Face the Fire (9 page)

Which forced Mia to admit she was a bit cranky herself. In any case, Nell’s expansion proposal had lighted a fire under her and provided her with an outlet for the energy that had pumped through her since the moment on the bluff with Sam.

She met with an architect, with a contractor, with her banker, and spent several hours running figures.

It didn’t please her that the contractor she wanted had
already committed the bulk of his time over the next few months to Sam and his renovation of guest rooms at the Magick Inn. But she tried to take it philosophically. Sam had, damn it, gotten there first.

Both the renovation and her expansion, she reminded herself, were good for the island.

As the weather continued warm, she spent her free time in the gardens at home and in the beds she’d planted behind the bookstore.

“Hey.” Ripley wandered to the back garden of the store from the road. “Looks nice,” she commented, scanning.

“Yes, it does.” Mia continued to plant. “The moon’s been warm and yellow all week. We won’t have another frost.”

Ripley pursed her lips. “Do you make that stuff up?”

“I’m setting in my cosmos, aren’t I?”

“Whatever that means. Mac’s got this itch to plant some stuff around the house. He’s been researching the soil and the local flora and blah, blah. I told him he should just ask you.”

“He’s welcome to.”

“He’s going to be coming into the village sometime soon to interview Lulu for his books and stuff. He can catch you then.”

“All right.”

“I had the weirdest dream about Lu the other night—something to do with Mel Gibson and frogs.”

Mia paused, looked up again. “Frogs?”

“Not your lily pad variety. A big, spooky frog.” Ripley furrowed her brow, but could bring the dream back only in vague and disjointed pieces. “Something about the stupid gargoyle thing of hers, too. Weird,” she said again.

“Lulu might be interested—if Mel was naked.”

“Yeah, well. Anyway.” Ripley stuck her hands in her
pockets, shifted her feet. “Anyway, I guess you know Logan came over to the house a few days ago.”

“Yes.” Mia said a mental charm as she set a plant. “It’s natural he’d want to see the house again.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean Mac should let him inside and give him a damn beer. Believe me, I skinned him over that one.”

“Ripley. There’s no reason Mac should’ve been rude, and no way his nature would allow him to be.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Which was, she thought, just where her argument with him had ended up. “But I don’t have to like it. He’s got this whole mumbo about Sam’s place in the destiny deal, and your step toward holding the circle intact.”

Mia’s stomach clutched, but her hands remained steady as she selected another plant. “I’ve never considered Mac’s theories or opinions mumbo.”

“You don’t live with him.” But on a sigh, Ripley crouched down beside Mia.

There was a time, not so long before, when such a gesture would have come hard to her. It still took her a moment to find what she wanted to say, and how she wanted to say it.

“Okay, Mac’s stupendously smart, and he’s thorough, and nine times out of ten, he’s right, which is really irritating in the day-to-day course of things.”

“You’re crazy about him,” Mia murmured.

“Well, sure. Sexiest geek on the planet, and all mine. But even the amazing Dr. Booke has to miss sometime. I just want to say I don’t figure Sam Logan has to have anything to do with anything.”

“Succinct, and sentimental.”

“Well, why the hell should he?” Ripley lifted her hands, let them fall in frustration. “You two had a thing when you were practically kids still, and it cut you up when he ended
it. But you’ve been handling the way he came back, going about your business and pretty much keeping your distance. You’ve blown him off, and lightning hasn’t shot out of the sky.”

“I’m going to sleep with him.”

“So I say chances are he’s irrelevant to your part of the . . . What?
What?
” Ripley’s mouth dropped open as she goggled. “Sweet Jesus Christ.”

Even as Mia’s lips twitched, Ripley leaped to her feet and headed into a full-blown rant.

“What are you thinking? Have you lost your mind? Sleep with him? You’re going to give the guy sex as a reward for dumping you?”

All amusement fled. Carefully tugging off her gloves, Mia got slowly to her feet. “I’m thinking I’m an adult and capable of making my own decisions. That I’m a single, healthy, thirty-year-old woman who is free to have a physical relationship with a single, healthy man.”

“It’s not a man, it’s Logan!”

“Perhaps you could shout just a little louder. I don’t believe Mrs. Bigelow across the street heard you clearly.”

