Face the Fire (22 page)

“I used to watch the two of you in the inlet over at the Todds’. I’d be hanging out with Zack and pretending not to notice you.”

“Really? I never noticed you.”

It didn’t surprise her to find her head underwater. She’d expected it. And because she had, she turned like an eel in the water and jerked him under by the ankles.

She surfaced, slicked back her hair. “You always were a sucker for that move.”

“It got your hands on me, so who’s the sucker?” He treaded water in circles around her, his hair black and glossy as a seal. “I remember the first time I maneuvered you into wrestling with me wet. You had on this blue number, cut so high up on the hips that I speculated your legs went clean up to your ears. That sexy pentagram birthmark like gold on your thigh, driving me nuts. You were fifteen.”

“I remember the suit. I don’t recall being maneuvered.”

“You were cooling off with Rip in the water. Zack was fooling around with his boat at the dock. He’d just gotten that boat. Fast little fourteen-footer.”

She remembered that well enough. Remembered perfectly how her heart had slammed into her ribs when Sam, long and tanned a summer gold, had sauntered out onto the dock wearing nothing but cutoffs and a teenage smirk.

“There were a number of times I swam with Ripley in the inlet while Zack tinkered with his boat. And you came along.”

“This particular day,” Sam continued, “I bided my time, fiddling on the boat with Zack, plotting out my moves. I got him to take a break, and in we went. That meant a lot of splashing, which meant you and Ripley had to bitch about being splashed. And doing so, you fell right into my clever hands.”

Like Sam, Mia began to tread and circle. She’d always
enjoyed him in these playful moods. They’d been rare in his youth. She imagined they were rare still.

“I believe you have delusions of grandeur in your faulty memory.”

“Memory’s clear as a bell on this one. I egged Zack into challenging Rip to a race, which left the two of us bobbing around. Which meant, naturally, I could challenge you to a race.”

“Oh, yes. I do seem to recall something of that sort.”

Perfectly. She remembered perfectly, the nervy thrill of floating in the water with him, of having him focus on her with those sea-toned eyes. And the longing that had swept through her like a summer storm.

“Of course, I held back, paced myself so it was close, so I beat you by only a stroke.”

“Held back?” She dipped back her head, studied the stars. “Please.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew what I was doing. You said it was a tie, and I said I’d crushed you. When you got huffy, I dunked you.”

“When I protested your bad call, you dunked me,” she corrected.

“You retaliated, as I’d anticipated, by locking your arms around my knees and hauling me under. Whereby, I could engage you in the sort of battle that allowed me, at last, to get my hands on your excellent young ass. It was a moment for me. Then you giggled.”

She made a derisive sound. “I’ve never giggled in my life.”

“Oh, yeah, you did. You giggled and squirmed and wriggled around until I was so worked up I thought I’d explode.”

She let her feet come up and floated again. “Foolish, foolish boy. When you wrestle naked with a female, she’s
bound to discover just where your brain cells have gathered.”

“You were fifteen. What did you know?”

Now she smirked. “Enough to wriggle and squirm until I obtained a satisfactory result.”

“You did it on purpose?”

“Of course. Then Ripley and I discussed it in some detail.”

“That better be a lie.” He reached across the water, grabbed a handful of her hair.

“We were both fascinated and amused. And if it soothes your ego, I’ll finish this walk down memory lane by telling you I had hot, disturbing, and imaginative dreams for a week afterward.”

He tugged at her hair until their bodies bumped. Then he skimmed his hand over the wet white slope of her breast. “So did I.” He trailed a fingertip down her torso, back up again. “Mia?”

“Mmm.”

“I bet I can still make you giggle.”

Before she could evade, he nipped her by the waist and turned her facedown in the water. Taken by surprise, she flailed for a moment, then rolled when his fingers moved unerringly up her ribs.

“Stop it.” Her hair was in her face, saltwater in her eyes.

“Giggle,” he insisted, tickling ruthlessly. “And squirm and wriggle.”

“You idiot.” She couldn’t see or catch her breath. Despite her struggles the helpless and foolish laughter escaped. It rolled out of her and over the waves as she slapped at him and tried to wiggle free.

She managed to get a grip on his hair and yank, while trying to shove her own out of her face. But he only rolled them over and over into the waves until she was dizzy, disoriented, and brutally aroused.

“Damn octopus.” His hands were everywhere.

“You’ve got a hell of a squirm. And it still works. Only this time”—he gripped her hips—“why just dream?” And plunged into her.

