by Nora Roberts
smiled, lifting one hand in a wave while the other rested on Jessie’s shoulder.
It would be all right, she told herself. It had to be.
Boone ignored the tangle of Christmas lights beside him and pleased himself by watching them until Jessie raced back across the yard and Ana went inside.
It would be all right, he told himself. It had to be.
* * *
Sebastian plucked a fat black olive from a tray and popped it into his mouth. “When do we eat?”
“You already are,” Mel pointed out.
“I mean real food.” He winked down at Jessie. “Hot dogs.”
“Herbed chicken,” Ana corrected, turning a sizzling thigh on the grill.
They were spread over the patio, with Jessie sitting in a wrought-iron chair carefully cradling a cooing Allysia in her lap. Boone and Nash were deep in a discussion on infant care. Morgana had Donovan at her breast, comfortably nursing, while she listened to Mel relate the happy ending of the runaway she and Sebastian had tracked down.
“Kid was miserable,” she was saying. “Sorry as hell he’d taken off, scared to go back. When we found him—cold, broke and hungry—and he realized his parents were scared instead of angry, he couldn’t wait to get home. I think he’s grounded till he’s thirty, but he doesn’t seem to care.” She waited until Morgana had burped her son. Her hands had been itching to touch. “Want me to put him back down for you?”
“Thanks.” Morgana watched Mel’s face as she lifted the baby. “Thinking about having one of your own. Or two?”
“Actually.” Mel caught the special scent of baby and felt her knees go weak. “I think I might …” She cast a quick look over her shoulder and saw her husband was busy teasing Jessie. “I’m not sure yet, but I think I may have already started.”
“Oh, Mel, that’s—”
“Shh.” She leaned down, using the baby for cover. “I don’t want him to know, or even suspect, or I’d never be able to stop him from looking for himself. I want to be able to tell him about this.” She grinned. “It’ll knock his socks off.”
Gently Mel laid the child in his side of the double carriage.
“Allysia’s sleeping, too,” Jessie pointed out, tracing a finger over the baby’s cheek.
“Want to put her down with her brother?” Sebastian leaned over to help Jessie stand with the baby. “That’s the way.” He kept his hands under hers as she laid Allysia down. “You’ll be an excellent mother one day.”
“Maybe I can have twins, too.” She turned when Daisy began to bark. “Hush,” she whispered. “You’ll wake the babies.”
But Daisy was lost in the thrill of the chase. Heading for open ground, Quigley shot through the hedges into the next yard, yowling. Delighted with the game, Daisy dashed after him.
“I’ll get him, Daddy.” Making as much racket as the animals, Jessie raced after them.
“I don’t think obedience school’s the answer,” Boone commented, tipping back a beer. “I’m thinking along the lines of a mental institution.”
Panting a bit, Jessie followed the sounds of barks and hisses across the yard, over the deck, around the side of the house. When she caught up with Daisy, she put her hands on her hips and scolded.
“You have to be friends. Ana won’t like it if you keep teasing Quigley.”
Daisy simply thumped her tail on the ground and barked again. Halfway up the ladder Boone had used to climb to the roof, Quigley hissed and spat.
“He doesn’t like it, Daisy.” On a sigh, she squatted down to pet the dog. “He doesn’t know you’re just playing and wouldn’t really hurt him ever. You made him scared.” She looked up the ladder. “Come on, kitty. It’s okay. You can come down now.”
On a feline growl, Quigley narrowed his eyes, then bounded up the ladder when Daisy responded with another flurry of barks.
“Oh, Daisy, look what you’ve done.” Jessie hesitated at the foot of the ladder. Her father had been very specific about her not going near it. But he hadn’t known that Quigley would get so scared. And maybe he’d fall off the roof and get killed. She stepped back, thinking she would go tell her father to come. Then she heard Quigley meow.
Daisy was her responsibility, she remembered. She was supposed to feed him and watch him so he didn’t get in trouble. If Quigley got hurt, it would be all her fault.
“I’m coming, kitty. Don’t be scared.” With her lower lip caught between her teeth, she started up the rungs. She’d seen her father go right on up, and it hadn’t looked hard at all. Just like climbing the jungle gyms at school, or up to the top of the big sliding board. “Kitty, kitty,” she chanted, climbing higher and giggling when Quigley stuck his head over the roof. “You silly cat, Daisy was only playing. I’ll take you down, don’t worry.”
She was nearly to the top when her sneakered foot missed the next rung.