Ripley set her teeth, rocked back on her heels. “I gave you too much credit, I see that. I figured you’d kick his ass, one way or the other. Then dust your hands off and walk away. I don’t know why I thought you had it in you. You never did.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just what I said. You want to cozy up with Sam, go right ahead. Don’t look for me to pick up the pieces when he breaks you again.”

Mia bent to set down her garden trowel. Even a controlled and civilized woman had to take care when she had a weapon in her hand. “You needn’t worry. I’ve had experience in that area with you. You cut me off every bit as coldly, as completely as he did. Cut yourself off, for ten
years, from the gift we share and all its joys and responsibilities. Yet I still manage to join hands with you when it’s necessary.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Convenient, isn’t it, how when one devastates another, it’s always because there wasn’t a choice.”

“I couldn’t help you.”

“You could’ve been there. I needed you to be there,” Mia said quietly, and turned to go.

“I couldn’t.” Ripley took her arm, wrapped her fingers tight. “It’s his goddamn fault. When he left you all you did was bleed, and I . . .”

“What?”

Ripley dropped her hand. “I don’t want to get into all this.”

“You kicked in the door, Deputy. Have the guts to step through it.”

“Fine, great.” She paced away, paced back. Temper still stained her cheeks, but her eyes were bleak. “You walked around like a zombie for weeks, barely functioning. Like somebody who hadn’t quite recovered, and never would, from some horrible illness.”

“It probably came from having my heart ripped out.”

“I know it, because I felt it too.” Fisting a hand, Ripley tapped it on her chest. “I felt what you felt. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I could barely get out of bed most days. It was like dying from the inside out.”

“If you’re talking about complete empathy, I’ve never—” Mia stammered.

“I don’t know what you call it,” Ripley snapped. “I experienced, physically, what you experienced. And I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to do something, wanted
you
to do something. Pay him back, make him hurt. And the longer it went on, the more angry I got. If I was mad, it didn’t hurt as much. I couldn’t think past the fury.”

She drew a breath. “I was standing outside, behind the house. Zack had just come in from a sail. Minutes before. And all this rage just rose up. I thought about what I wanted to do, what I could do. It was inside me to do it. I pulled lightning out of the sky. A black bolt. And it struck the boat where Zack had just been. A few minutes earlier, and I might have killed him. I couldn’t control it.”

“Ripley.” Shaken, appalled, Mia reached out to touch her arm. “It must have terrified you.”

“A few giant steps beyond terrified.”

“I wish you’d talked to me. I could’ve helped.”

“Mia, you couldn’t even help yourself.” Sighing as the weight slid off her shoulders, Ripley shook her head. “And I couldn’t take the chance of hurting someone. I couldn’t handle the—I don’t know—the intimacy of my link with you. I knew if I told you, you’d talk me out of giving up the Craft. I saw only one way out, and that was to pull back from you. From all of it, before I did something I couldn’t take back.”

“I was furious with you,” Mia countered.

“Yeah.” Ripley sniffled, but she was only marginally embarrassed. “I got mad back, and it got easier, maybe more comfortable for me, to be at odds with you than it had been to be your friend.”

“Maybe it got easier for me, too.” It was difficult to admit, after all the years when casting blame had helped soothe the hurt. “Sam was gone, but you were still here. Needling you whenever possible was some small satisfaction.”

“You were really good at it.”

“Well.” With a little laugh, Mia brushed back her hair. “Just one of my little gifts.”

“I always loved you, even when I called you nasty names.”

Tears threatened. A stone that had been in her heart for so long dissolved in an instant. She took the two steps that
separated them, slid her arms around Ripley’s waist and held on. Held tight.

“Okay.” Mia’s voice caught. Ripley patted her back. “Okay.”

“I’ve missed you so much. So much.”

“I know. Me, too.” She let out an unsteady breath, then blinked when she saw Nell standing just outside the door, crying silently.

“Sorry I came out in the middle of that, and, well, by the time I’d decided whether I should mediate or just slip back inside, I was caught up.” She handed tissues all around. “I’d apologize for eavesdropping, but I’m just so happy.”

“What a trio.” Ripley sniffled. “Now I’m going to finish my rounds with red eyes. It’s embarrassing.”

“For heaven’s sake, do a glamour and get rid of them.” Mia finished wiping her eyes, then closed them, murmured a chant. When she opened them again, they were sparkling and clear.

“Always the show-off,” Ripley muttered.