He went home with her, and they ate bowls of
cold pasta like ravenous children. With hunger unabated, they fell into bed and fed off each other.

Tangled with him, she slipped into sleep, and into dreams of floating in a dark sea as peacefully as the moon sailed the night sky. She drifted on her own pleasure, the water cool, the air sweet. In the distance, the shadows and shapes of her island rose out of the sea. It slept, with only the beam from the cliff light guarding it from the dark.

The music of the waves lulled her until she, too, slept.

And the stars erupted into bolts of lightning, stabbing down at the shadows and shapes of her island. Around her the sea began to thrash and heave, pulling her helplessly away from home.

She fought, striking out with hard, desperate strokes toward the fog that had begun to build a dirty wall at the shore. Waves swamped her, spun her into that breathless black, slapped her back, dragged her under.

Roaring filled the night, and the screams that followed it ripped at her heart. With what strength she had left, she reached for the fire inside her. But she was too late to beat the dark.

She watched the island fall into the sea. Even as she wept, it pulled her down with it.

She woke curled away from Sam, drawn into a tight ball and clinging to the edge of the bed. Trembling, she rose, walked to the window to soothe herself with the view of her garden, of the steady beam of the island light.

Would it come to that? Would she do everything that could be done, and have it still not be enough?

Through the night she heard the long, triumphant howl of a wolf. Knowing that it wanted her to cower, she stepped out onto her little balcony.

“I am fire.” She said it softly. “And what’s in me will, one day, purge you.”

“Mia.”

She turned and saw Sam sitting up in bed. “Yes, I’m here.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” She came back in, but left the doors open to the night. “Just restless.”

“Come back to bed.” He held out a hand. “Let me help you sleep.”

“All right.” She slid in beside him, turned her body to his. Invitation.

But he only drew her close, stroked her hair. “Close your eyes. Let your mind go. Let it go for one night.”

“I’m not—”

“Let it go,” he repeated, and stroking her hair, he charmed her into a deep and dreamless sleep.

“
T
his,” Mia said as the sun broke the sky in the
east with an arrow of fire, “is for us. The Midsummer sabbat, the celebration of the earth’s coming bounty, the warmth of the air, and the full power of the sun. We are the Three.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ripley yawned hugely. “And if we can get on with this, I might be able to get home and catch another hour’s sleep.”

“Your reverence is, as always, inspiring.”

“You’ll remember, I voted against standing around up here at dawn. Since it’s Sunday, both of you can go back to bed. I’m on duty all day.”

“Ripley”—Nell managed to make her voice mild and patient—“it’s the solstice. Celebrating the longest day should begin when the day begins.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Ripley scowled at Nell. “You’re awfully bright and chipper for a pregnant woman. Why aren’t you flat out with morning sickness?”

“I’ve never felt better in my life.”

“Or looked happier,” Mia said. “We’ll celebrate fertility today. The earth’s and yours. The first balefire has burned since sunset. The dawn fire is for you to light.”

She lifted a circlet she’d woven from lavender and set it on Nell’s head. “You’re the first of us to carry life, and to take what we are to the next generation. Blessed be, little sister.”

She kissed Nell’s cheeks, then stepped back.

“Okay, that gets me misty.” Ripley moved up, kissed Nell in turn, then linked her hand with Mia’s.

Nell lifted her arms and let the power ripple into her. “From dawn until the day is done, this fire we make glows bright as the sun. As light grows strong across the sky, I call the flames from air to fly. Burn no flesh, no feather nor tree. As I will, so mote it be.”

Fire spewed up from the ground, bright as gold.

Mia lifted another circlet from the white cloth on the ground. Set it on Ripley’s head.

Though she rolled her eyes for form, Ripley lifted her arms. The power was warm, and welcome.

“In the earth we sow our seed that she may grant us what we need. Across her breast the dawn brings light, all through this day to shortest night. We celebrate her fertility. As I will, so mote it be.”

Wildflowers sprang up through the earth to ring the circle.

Before Mia could reach for the third circlet, Ripley picked it up, and kissed her. “Just to make it official,” she said and settled the flowers on Mia’s hair.

“Thanks.” She, in turn, lifted her arms. Power was like breath. “Today the sun holds its full power. Its strength and light grow hour by hour. Its bright fire warms the air and earth. Its cycle sustains us birth to death to birth. I celebrate the fire in me. As I will, so mote it be.”

From her fingertips beams shot, to the sun, and from the sun to her. Until the circle in the clearing shimmered with the birth of the day.

She lowered her arms, joined hands with Nell, with Ripley. “He watches,” she told them. “And he waits.”

