Face the Fire (19 page)

“As did I.” She spread her arms. “We hold this place, but the time grows short. See.” She gestured to where the fog boiled along the edge of the rocks. “It craves most what it cannot have, and what it cannot have will, in the end, defeat it.”

“What is there to do that I haven’t done?” Mia demanded. “What’s left for me?”

“Everything.” With that last word, she vanished.

And Mia was alone.

Lulu was alone. Sleeping deeply under her
hodgepodge quilt, floating on dreams. Unaware of the dark mists gathering outside her house, rising up to slither around her windows. And through the cracks.

She stirred, she shivered, when that cold mist slid over her, snuck under the covers to crawl over her skin. With a little sound of protest, she burrowed deeper under the quilt, but found no warmth.

She heard the baby crying, long wails of misery. In a mother’s automatic response, she tossed the covers aside, rose in the dark, and started out of the bedroom.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

In the dream she walked, sleepily, down the long corridor of the house on the cliff. She felt the smooth wood under her feet—and not the rough grass of her own yard as she left her house, moving through the thickening fog. Her eyes were open, but she saw the door to the baby’s room, and not the street where she walked, the quiet houses she passed.

She didn’t see or sense the black wolf stalking behind her.

She reached out, opened the door that wasn’t there as she trudged around the corner toward the beach.

The crib was empty, and the baby’s wails became screams of terror.

“Mia!” She ran, hurling herself across High Street, which was a maze of corridors in her mind. “Where are you?”

She ran, breath heaving, fear rising as she pounded on locked doors and raced toward the sound of the baby’s cries.

She fell, scoring her hands on the sand of the beach and feeling her fingers dig into thick carpet. She was weeping, calling for her baby as she pushed herself to her feet,
swayed, then raced on. In the dream she flew down the main staircase and out into the black night, then plunged into the sea.

The surf knocked her back, knocked her down, but in a blind fury to find and protect her child, she fought her way up again, pushed her way through the waves.

Even as the water closed over her head, her eyes were open, and the baby’s screams pounded in her ears.

There was a great weight on her chest, and the
sharp taste of vomit in her throat. She gagged, heaved again.

“She’s breathing. It’s okay, Lulu, take it easy.”

Her eyes burned, refused to focus. Through the haze over them she made out Zack’s face. Water dripped from his hair and onto her cheeks.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded, and her voice came out in a croak that hurt her throat.

“Oh, God, Lulu.” Nell knelt on the sand beside her, grabbed her hand and pressed it to her own cheek. “Thank God.”

“She’s still in shock.” Ripley nudged her brother aside and spread a blanket over Lulu.

“Shock, my ass.” Lulu managed to sit up, coughed violently enough that she considered passing out. But she bore down and stared at the faces surrounding her. Nell was weeping openly, and Mac, soaking wet, crouched beside her. Ripley sat on the sand now, and with her brother’s help, arranged the blanket over Lulu’s shoulders.

“Where’s Mia?” she demanded.

“She’s at home, she’s with Sam,” Nell told her. “She’s safe.”

“Okay.” Lulu began to draw slow and careful breaths.
“What the hell am I doing out here, soaking wet, in the middle of the night?”

“Good question.” Zack considered a moment, then decided flat truth was best. “Nell woke up and knew you were in trouble.”

“So did I,” Ripley added. “I’d barely fallen asleep when I heard you shouting in my head, for Mia. Then the vision hit like a freight train.” She glanced at Nell then. “I saw you walking out of your house, saw the fog closing in.”

“And the black dog,” Nell murmured, and waited for Ripley to nod. “Stalking you. I was afraid we wouldn’t get to you in time.”

Lulu held up a hand a moment, trying to clear her head. “I walked into the water? For Christ’s sake.”

“It lured you there,” Mac replied. “Do you know how?”

“I had a dream, that’s all. A nightmare. Walked in my sleep.”

“Let’s get her home, and warm,” Nell said, but Ripley shook her head.