* * *
“Smells wonderful,” Boone murmured, but he was sniffing at Ana’s neck, not the chicken she’d piled on a platter. “Good enough to eat.”
Nash gave him a nudge as he reached for a plate. “If you’re going to kiss her, move aside. The rest of us want dinner.”
“Fine.” Slipping his arms around a flustered Ana, he closed his mouth over hers in a long, lingering kiss. “Time’s almost up,” he said against her mouth. “You could put me out of my misery now, and—”
The words shut off when he heard Jessie’s scream. With his heart in his throat, he raced across the yard, shouting for her. He tore through the hedges, pounded across the grass.
“Oh, God! Oh, my God!”
Every ounce of blood seemed to drain out of him when he saw her crumpled on the ground, her arm bent at an impossible angle, her face as white as linen.
“Baby!” Panicked, he fell beside her. She was too still—even his fevered mind registered that one terrifying fact. And when he reached down to pick her up, there was blood, her blood, on his hands.
“Don’t move her!” Ana snapped out the order as she dropped beside them. She was breathing hard, fighting back terror, but her hands clasped firmly over his wrists. “You don’t know how or where she’s hurt. You can do more harm by moving her.”
“She’s bleeding.” He cupped his hands on his daughter’s face. “Jessie. Come on, Jessie.” With a trembling finger, he searched for a pulse at her throat. “Don’t do this. Dear God, don’t do this. We need an ambulance.”
“I’ll call,” Mel said from behind them.
Ana only shook her head. “Boone.” The calm settled over her as she understood what she had to do. “Boone, listen to me.” She took his shoulders, holding tight when he tried to shake her off. “You have to move back. Let me look at her. Let me help her.”
“She’s not breathing.” He could only stare down at his little girl. “I don’t think she’s breathing. Her arm. She’s broken her arm.”
It was more than that. Even without a closer link, Ana knew it was much more than that. And there was no time for an ambulance. “I can help her, but you have to move back.”
“She needs a doctor. For God’s sake, someone call an ambulance.”
“Sebastian,” Ana said quietly. Her cousin stepped forward and took Boone’s arms.
“Let go of me!” Boone started to swing and found himself pinned by both Sebastian and Nash. “What the hell’s wrong with you? We have to get her to a hospital!”
“Let Ana do what she can,” Nash said, fighting to hold his friend and his own panic back. “You have to trust her, for Jessie’s sake.”
“Ana.” Pale and shaken, Morgana passed one of her babies into Mel’s waiting arms. “It may be too late. You know what could happen to you if—”
“I have to try.”
Very gently, oh, so gently, she placed her hands on either side of Jessie’s head. She braced, waiting until her own breathing was slow and deep. It was hard, very hard, to block out Boone’s violent and terrified emotions, but she focused on the child, only the child. And opened hersel
f.
Pain. Hot, burning spears of it, radiating through her head. Too much pain for such a small child. Ana drew it out, drew it in, let her own system absorb it. When agony threatened to smother the serenity needed for such deep and delicate work, she waited for it to roll past. Then moved on.
So much damage, she thought as her hands trailed lightly down. Such a long way to fall. A perfect image clicked in her mind. The ground rushing up, the helpless fear, the sudden, numbing jolt of impact.
Her fingers passed over a deep gash in Jessie’s shoulder. The mirror image sliced through her own, throbbed, seeped blood. Then both slowly faded.
“My God.” Boone stopped struggling. His body was too numb. “What is she doing? How?”
“She needs quiet,” Sebastian muttered. Stepping back from Boone, he took Morgana’s hand. There was nothing they could do but wait.
The injuries inside were severe. Sweat began to bloom on Ana’s skin as she examined, absorbed, mended. She was chanting as she worked, knowing she needed to deepen the trance to save the child, and herself.
Oh, but the pain! It ripped through her like fire, making her shudder. Her breath hitched as she fought the need to pull back. Blindly she clutched a hand over the zircon Jessie still wore and placed the other over the child’s quiet heart.
When she threw her head back, her eyes were the color of storm clouds, and as blank as glass.
The light was bright, blindingly bright. She could barely see the child up ahead. She called, shouted, wanting to hurry, knowing that one misstep now would end it for both of them.
She stared into the light and felt Jessie slipping further away.
“This gift is mine to use or scorn.” Both pain and power shimmered in her voice. “This choice was mine from the day I was born. What harms the child bring into me. As I will, so mote it be.”
She cried out then, from the tearing price to be paid for cheating death. She felt her own life ebb, teetering, teetering toward the searing light as Jessie’s heart began to beat tremulously under her hand.