“Why don’t we do something about it?” Ripley demanded. “The three of us are here, and like both of you keep hammering home, it’s the solstice. That’s a lot of punch.”

“It isn’t the time to—” Mia broke off when Nell squeezed her hand.

“Mia. A show of force, of solidarity and strength. Why not make a point? Our circle is whole.”

A point, Mia thought. Perhaps the unbroken circle was the point. At least for the moment. She could feel, through the link, Nell’s determination, Ripley’s passion.

“Well, then, let’s not be subtle.”

She gathered herself, and the pooled strength of her sisters.

“We are the Three and of the blood,” Ripley began, moving like her sisters in a ring within the ring. “From us the force and light will flood.”

“With might that strikes the waiting dark.” Nell’s voice rose to echo on the air. “An arrow of light toward what bears our mark.”

“Here we stand so you can see.” With hands still joined, Mia lifted her arms. “And beware the wrath of the sisters three.”

Light spewed up from the center of the circle like a funnel, whirling, roaring as it geysered up. Like the arrow Nell had called, it shot out of the circle, out of the clearing, and into the shadows of the summer trees.

From those shadows came a single furious howl.

Then there was only the quiet breeze and the musical call of crystals hanging from branches.

“So he slinks away,” Mia remarked.

“That felt good.” Ripley rolled her shoulders.

“It did. It felt positive.” Letting out a long breath, Nell looked around the clearing. “It felt right.”

“Then it was right. Today, he can’t touch us or ours.”
Whatever came after, Mia thought, they had made a stand.

They had made their point. She lifted her face to the sun.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

She intended to spend it in her garden, away
from the crowds that would pack into the village and the traffic that would stream along the roads. She intended to spend it on simple things, the tasks that gave her pleasure.

A day without worry, she thought. A clean and clear day with all shadows brushed away like dust with a broom.

She gathered the herbs and flowers she’d selected for her midsummer harvest with a bolline, the curved white-handled knife she saved for that purpose alone. The scents and shapes and textures never failed to delight her, the variety of their uses never failed to satisfy.

Some she would dry by hanging them in her kitchen, some in her tower room.

She would make charms from some, potions from others. From soaps to creams to healing balms and divination aids. And some would simply be sprinkled into sauces and salads for flavor, or mixed into a potpourri to scent the air.

Just before twelve she stopped to light the noon balefire. She set it on her cliffs, like a beacon. And stood for a time watching the sea and the pleasure boats that skimmed over it.

Now and then she saw the glint of binoculars and knew she was watched as she watched. There! the summer people would say. Up on the cliffs. She’s supposed to be a witch.

Such attention would once have caused her to be hunted and hanged. Now, Mia thought, the possibility of magic brought people to the island and into her store.

So the wheel ran, she mused. A circle spinning.

She went back to her garden. When her herbs were tied and hung, she used the sun to brew a small pot of chamomile tea. She had it iced with a hint of fresh mint when Sam stepped onto her path.

“Traffic’s a bitch,” he said.

“Midsummer and Mabon draw the most tourists.” She poured the tea into a glass. “Tourists who are interested in such things,” she added. “Did you light your balefire?”

“This morning, near your circle in my woods. Your woods,” he corrected when she arched her eyebrows. Absently, he reached down to pet Isis, who had come to rub against his legs. He noted the new collar and the charm hanging from it, a pentagram carved on one side, a sun wheel on the other.

“New?”

“For the Midsummer blessing.” She cut a slice of bread from a fresh loaf, drizzled it with honey, and offered it to him. “I made more than the faeries need.”

He took a bite, but she noticed that his restless gaze roamed her garden. It was rich and ripe with summer, the tall spires dancing in the breeze, the mobs of color tumbling over the ground. He watched a hummingbird flash by, then drink from the long purple bells of foxglove.

Roses, red as passion, climbed up the trellis to her old bedroom window as he had once climbed, risking flesh and bone to reach her.

The scent of summer roses could still make his heart ache.

Now he sat with her, in the sun and dappled shade of her garden. Adults with more weighing on them than the girl and boy could have imagined.

She wore a sleeveless dress, green as the lush leaves that surrounded them. And her face, beautiful and calm, told him nothing.

“Where are we, Mia?”

“In my midsummer garden, having tea with bread and honey. It’s a lovely day for it.” She lifted her cup. “But judging from your mood, perhaps I should have served wine.”

He rose, paced away. He would, she knew, tell her what was on his mind soon enough. Whether or not she wanted to hear it. Only a few nights before, he’d been lighthearted and playful enough to coax her into a swim. But today there was a cloud around him.