“Not yet. You damn near drowned in your sleep.” Her tone turned sharp and angry. “So don’t pull the stubborn crap on me. If Nell and I hadn’t linked in, we’d have found you dead in the morning, washed up in the fucking tide.”

Because Ripley’s voice broke, she clenched her teeth and spoke through them. “My brother and my man pulled you out, and Zack pumped the life back into you. Don’t you dare brush this off.”

“Stop it now. Stop that crying.” Shaken, Lulu gave Ripley’s arm a little shake. “I just had a bad spell, that’s all. Nothing more than that to it.”

“It lured you here,” Mac repeated.

“That’s just bull.” But she started to shiver again, from a cold inside her bones. “Why would this thing want to hurt me? I’ve got no power.”

“It hurts you,” Mac said, “it hurts Mia. You’re a part of
her, Lu, so you’re part of this. What would’ve happened to the island—to the children the sisters left behind—if they hadn’t had the nurse to tend them? And we should’ve taken that into account before. It was stupid not to. Careless.”

“We won’t be careless anymore.” Nell wrapped her arm around Lulu’s shoulders. “She’s cold. We need to get her home.”

She let herself be carried, let herself be pampered, even tucked into bed. She felt her age, and then some, but she wasn’t done yet.

“I don’t want Mia to know about this.”

“What?” Ripley jammed her fists onto her hips. “A near-death experience rattle your brain?”

“Think about what your man said back on the beach. Hurt me, hurt her. If she’s worried about me, she’s distracted.” With her glasses back in place, she turned to Mac and saw him clearly. “She needs all her strength, all her wits to finish this. Have I got that right?”

“She needs to be strong, but—”

“Then why muck her up?” There was nothing—nothing—more vital than Mia’s well-being. “How do we know this didn’t happen tonight just to make her upset and worried about me so she’s vulnerable? What’s done’s done, and telling her doesn’t change it.”

“She could help protect you,” Nell put in.

“I can take care of myself.” The minute the statement was out, she caught Zack’s lifted eyebrows. And huffed out a breath. “Been doing it for longer than any of you’ve been alive. Added to that, I’ve got me a big strong sheriff, a smart scientist, and a couple of witches looking out for me.”

“She may be right about this.” Ripley thought of how pale, how fragile Mia had been when she’d come back from the flight. “Let’s at least agree to keep it to ourselves
until telling Mia has a purpose. Nell and I can put protection around the house.”

“You go right ahead,” Lulu invited.

“I can set up a sensor,” Mac put in. “So if there’s any energy change, you’d be alerted.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Lulu firmed her jaw. “Mia’s the target. Nothing and no one’s going to use me to hurt her. That’s a promise.”

T
he candles burned low, and the air was full of
fragrance and soft light when she woke. She felt him there almost before she felt herself. The warmth of his hand over hers, the weight of his worry.

For an instant only, the years vanished and her heart was light with love. What she’d felt once, what she felt now, collided and dissolved before she could hold either.

“Here, drink this.” As he had hours before, he lifted her head, held a cup to her lips.

But this time she sniffed speculatively before she sipped. “Hyssop. Good choice.”

“How do you feel?”

“Well enough. Better, I’d say, than you. There was no need for you to sit up all night.” The cat that had curled beside her now slithered under her hand for stroking. “What time is it?”

“Sunrise.” Sam rose now, began to extinguish the candles. “You only had about nine hours. You could probably use more.”

“No.” She sat up, shook back her hair. “I’m awake. And starving.”

He glanced back. She sat in the old bed, her face flushed with sleep, the black cat in her lap.

He wanted to slide into bed with her. Just to hold, just to rest. Just to be. “I’ll fix you something.”

“You’ll cook breakfast?”

“I can manage eggs and toast,” he answered as he stalked out of the room.

“Cranky,” Mia said to Isis. The cat swished her tail, then leaped off the bed to trot out after Sam.

