by Nora Roberts
“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 herfeet, 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 andfull. 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 havethis ? 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 brea
th, 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 bab
y.” 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 itcan 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 herselfshe 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.”