He’d always been a moody creature.

“My father called me this morning,” he told her.

“Ah.”

“Ah,” Sam repeated, and managed to make the syllable a bite. “He’s ‘displeased with my performance.’ That’s a direct quote. I’m putting too much time and money into the hotel here.”

“It’s your hotel.”

“I pointed that out. My hotel, my time, and my money.” Sam rammed his hands into his pockets. “I might’ve saved my breath. I’m told I’m making rash and dangerous financial and career decisions. He’s pissed off that I’ve sold my place in New York, annoyed that I’ve budgeted so much for the rehab at the hotel, and irked that I sent a proxy rather than attending the June board meeting personally.”

Because she felt for him, Mia rose and rubbed his stiff shoulders. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult ramming up against parental disapproval. It doesn’t matter how old we are, it stings when they don’t understand us.”

“The Magick Inn is our first and oldest asset. He’s figured out that I finessed it from him. Now it’s like a bone he wants to drag back from me.”

“And you’re just as determined to keep your teeth in it.”

He shot a furious look over his shoulder. “Damn right. He’d have sold it to strangers years ago if he hadn’t been legally bound to keep it in the family. He sold it to me
happily enough, but now he’s realized I intend to make something of it, so he’s irritated. It’s a thorn in his side. So am I.”

“Sam.” For a moment she pressed her cheek against his back. And for a moment she was sixteen again, and comforting her unhappy, moody love. “Sometimes you just have to take a step away, and accept what is.”

“What is,” he agreed, turning to her. “He never could. Neither he nor my mother ever accepted what I am. It was something not to be discussed, as if I had some sort of embarrassing condition.”

Furious, as much because of letting himself be sucked in again as by the facts themselves, he strode down the path, through an arbor where morning glory vines were busily tangling.

“It’s in his blood as much as mine.” He saw her start to speak, then stop herself. “What? Just say it.”

“All right, then. It’s not the same for him. You respect what you have, you celebrate it. For him it’s a . . . well, a pesky inherited trait: He’s not alone in that. And because of it, you have more—are more—than he can ever have or be.”

“He’s ashamed of it. And me.”

“Yes.” Her heart wrung with pity. “I know. It hurts you. It always has. You can’t change what he thinks or feels. You can only change what you feel.”

“Is that how you handle your family?”

It took her a moment, and that was a jolt, to realize he meant her parents and not Lulu, or Ripley and Nell. “I used to envy you on some level. Just the fact that your parents worked up the interest and energy to push at you. Even if it meant pushing you in the wrong direction. We never argued here.”

She turned back to study the house she loved. “They never noticed if I was angry. My rebellions were completely wasted on them. There came a point when I had to accept that their disinterest wasn’t personal.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

She nearly laughed at his impatient explosion. “It was healthier, and more practical, and certainly more comfortable all around. What was the point of breaking my heart over it, when they wouldn’t have noticed? Or if they had, it would have baffled them. They’re not bad people, just careless parents. I’m who I am because they were what they were. That’s enough for me.”

“You always were sensible,” he replied. “I could never figure out whether I admired that or found it annoying. I still can’t.”

“You always were moody.” She sat on the bench by the arbor. “And the same goes. Still, it’s a shame the call put a blight on your holiday.”

“I’ll get over it.” He slipped his hands into his pockets again, fingering the tumbling stones he’d forgotten he carried. “He expects me back in New York within the month, to resume my proper place in the company.”

Her world tilted. She gripped the edge of the bench to balance herself, then forced herself to her feet. Forced shut that piece of her heart she’d allowed to be touched by his pain. “I see. When will you leave?”

“What? I’m not going back. Mia, I told you I was here to stay. I meant it, no matter what you think.”

With a careless shrug, she turned to start back to the house.

“Damn it, Mia.” He grabbed her arm, pulled her back.

“Watch your step.” She said it coldly.

“Are you just waiting for me to pack up and go?” he demanded. “Is that where we are?”

“I’m not waiting for anything.”

“What do I have to do to get us past this?”

“You can start by letting go of my arm.”

“Letting go is just what you expect.” To prove her wrong he took her other arm so they were facing each
other in the dappled shade of the path. “So you won’t let me touch you, not where it matters most. You’ll take me to your bed, but you won’t come to mine. You won’t so much as sit and have a meal with me in a public place, unless it’s under the guise of business. You won’t let me talk about the years without you. And you won’t share magic with me when we make love. Because you don’t trust me to stay.”