She fought back, for both of them, calling on every ounce of her strength, every vestige of her power.
Boone saw his daughter stir, watched her lashes flutter as Ana swayed back.
“Jess—Jessie?” He leaped forward to scoop her into his arms. “Baby, are you all right?”
“Daddy?” Her blank, unfocused eyes began to clear. “Did I fall down?”
“Yeah.” Weak with relief and gratitude, he buried his face against her throat and rocked her. “Yeah.”
“Don’t cry, Daddy.” She patted his back. “I’m okay.”
“Let’s see.” He took a shaky breath before he ran his hands over her. There was no blood, he discovered. No blood, no bruise, not even the smallest scratch. He held her close again, staring at Ana as Sebastian helped her to her feet. “Do you hurt anywhere, Jessie?”
“Uh-uh.” She yawned and nestled her head on his shoulder. “I was going to Mommy. She looked so pretty in all the light. But she looked sad, like she was going to cry, when she saw me coming. Then Ana was there, and she took my hand. Mommy looked happy when she waved good-bye to us. I’m sleepy, Daddy.”
His own heart was throbbing in his throat, thickening his voice. “Okay, baby.”
“Why don’t you let me take her up?” When Boone hesitated, Nash lowered his voice. “She’s fine. Ana’s not.” He took the already dozing child. “Don’t let common sense get in the way, pal,” he added as he took Jessie inside.
“I want to know what happened here.” Afraid he’d babble, Boone forced himself to speak slowly. “I want to know exactly what happened.”
“All right.” Ana glanced around at her family. “If you’d leave us alone for just a minute, I’d like to …” She trailed off as the world went gray. Swearing, Boone caught her as she fell, then hoisted her into his arms.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “What did she do to Jessie?” He looked down, alarmed by the translucent pallor of Ana’s cheeks. “What did she do to herself?”
“She saved your daughter’s life,” Sebastian said. “And risked her own.”
“Be quiet, Sebastian,” Morgana murmured. “He’s been through enough.”
“He?”
“Yes.” She laid a restraining hand on her cousin’s arm. “Boone, Ana needs rest, a great deal of rest and quiet. If you’d prefer, you can bring her home. One of us will stay and take care of her.”
“She’ll stay here.” He turned and carried her inside.
She was drifting in and out, in and out of worlds without color. There was no pain now, no feeling at all. She was as insubstantial as a mist. Once or twice she heard Sebastian or Morgana slip inside her deeply sleeping mind to offer reassurance. Others joined them, her parents, her aunts and uncles, and more.
After a long, long journey, she felt herself coming back. Tints and hues seeped back into the colorless world. Sensations began to prickle along her skin. She sighed once—it was the first sound she had made in more than twenty-four hours—then opened her eyes.
Boone watched her come back. He rose automatically from the chair to bring her the medication Morgana had left with him.
“Here.” He supported her, holding the cup to her lips. “You’re supposed to drink this.”
She obeyed, recognizing the scent and the taste. “Jessie?”
“She’s fine. Nash and Morgana picked her up this afternoon. She’s staying with them tonight.”
With a nod, she drank again. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Asleep?” He gave a half laugh at her prosaic term for the comalike state she’d been in. “You’ve been out for twenty-six hours.” He glanced at his watch. “And thirty minutes.”
The longest journey she’d ever taken, Ana realized. “I need to call my family and tell them I’m well.”
“I’ll do it. Are you hungry?”
“No.” She tried not to be hurt by his polite, distant tone of voice. “This is all I need for now.”
“Then I’ll be back in a minute.”
When he left her alone, she covered her face with her hands. Her own fault, she berated herself. She hadn’t prepared him, had dragged her feet, and fate had taken a hand. On a tired sigh, she got out of bed and began to dress.
“What the hell are you doing?” Boone demanded when he walked in again. “You’re supposed to rest.”
“I’ve rested enough.” Ana stared down at her hands as she meticulously buttoned her blouse. “And I’d just as soon be on my feet when we talk about this.”
His nerves jittered, but he only nodded. “Have it your way.”
“Can we go outside? I could use some air.”
“Fine.” He took her arm and led her downstairs and out on the deck. Once she was seated, he took out a cigarette, struck a match. He’d hardly closed his eyes since he’d carried Ana upstairs, and he’d been subsisting on tobacco and coffee. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’d appreciate an explanation.”
“I’m going to try to give you one. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.” Ana linked her hands tight in her lap. “I wanted to, but I could never find the right way.”
“Straight out,” he said as he dragged deeply on smoke.
