Dance Upon the Air (9 page)

He sat on the arm of the Adirondack chair, and filled her in.

She turned her face up to the sky and hooted. “I
knew
I should've gone with you. Idiot drunk putz. Lobster Boy, not you.”

“I figured. He wasn't that drunk, Rip.”

She lifted a hand, waved it at him. “Don't start that. I'm in too good a mood for you to spoil it by mentioning Mia and her double, double, toil and trouble routine.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I usually do. I'm going to get a shower. I'll take the first shift. You must be wiped.”

“I'm okay. Listen . . .” But he trailed off, trying to think how to put what he wanted to say.

“Listening.”

“I went by the yellow cottage on the way home. Nell's lights were on, so I stopped in.”

“Aha,” Ripley teased.

“Gutter-face. I had a cup of coffee and a muffin.”

“Gee, Zack, I'm sorry to hear that.”

Normally he'd have laughed. Instead he rose, paced to the rail. “You stop in and see her most every day. You're friendly, right?”

“I guess we're friendly enough. It's hard not to like her.”

“Women tend to confide stuff to their female friends, don't they?”

“Probably. You want me to ask her if she likes you enough to go to the school dance with you?” She started to snicker, but stopped when he turned around and saw his face. “Hey, sorry. I didn't know it was serious. What's up?”

“I think she's been abused.”

“Man.” Ripley stared down at her water bottle. “That's tough.”

“Some son of a bitch messed with her, I'm sure of it. Whether or not she's had counseling or gotten help, it seems to me she could use a . . . you know, a girlfriend. Somebody she could talk to about it.”

“Zack, you know I'm no good at that kind of thing. You are.”

“I've got the wrong equipment to be Nell's girlfriend, Rip. Just . . . just see if you can spend some time with her. Go out on the boat, or go shopping or . . .” He gestured vaguely. “Paint each other's toenails.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give me a break. I don't know what you people do in your mysterious caves when men aren't around.”

“We have pillow fights in our underwear.”

He brightened because she wanted him to. “Really? I was afraid that was a myth. So, be a friend, okay?”

“Are you starting to get a thing for her?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, I guess I'll be a friend.”

Nell walked into
the Coven at precisely five. It was not, as she'd feared, a dark, eerie place, but rather cozy. The light was faintly blue and added a soft tint to the white flowers in the center of each table.

The tables themselves were round, with deep chairs and small sofas circling them. At the glossy bar the glasses sparkled. Nell had no more than chosen a table when a young waitress in trim, unrelieved black set a silver bowl of mixed snacks in front of her.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“I'm waiting for someone. Maybe just a mineral water for now. Thanks.”

The only other patrons were a couple poring over an Island Tours brochure while they sipped white wines and nibbled from a cheese plate. The music was low, and very like what Mia tended to play in the bookstore. Nell tried to relax in her chair, wishing she'd brought a book.

Ten minutes later, Mia breezed in, the long skirt swirling around her long legs. She carried a book, and lifted her free hand in a wave toward the bar. “A glass of Cabernet, Betsy.”

“First glass is on Carl Macey.” Betsy shot Mia a wink. “He gave me orders.”

“Tell him I enjoyed it.” She sat down across from Nell. “Did you drive over?”

“No, I walked.”

“Do you drink alcoholic beverages?”

“Now and then.”

“Have one now. What's your pleasure?”

“The Cabernet'll be fine. Thanks.”

“Two, Betsy. Damn, I love these things.” She began to pick through the snack bowl. “Especially the little cheese ones that look like Chinese symbols. So, I brought you a book. A gift.” Mia nudged the book toward Nell. “I thought you'd like to read about where you've chosen to live.”

“Yes, I've been meaning to.
The Three Sisters: Legends and Lore
,” she said, reading the cover. “Thank you.”

“You're settling in now, getting your feet under you. I should tell you first that I couldn't be happier with your work.”

“I'm glad to hear it. I love working at the café, the store. I couldn't have tailor-made a job I'd like more.”

“Oh, you're Nell.” Catching the comment as she served the wine, Betsy beamed. “You're always gone when I get to the café. I try to zip in before I open the bar. Great cookies.”

“Thanks.”

“You hear from Jane, Mia?”

“Just today. Tim got his audition, and they're hopeful. They're paying the rent by working at a bakery in Chelsea.”

“I hope they're happy.”

“So do I.”

“I'll leave you two alone. Let me know if you need anything.”

“So.” Mia lifted her glass, tapped it to Nell's. “
Slainte
.”

“I'm sorry?”

“A Gaelic toast. Cheers.” Mia brought the glass to her lips, watching Nell over the rim. “What do you know about witches?”

“Which sort? Like Elizabeth Montgomery on
Bewitched
or the ones who wear crystals and burn candles and sell little bottles of love potion?”

Mia laughed, crossed her legs. “Actually, I wasn't thinking of Hollywood or pseudo-Wiccans.”

“I didn't mean to be insulting. I know there are people who take the matter very seriously. A kind of religion. That should be respected.”

“Even if they are kooks,” Mia said with a hint of a smile.