“I still can’t do it that quickly,” Nell began. “Do you think if I—”

“Let’s not get into a damn coven here.” Ripley waved a hand. “Since you’re here, Nell, I need some weight. Get this. Mia’s going to shag Sam.”

“You have such a way with words,” Mia said. “It never fails to impress me.”

“The point is, whatever you call it, it’s a mistake.” Ripley gave Nell a little poke on the arm. “Tell her.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“Cop-out,” Ripley stated, with a sneer.

“To spare you from the insults, and from biting your own tongue, I’ll ask for your opinion.” Mia raised her eyebrows. “If you have one on the subject.”

“My opinion is it’s your decision. And if,” Nell continued over Ripley’s snort, “you’re considering going to bed
with him, then you’re still attracted enough for it to be an issue. You don’t do things on impulse or recklessly. It seems to me that until you either get Sam out of your system or resolve your feelings, you’ll be conflicted and unsettled.”

“Thank you. Now—”

“I’m not quite finished,” Nell told Mia, then cleared her throat. “Physical intimacy will resolve only one level of your conflict, and probably the easiest one. What happens after will depend on whether you open yourself or close yourself. That’ll be your decision, too.”

“I’m considering it finishing up old business. Until I do, I can’t know, clearly, what step it is I’m meant to take.”

“Then just look,” Ripley said impatiently. “You were always a whiz with visions.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” Some of the pent-up frustration snapped out. “I can’t see my own. I see her, standing on the cliffs, with the storm raging, the fog creeping. I feel her strength and her despair. And in that instant before she jumps, she seems to reach out to me. I can’t tell if it’s to pass that last link to me, or to pull me over with her.”

Her eyes blurred, and the air thickened. “Then I’m alone, and I feel the dark pressing in. Close, tight. And so cold it seems the night should crack from it. I know if I can get to the forest, to the clearing and the heart of the island, we’ll make the circle and that dark will break apart, once and for all. But I don’t know how to get there.”

“You will.” Nell took her hand. “She was alone. You aren’t and never will be.”

“We haven’t come this far to lose now.” Ripley took her other hand.

“No.” Mia drew strength from the circle. She needed it. For even there, in the sunlight, with her sisters beside her, she felt alone in the dark.

A
mist blanketed the island, as thin and
luminous as the skin of a pearl. Trees and rocks rose up from it, humps and towers in a soft white sea.

Mia left the house early. On the slope of her lawn, she stood for a moment, absorbing the serenity, the stillness that was the Sisters on a lovely spring morning.

Her spread of forsythia was a golden fan of color through the morning fog, her daffodils a band of sunny trumpets. She could smell her hyacinths, damp and sweet. It seemed to her that the earth was waiting to awaken, to throw off all memories of winter and burst into life.

She could appreciate the sleepy before as much as she would the beauty of what was to come.

She opened her car, her satchel of paperwork on the seat beside her, and started down the long and curving road to the village.

There were several routine chores to deal with before the store opened. She enjoyed that, too—the relative quiet, the repetition, the freshening of stock—as much as she did the business hours with customers breezing in and out, lingering, browsing. And, of course, buying.

She loved being surrounded by books. Uncarting them,
shelving them, designing displays. She loved the smell and the texture and the look of them. And the surprises uncovered when she flipped one open at random and saw the play of words on paper.

The bookstore was more than a business to her. It was a deep and steady love. But she never forgot it
was
a business, one she ran efficiently, and profitably.

She’d come from money, and as a result had never had to work for a living. She’d had to work for her own gratification, her own sense of ethics. Her financial base had allowed her to choose the course of her career and establish a business that reflected her interests. Those ethics, and her own skills, effort, and shrewdness had made the business flourish.

She was grateful, and always would be, for the Devlin money. But it was, to her mind, much more exciting and satisfying to make her own.

And to risk her own.

That was precisely what she would be doing by following through with Nell’s idea. Expanding the café would change things. As much as Mia trusted and respected tradition and continuity, she was also a proponent of change. As long as the change was smart. And this one, she thought as she wound her way through the mist, could be.

Expanding the café could mean tucking in a more appealing, and roomier, event area. Her monthly book club was popular on the island, and the new cooking club already showed potential. The trick would be to make the best use of space and still maintain the intimacy the store was known for.