“I come from a very old bloodline—on both sides. A different culture, if you like. Do you know what wicca is?”
Something cold brushed his skin, but it was only the night air. “Witchcraft.”
“Actually, its true meaning is wise. But witch will do.” She looked up, and her clear gray eyes met his tired, shadowed ones. “I’m a hereditary witch, born with empathic powers that enable me to link emotionally, and physically, with others. My gift is one of healing.”
Boone took another long drag on his cigarette. “You’re going to sit there, look me in the face and tell me you’re a witch?”
“Yes.”
Furious, he flung the cigarette away. “What kind of a game is this, Ana? Don’t you think after what happened here
last night I deserve a reasonable explanation?”
“I think you deserve the truth. You may not think it reasonable.” She held up a hand before he could speak. “Tell me how you would explain what happened.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again. He’d been working on that single problem for more than twenty-four hours without finding a comfortable solution. “I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to buy into this.”
“All right.” She rose, laid a hand on his chest. “You’re tired. You haven’t had much sleep. Your head’s pounding and your stomach’s in knots.”
He lifted a brow derisively. “I don’t think you have to be a witch to figure that out.”
“No.” Before he could back away, she touched a hand to his brow, pressed the other to his stomach. “Better?” she asked after a moment.
He needed to sit down, but he was afraid he wouldn’t get up again. She’d touched him, barely touched him. And even the shadow of pain was gone. “What is it? Hypnotism?”
“No. Boone, look at me.”
He did, and saw a stranger with tangled blond hair billowing out in the wind. The amber enchantress, he thought numbly. Was it any wonder it had reminded him so much of her?
Ana saw both shock and the beginning of belief on his face. “When you asked me to marry you, I asked you to give me time so that I could find the right way to tell you. I was afraid.” Her hands dropped away. “Afraid you’d look at me exactly the way you’re looking at me now. As if you don’t even know me.”
“This is bull. Look, I write this stuff for a living, and I know fiction from fact.”
“My skill for magic is very limited.” Still, she reached into her pocket, where she always carried a few crystals. With her eyes on Boone’s, she held them out in her palm. Slowly they began to glow, the purple of the amethyst deepening, the pink of the rose quartz brightening, the green of the malachite shimmering. Then they rose, an inch, two inches, up, circling, spinning in the air and flashing with light. “Morgana is more talented with such things.”
He stared at the tumbling crystals, trying to find a logical reason. “Morgana is a witch, too?”
“She’s my cousin,” Ana said simply.
“Which makes Sebastian—”
“Sebastian’s gift is sight.”
He didn’t want to believe, but it was impossible to discount what he saw with his own eyes. “Your family,” he began. “Those magic tricks of your father’s.”
“Magic in its purest form.” She plucked the crystals out of the air and slipped them back in her pocket. “As I told you, he’s very accomplished. As are the rest of them, in their own ways. We’re witches. All of us.” She reached out to him, but he backed away. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Rocked to the core, he dragged both hands through his hair. It had to be a dream, a nightmare. But he was standing on his own deck, feeling the wind, hearing the sea. “That’s good. That’s great. You’re sorry. For what, Ana? For being what you are, or for not finding it important enough to mention?”
“I’m not sorry for being what I am.” Pride stiffened her spine. “I am sorry for making excuses to myself not to tell you. And I’m sorry, most sorry of all, that you can’t look at me now the way you did only a day ago.”
“What do you expect? Am I supposed to just shrug this off, pick up where we were before? To accept the fact that the woman I love is something out of one of my own stories, and think nothing of it?”
“I’m exactly what I was yesterday, and what I’ll be tomorrow.”
“A witch.”
“Yes.” She folded her hands at her waist. “A witch, born to the craft. I don’t make poisoned apples or lure children into houses of gingerbread.”
“That’s supposed to relieve my mind?”
“Even I don’t have the power to do that. As I told you, all of us are responsible for our own destinies.” But she knew he held hers in his hands. “You have your choice to make.”
He struggled to get a grip on it, and simply couldn’t. “You needed time to tell me. Well, by God, I need time to figure out what to do about it.” He started to pace, then stopped dead. “Jessie. Jessie’s over at Morgana’s.”
Ana felt the crack in her heart widen. “Oh, yes, with my cousin the witch.” A single tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. “What do you think Morgana’s going to do? Cast a spell on her? Lock her in a tower?”
“I don’t know what to think. For Lord’s sake, I’ve found myself in the middle of a fairy tale! What am I supposed to think?”