He brewed coffee first in hopes that a strong shot
of caffeine would clear his head and improve his mood. He didn’t question the fact that his tender feelings, his steady concern of the night, had jumped straight to annoyance the minute she’d awakened and looked at him.

A man needed some defense.

While the coffeemaker grumbled, he turned on the cold water tap in the sink and dunked his head under the flow. And rapped his head smartly against the faucet when the cat brushed up against his legs.

He saw stars, swore, then smacked the water off and came up dripping.

When Mia walked in, he was standing, glaring at the cat, with water running down his face. She picked up a fresh dish towel and passed it to him.

“You’re welcome to use the shower if you’d like to do more than soak your head.” After exchanging a decidedly female glance with the cat, Mia opened the door to let her out.

Rather than trust himself to speak, Sam wrenched open the refrigerator, took out a carton of eggs. Mia reached down to get a skillet out of a cupboard, then held out a hand. “Why don’t I take care of this?”

“I said I’d fix some damn eggs, so I’ll fix some damn eggs.”

“All right.” Complacently, she set the skillet on a burner before moving over to get down two mugs. She poured, trying to keep her lips from twitching while Sam slammed around her kitchen. But the first sip of coffee made her eyes water.

“God. Well, this is strong enough to go ten rounds with the champ.”

Sam slapped an egg on the side of a bowl. “Any other complaints?”

“No.” She decided to be broad-minded and not mention the bits of shell that had gone into the bowl along with the egg. Sipping delicately, she wandered to the back door again, and opened it to the morning air. “It’s going to rain.”

Barefoot, her white robe billowing, she stepped outside to look at her garden and leave Sam to brood. Wind chimes tinkled as she wound along the paths. There were always surprises. A new bloom just opened, a bud just hazed with color. The blend of continuity and change was one of the great appeals of the garden for her.

She glanced back toward the kitchen. The boy she’d loved was now the man fixing her breakfast. Continuity and change, she thought with a sigh. She supposed, under it all, that was one of Sam Logan’s great appeals for her.

And because she remembered he’d held her hand while she slept, she broke off a tightly budded peony. Curving her hand over it, she encouraged the bud to unfurl and free its soft, fragrant pink petals.

Brushing it against her cheek, she went back to the house.

He was at the stove, looking wonderfully out of his element. His legs were spread, and the spatula held like a weapon in his hand. He was burning the eggs.

Foolishly moved, she crossed to him and gently turned
off the flame. She kissed his cheek, handed him the flower. “Thank you for watching over me.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned away to reach for plates, then simply laid his forehead against the glass doors of her cupboard. “Damn it, Mia. Damn it! Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’ve gotten out of the habit of calling you.”

He straightened, a mix of anger and hurt enveloping him.

“I don’t say that to hurt you.” She spread her hands. “I don’t. It simply is. I’m used to doing things my way, and on my own.”

“Fine. Fine.” But it wasn’t. He rattled plates as he dragged them out of the cupboard. “When it’s you, it’s just being who you are and doing what you do. But when it’s me, I’m going behind your back.”

She opened her mouth. Then was forced to close it again and clear her throat. “You have a point.” She walked by him to get jam out of the refrigerator. “However, what you did on your own was step into my territory, risk bodily harm, then call out the troops.”

“Your territory isn’t exclusive. And you risked bodily harm.”

“That’s a matter of debate. I didn’t do this behind your back, not deliberately. In hindsight, I’ll admit your presence in the circle would have been valuable.” She set the toast, stone-cold and crisp at the edges, on the table. “You’re a better witch than you are a cook.”

“You’re a hell of a lot cockier than you used to be,” he countered. “And you always were cocky.”

“Confident,” she corrected. “
You
were cocky.”

“A fine distinction.” He sat with her, scooping half the eggs onto his plate, half on hers. The peony lay pretty and pink between them. He took his first bite. “These are terrible.”

She sampled, tasting scorched egg and bits of shell. “Yes, yes, they are.”