But since Nell had planted the seed in her mind, the idea had taken hold. Mia could see exactly what she wanted, and how it would be. When it came to Café Book, she knew precisely what she was doing.

Too bad she wasn’t quite as confident at the moment about the rest of her life.

It was as if a curtain had been lowered, dead center of her vision. She could see peripherally, but straight ahead was blocked. It worried her more than she was willing to admit.

Behind the curtain were choices, she understood that. But how could she make the right one if she didn’t know the options waiting for her?

One of the choices was Sam Logan. But to what extent did she trust her instincts there, weighing them with logic and past history? Balancing them against a primal sexual attraction that tended to cloud logic.

A misstep with him could crush her a second time. She might not survive it whole. More, the wrong choice could doom the island she loved and was sworn to protect.

Once another woman had chosen death rather than bear the pain of loneliness and heartbreak. She had flung herself into the sea, after the lover who had deserted her. And had woven the last threads of the web about Three Sisters.

Hadn’t she herself, by choosing to live, to find contentment, even to flourish, already countered that act?

Nell had chosen courage, and Ripley true justice. And so their circle held. And she had chosen life.

Perhaps the curse had already been broken, and the dark that hovered in wait around the island had already been banished.

Even as the thought, and the hope of it, ran through her mind, the mist boiled up from the roadbed. A jagged lance of lightning crashed beside her car with an explosion of dirty red light and the stink of ozone.

In the center of the road, an enormous black wolf snarled.

Instinctively she slammed on the brakes, jerked the wheel. The car skidded, spun, giving her a dizzying view
of rocks, fog, and the dull glint of the guardrail that stood between the narrow edge of road and the sheer drop to the sea.

Fighting back the panic that gushed into her throat, she yanked the wheel again. The eyes of the wolf glowed like embers, and its teeth were long. On its muzzle was a white pentagram, sliced through the black hide like a scar.

Her mark—and her heart slammed painfully against her ribs at the sight of it.

Through the roar of blood in her head, over the scream of her own tires, she felt the cold of its breath on the back of her neck. She heard the sly, coaxing voice whispering, whispering in her mind.

Let go. Just let go, and you won’t be alone. It’s so hard to be alone.

Tears blurred her vision. For a moment, her arms went weak, trembling as the urge to let it end nudged at her will. In that moment she saw herself, quite clearly, flying over the edge of the cliff.

She bore down even as she struggled to control the car, and pulled her power up from the gut. “Go back to hell, you son of a bitch.”

As the wolf threw back its head to howl, she spun the car forward, punched the gas. And drove through it.

She felt the shock, not from impact but from the explosion of greed that pounded the air as her car rammed through the image.

The fog lifted, and the mist, thin and pearly in the strengthening sun, sparkled over Three Sisters.

Mia pulled over to the side of the road, laid her forehead on the wheel, and gave in to the shakes. Her own breathing was too loud in the closed car, so she fumbled for the window control. The cool, damp air and the steady chant of the sea revived her.

Still she closed her eyes, made herself sit back until she began to calm again.

“Well, I guess that answers my question about this being over and done.” She inhaled, exhaled slowly until her chest no longer hitched with every breath. Then opening her eyes, she scanned the road behind her in the rearview mirror.

Her tires had left wild, sinuous trails over the pavement—trails, she noted with one quick shudder, that had veered perilously close to the edge.

The wolf was gone, and the mist was already as sheer as gauze.

“An obvious ploy,” she said aloud for herself and whatever listened. “Black wolf, red eyes. Obvious and clichéd.”

And, she thought, very, very effective.

But he’d borne her mark, the mark she’d put on him when he’d worn another form. He hadn’t been able to disguise it, and that gave her some comfort. Much-needed comfort, she admitted, for the ambush had very nearly succeeded.

She eased the car back on the road, and her hands had almost stopped trembling by the time she parked her car in front of Café Book.

He’d been waiting for her. It had been easy enough
to time his arrival at the hotel to match hers at the store. She wasn’t like clockwork, Sam mused as he strolled across the street. But sometime between eight-forty-five and nine-fifteen she parked her pretty little car and unlocked the store.

She wore one of her long, thin dresses today, the kind of dress that made a man want to offer thanks to the gods
of spring. It was a soft, pale blue, the color of quiet pools, and skimmed fluid as water down her body.

She wore sexy high-heeled sandals, hardly more than a series of buff-colored straps and a long, thin spike.