“No. You're not a kook. I understand . . . Well, you mentioned it that first day, then your conversation with Ripley yesterday.”

“Good. Then we've established that I'm a witch.” Mia sipped again. “You're a sweet one, Nell. There you are, trying very hard to discuss this intelligently, soberly, when you're thinking I'm—let's say—eccentric. We'll table that for the moment and go back in history so I can lay some groundwork for you. You know of the witch trials in Salem.”

“Sure. A few hysterical young girls, fanatical Puritans. Mob mentality. Burn the witch.”

“Hang,” Mia corrected. “Nineteen people—all innocents—were hanged in 1692. One was pressed to
death when he refused to declare himself innocent or guilty. Others died in prison. There have been witch-hunts throughout time. Here, in Europe, in every corner of the world. Even when most stopped believing, or admitting to a belief, in witchcraft, there were hunts. Nazism, McCarthyism, the KKK, and so on. Nothing more than fanatics, with power, pushing their own agendas and finding enough weak minds to do the dirty work.”

And don't, Mia thought, taking a breath, get me started. “But today we're concerned with one microcosm of history.”

She leaned back, tapped a finger lightly on the book. “The Puritans came here, searching, they said, for religious freedom. Of course, many of them were only looking for a place to force their beliefs and their fears on others. And in Salem, they persecuted and murdered blindly, so blindly that not one of the nineteen souls they took was the soul of a witch.”

“Prejudice and fear are never clear-sighted.”

“Well said. There were three among them. Women who'd chosen this place to live their lives and live their craft. Powerful women who had helped the sick and the sorry. They knew, these three, that they could no longer stay where they would, sooner or later, be accused and condemned. So the Isle of Three Sisters was created.”

“Created?”

“It's said that they met in secret and cast a spell. And part of the land was torn away from the mainland. We're living on what they took from that time and that place. A sanctuary. A haven. Isn't that what you came for, Nell?”

“I came for work.”

“And found it. They were known as Air and Earth and Fire. For some years they lived quietly and at peace. And alone. It was loneliness that weakened them. The one known as Air wished for love.”

“We all do,” Nell said quietly.

“Perhaps. She dreamed of a prince, golden and handsome, who would sweep her away to some lovely place where they would live happily and have children to comfort her. She was careless with her wish, as women can be when they yearn. He came for her, and she saw only that he was golden and handsome. She went away with him, left her haven. She tried to be a good and dutiful wife, and bore her children, loved them. But it wasn't enough for him. Under the gold, he was dark. She grew to fear him, and he fed on her fear. One night, mad with that hunger, he killed her for being what she was.”

“That's a sad story.” Nell's throat was dry, but she didn't lift her glass.

“There's more, but that's enough for now. Each had a sad story, and a tragic end. And each left a legacy. A child who would bear a child who would bear a child, and so on. There would come a time, it was said, when a descendant from each of the sisters would be on the island at the same time. Each would have to find a way to redeem and break the pattern set three hundred years ago. If not, the island would topple into the sea. Lost as Atlantis.”

“Islands don't topple into the sea.”

“Islands aren't created by three women, usually,” Mia countered. “If you believe the first, the second isn't much of a stretch.”

“You believe it.” Nell nodded. “And that you're one of the descendants.”

“Yes. As you are.”

“I'm no one.”

“That's him talking, not you. I'm sorry.” Instantly contrite, Mia reached out and gripped Nell's hand before she could rise. “I said I wouldn't pry, and I won't. But it annoys me to hear you say you're no one. To hear you mean it. Forget all the rest for now if you must, but don't forget who and what you are. You're an intelligent woman with spine enough to make a life for herself. With a gift—magic in the kitchen. I admire you.”

“I'm sorry.” Struggling to settle again, Nell reached for her wine. “I'm speechless.”

“You had the courage to strike out on your own. To come to a strange place and make yourself part of it.”

“Courage had nothing to do with it.”

“You're wrong. He didn't break you.”

“He did.” Despite herself, Nell's eyes filled. “I just took the pieces and ran away.”

“Took the pieces, escaped and rebuilt. Can't you be proud of that?”

“I can't explain what it was like.”

“You don't have to. But you will, eventually, have to recognize your own power. You'll never feel complete until you do.”

“I'm only looking for a normal life.”

“You can't forget the possibilities.” Mia held out a hand, palm up. Waited.

Unable to resist, Nell reached out, laid her palm against Mia's. And felt the heat, a painless burn of
power. “It's in you. I'll help you find it. I'll teach you,” Mia stated as Nell stared dumbfounded at the shimmer of light between their palms. “When you're ready.”

Ripley scanned
the beach scene and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Someone's toddler was having a tantrum, and the high-pitched cranky sound of No! No! No! blasted the air.

Somebody missed his nap, she thought.

People were scattered over the sand, staking out their territory with towels, blankets, umbrellas, totes, coolers, portable stereos. Nobody just went to the beach anymore, she mused. They packed for a day on the sand the way they packed to go to Europe.

It never failed to amuse her. Every day couples and groups would haul their possessions out of their rentals and hotel rooms and set up their temporary nests on the shore. And every day they would pack everything up again and haul it, along with a good bit of sand, back again.