When he grinned at her she laughed and went right on eating.

He took her up on the shower and ran the spray hot
to ease muscles stiff from the night’s vigil. He supposed they’d called a truce, a moratorium of sorts over lousy eggs and cold toast. Maybe, he thought, they’d taken a tentative step toward being friends again.

He’d missed that part of them, too. The easy silences, the shared laughter. He’d known when she was sad, often before she knew it herself. He’d felt the thousand little pinpricks of her hurt whenever her parents had blithely, benevolently, ignored the child they’d made between them.

Even before he and she had become lovers they’d been a part of each other. And how could he explain to her that it had been the link, the absolute and unquestioned link in the chain of their destinies, that had driven him to break the tie?

She didn’t ask, and he didn’t say. He thought that was for the best, at least for now. At least until they were friends again.

The muscles in his belly contracted when she stepped in behind him, slipped her arms around him, pressed her wet body against his back.

“I thought you might share.” She nipped playfully at his shoulder.

This time, they were fated to reverse the process. Lovers first.

He turned, and fisting his hands in her hair, dragged her with him under the pounding spray.

“You have the water too hot,” she told him, turning her head as his mouth rubbed along the side of her throat.

“I needed hot.”

She picked up a bottle, squirted some of the pale green liquid over both their heads.

“Wait! What is that? Girl stuff?”

Amused, she reached up to lather it in his hair. God, she’d always loved his hair. So black and thick and untamed. Wet, it fell nearly to his shoulders, a dark rain of silk.

“My own blend. The rosemary promotes hair growth, not that you need it, and smells good. Even for manly men.”

He worked it into her hair as well. Sniffed at it. “It’s not just rosemary.”

“Not just. Some calendula, linden flowers, nasturtium.”

“Girl stuff.” Suds slid down their bodies, slicking them. “It works on you.”

“So do you,” she said when his mouth covered hers again.

Steam, fragrant with herbs and flowers, rose as they washed each other. Teased each other. Slippery hands over slippery skin aroused in slow beats that savored each moment, each touch and taste.

Long, lazy strokes coaxed the pulses to quicken and low, lingering moans to mix with the sound of drumming water.

Her mouth was wet and warm, and with restless nips and nibbles grew eager under his. She deepened the kiss as her body rubbed and rocked against his. Invitation, demand, delight. And every breath he took was full of her scent.

As the air turned sultry, he turned her so that he could trace kisses over her back, so that he could mold and cup
her breasts. His thumbs scraped her nipples, tortured the hard points while her back arched in pleasure.

When his hands skimmed lower, she reached back, hooking her arms around his neck and holding on to him when he sent her flying.

“Now.” She turned to him. “Fill me now.”

He slid into her, achingly slow. And she felt herself open, and give. She gripped his shoulders while the water sluiced over them, tuned her body to his.

Long, silky strokes so that pleasure was a low, sustained beat. Everything she was focused on the need to prolong, to hold this moment like a jewel. Shining and rich. Her blood pulsed, seemed to sing under her skin until the beauty of it wept inside her.

She crested, an endless, warm wave, and her mouth pressed to his as she rode it.

They ended up on the bed again, flat on their backs.

“We never seem to make it here for the first round,” Sam managed.

“Be that as it may, round two will have to be postponed on account of working for a living.”

“Yeah. I’ve got an eleven o’clock meeting.”

She stirred enough to twist for a look at the clock. “You’ve got some time yet. Why don’t you stay, get a little sleep?”

“Huh.”

She rose, raked her fingers through her damp hair. “I’ll set the alarm for ten.”

He grunted again, and didn’t move a muscle.

Nor had he moved when, thirty minutes later, she was groomed and dressed for the day. Obligingly, she set the alarm clock, tugged the sheet over him.

Then just stood looking at him.

“How did it happen you’ve ended up sleeping in my bed again?” she wondered aloud. “Does it make me weak, stupid, or just human?”

With no answer, she left him sleeping.