He’d had no idea shoes could make the mouth water.

She’d tied her hair back, his only complaint about her appearance that morning. He liked it best wild and loose, but the binding did leave an intriguing spill of red down the center of her back.

He’d like to lay his lips there—beneath the spill of hair, beneath the soft, thin dress, and onto the smooth skin at the center of her back.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

She jerked when he spoke and turned away from the door. His opening grin faded instantly, and his eyes went dark at the shock still mirrored in hers.

“What is it? What happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Damn it, her hands were going to shake again. “You startled me.” She angled her body enough to hide the tremor in her hand as she unlocked the door. “Sorry, Sam, no time for a neighborly chat. I have work.”

“Don’t pull that on me.” He moved through the door with her before she could attempt to shut it and lock it in his face. “I know you.”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice wanted to rise, and she refused to allow it. As casually as possible, she set her satchel on the front counter. “You don’t know me.”

“I know when you’re upset. Christ, Mia, you’re shaking. Your hands are like ice,” he said as he snatched one and held it between his own. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” She’d thought she was calm. She’d thought she was steady again. But her legs wanted to give. Pride made her lock them stiff. “Damn it, let me go.”

He nearly did. “No,” he decided, moving closer. “I did
that once. Let’s try something new.” He scooped her off her feet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re cold, and shaking. You need to sit down. Put on a little weight, haven’t you?”

She sent him one withering look. “Oh, really?”

“It looks good on you.” He carried her to the sofa, set her down. He pulled the bright throw off the back and tucked it around her.

“Now. Tell me.”

“Don’t sit on the—” She bit off a sigh because he’d already lowered himself to the coffee table facing her. “I see you never have figured out the difference between a table and a chair.”

“They’re both in the furniture family. There, you’ve got some color coming back. Good thing I came along to annoy you.”

“Just my lucky day.”

He took her hand again, warming it in his. “What scared you, baby?”

“Don’t call me that.” He had only used that term, she remembered, when he was being particularly sweet. She let her head rest back against the cushions. “It’s just . . . I had a near miss on the drive down. A dog jumped out in the road. The roads were damp with the mist, and I skidded.”

His grip tightened on hers. “I don’t think so.”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know.” He held on until she stopped trying to pull her hand free. “But something’s off. I imagine I could find out for myself if I took a drive up the coast road.”

“Don’t.” Fear grabbed her by the throat so that the single word was thin and urgent. “Don’t,” she repeated with more control. “It isn’t for you, but at this point I can’t be sure it won’t take what it can get. Let go of my hand, and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me,” he countered, knowing the value of the link, “and I’ll let go of your hand.”

“All right,” she managed after a vicious internal struggle. “Your way. This time.”

She told him, sparing none of the details but keeping her tone even, almost conversational. Even so, she saw his expression change.

“Why aren’t you wearing protection?” he demanded.

“I am.” She lifted the trio of crystals dangling from a star-shaped pendant. “It wasn’t enough. He’s strong. He’s had three centuries to gather his forces, nurse his powers. Even so, he couldn’t cause me real harm. He can only play tricks.”

“This trick might’ve caused you to have an accident. You were probably driving too fast.”

“Please, you’ll force me to pull out the old pot calling the kettle.”

“I didn’t nearly drive off a cliff.” He pushed to his feet, paced away the terrifying image of Mia doing exactly that.

He hadn’t anticipated this kind of direct, frontal attack on her. And, he thought, neither had she. Confidence in their own powers, he realized, had blindsided them.

“You’d have taken extra precautions with your home.”

“I protect what’s mine.”

“You neglected your car,” he said, tossing a look over his shoulder and having the satisfaction of seeing her flush.

“I certainly did not neglect it. I have the standard charms—”

“Standard isn’t enough, as you’ve just discovered.”

Her teeth clenched at being told how to conduct herself, but she nodded. “Point taken.”

“Meanwhile, I’d prefer to give him back some of his own rather than constantly taking the defense.”

She got to her feet. “This isn’t for you, isn’t about you.”

“No point in wasting time arguing that point, as we both know I’m part of it.”

“You’re not one of the three.”

“No, I’m not.” He stepped back to her. “But I’m
of
the three. My blood and your blood, Mia, spring from the same pool. My power and your power feed from the same source. It links us, however much you might prefer otherwise. You need me with you to finish this.”