her lips curved. "A little. But I won't be either for long."



"I'll be careful with you."



She let her hands fall to her sides so that he could finish unbuttoning her shirt. "I know. I love you, Sam."



He lowered his lips to hers as he peeled the cotton away. "I love you."



The little niggle of fear inside her vanished. "I know."



He'd touched her before, and been touched. Glorious, frustrating caresses, too often hurried. Now as they undressed each other, the candles flickered into life. As they lowered to the blanket, a thin film seemed to coat the mouth of the cave, closing them in.



Their mouths met, sweet and hot. Even as her pleasure began to rise, she sensed him holding back. His fingers, sometimes unsteady, skimmed over her as if he feared she would vanish.



"I won't leave you," she murmured, then gasped when his mouth, suddenly urgent, found her breast. She arched beneath him, hands stroking, body as fluid as the water that scented it. When he looked at her, her hair damp and tumbled on the blanket, her eyes clouded with what he brought her, he shuddered with power.



And made her fly. She cried out, a long, full-throated sound that rippled through him and made him feel invincible. When she opened for him, offering him her innocence, he trembled. Through the rage of blood, the pound of need, he struggled to be gentle. Still, he saw the flicker of shock.



"Only for a minute." Delirious, he ran kisses over her face. "I promise. Only for a minute." Then he surrendered to the demands of his body and took her.



Her hands fisted on the blanket, and she bit back the first cry. But almost as soon as the pain began, warmth replaced it.



"Oh." Her breath shuddered out again, on a sigh. "Of course." She turned her lips to the side of his neck. "Of course."



And began to move under him. She rose and took him deeper, fell and drew him with her. When warmth simmered to heat, their bodies grew slick. Clinging, they took each other. When she lay wrapped in his arms, half dreaming, the candlelight burned gold.



"This is where she found him."



Sam traced his fingers over her shoulders. He couldn't stop touching her. The lazy sexual haze clouded his mind so he forgot all he'd thought of on the beach. "Hmm?"



"The one who was Fire. The one who's mine. This is where she found her silkie, in human form, and fell in love while he slept."



"How do you know?"



She started to say she'd always known, but shook her head instead. "She took his pelt and hid it away so she could keep him. For love. It couldn't be wrong when it was for love."



Basking in the afterglow, Sam nuzzled her neck. He wanted to be here, with her. He wanted nothing, no one else. Never would. Never could. Now, the realization steadied rather than unnerved him.



"Nothing's wrong when it's for love."



"But she couldn't keep him," Mia said quietly. "Years later, after they'd had children, after she'd lost her sisters, her circle, he found his pelt. He couldn't stop what he did. It was his nature. Once he'd found his



pelt, nothing, not even love, could make him stay. He left her, went into the sea, and forgot she existed. Forgot his home, and his children."



"It makes you sad to think of it." He held her tighter. "Don't be sad now."



"Don't leave me." She buried her face against his shoulder. "Don't ever leave me. I think I'd die, as she died, alone and heartbroken."



"I won't." But something went cold inside him. "I'm right here. Look." He shifted so that they faced the cave wall. Lifting a finger, he laid it on the stone. Light sparked from his fingertip and etched words into rock.



She read the Gaelic and her eyes misted. " 'My heart is your heart. Ever and always.' "



She lifted her own finger, carved a Celtic knot beneath the words. A promise of unity. She turned those swimming eyes up to his. "And mine's yours."



Alone in her house on the cliff, Mia turned her face into her pillow. And murmured his name in her sleep.