Heaven and Earth (8 page)

She pulled them out of her pocket. “Are you going to put them on for me, too, Daddy?”

“Sure, honey.” But when he reached out, she slapped his hand away. And was grinning until she saw the welts on his wrist. Guilt churned in her. She didn’t mind hurting someone, when they deserved it.

But not that way. Never that way.

Still, what was done could be undone, even if it did mean swallowing pride.

He saw a change in her expression as she stared at his wrist. “It’s no big deal,” he began and started to pull his cuffs down.

“It is to me.” She didn’t bother to sigh, but took his wrist again. Her gaze shot up, held his. “This is off my time, off the record. Off everything. Understood?”

“All right.”

“What in anger I have harmed, I regret and spin this charm. Heal this hurt caused by me by the power of one times three. As I will, so mote it be.”

He felt the mild pain, the heat lift away from his skin. The flesh where her fingers lay was now cool, as if they’d drawn
the burns out. There was a jump in his belly, not so much from the physical change as from the change in her eyes.

He had looked into power before, and knew he looked into it now. It was something he never forgot to respect.

“Thanks,” he told her.

“Don’t mention it.” She turned away. “I mean that.”

When she reached for the doorknob on the kitchen door, his hand, its wrist unmarked, closed over it first. “We don’t know how you open doors either,” he said. “They’re so heavy and complicated.”

“Funny guy.” When they stepped out, his hand slid under to cup her elbow. The long, baleful look she sent him only brought on a shrug.

“It’s a little icy. I can’t help it. It’s very difficult to resist early childhood training.”

She let it go, and didn’t have the heart to jab at him when he walked her around the Rover and opened the passenger door for her.

It wasn’t much of a drive, but as she directed him she realized she was, indeed, grateful for the lift. Even in the hour she’d been inside, the temperature had dropped. The heater wouldn’t have time to kick in, but at least they were out of the open air—air that seemed cold enough to break.

“If you’re looking for more firewood, Jack Stubens sells it by the cord,” she told him.

“Stubens. Can you write that down?” Steering one-handed, he dug in his pocket. “Got any paper?”

“No.”

“Try the glove compartment.”

She opened it, and felt her jaw drop in shock. There were dozens of notes, countless pens, rubber bands, a half-empty bag of pretzels, three flashlights, a hunting knife, and several unidentified objects. She pulled one out that looked to be made up of red twine, various beads, and human hair.

“What’s this?”

He glanced over. “Gris-gris. It was a gift. No paper?”

She stared at him another moment, then put the charm back and pulled out one of the many scribbled notes. “Stubens,” she repeated, scrawling it on the scrap of paper. “Jack, over on Owl Haunt Lane.”

“Thanks.” He took the paper, stuffed it in his pocket.

“Turn here. It’s the two-story, wraparound porch.”

As the police cruiser was in the drive, he could’ve figured it out for himself. Lights were glowing cheerfully in the windows, and smoke puffed out of the chimney.

“Nice house.” He got out, and though she’d already hopped down before he could come around and open her door, he took her arm again.

“Look, Mac, it’s kind of cute and all that, but you don’t need to walk me to the door. This wasn’t a date.”

“It’s a compulsion. Besides, we had a meal, and conversation. And wine. So that’s several date elements.”

She stopped on the porch, turned. He’d pulled a ski cap on, and his dark blond hair escaped here and there. He couldn’t help but look at her intensely. “So, what, you want a kiss good night now?”

“Okay.”

The response was so cheerful, so harmlessly cheerful, she grinned. But only for an instant.

He had. . . moves. Smooth, unexpected, incredible moves.

It wasn’t fast, but it was so slick, so silky, she had no time to readjust. To think.

His arms came around her,
slid
her against him, body to body so that without any real pressure she was molded to him. He dipped her back, just the slightest bit, and somehow conjured the illusion that they were horizontal instead of vertical.

The intimacy of it jolted through her, sent her head on a dizzy spin even before his mouth took hers.

Soft. Warm. Deep. His lips didn’t brush or nibble, but simply absorbed. Now the dizziness was joined by a shimmering wave of heat that seemed to start in her toes and rise until it melted every bone.

A little sound—stunned pleasure—hummed in her throat. Her lips parted in welcome. Oh, more! It took two tries to lift her boneless arms and circle his neck.

Her knees buckled. It wouldn’t have surprised her to feel her body simply dissolve and slide in little liquid drops into a pool at his feet.

When he eased back, gently set her away, her vision was blurred, her mind blank.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he said.

“Uh.” She couldn’t quite remember how to form words.

He gave her hair a friendly tug. “Better get inside before you freeze.”

“Ah.” She gave up, turned blindly and walked into the door.

“Let me get that for you.” He spoke quietly, quite soberly, and turned the knob, nudged the door open. “Good night, Ripley.”

“Mmm.”

She stepped inside, then had no choice but to lean back against the door he closed until she got her bearings and her breath back.

Harmless? Had she actually thought he was harmless?

She managed to stagger a few steps, then lowered herself to the bottom tread of the staircase. She would just wait until her legs were back under her, she decided, before she tried to make it upstairs to her room.

* * *

January 8, 2002

9–10
P
.
M
.
EST

I’ll transcribe my notes and the tape from my initial interview with Ripley Todd shortly. I didn’t make as much progress with her as I’d hoped. However, there were two specific incidents that will be set down in more detail in my official log. My personal reaction, however, belongs here.

Ripley’s temperament and her protective attitude toward her sister-in-law, Nell Todd (data on Nell Todd cross-referenced under her name), can and will overpower her reluctance to discuss her gift. Or, as I learned tonight, to demonstrate that gift. It’s my impression that her warning to me when I mentioned Nell was instinctive, and the result was unplanned. Harming me was a by-product rather than a goal. The burns on my wrist, from visual examination, matched the grip and shape of her fingers. It wasn’t a flash burn, but more a steady increase in heat. As you might experience when turning up a flame.

Her physical changes during this phenomenon were a dilation of pupils, a flush under the skin.

Her anger turned inward immediately.

I believe this lack of control, and a fear of what she is capable of, are what cause her reluctance to discuss, and explore, the nature of her talents.

She’s an interesting woman, one obviously close to
her family. In all areas but this, I sense and observe a complete confidence, an ease of self.

She’s beautiful when she smiles.

He stopped, nearly crossed out his last observation. It wasn’t even accurate. She wasn’t beautiful—attractive, intriguing, but not beautiful.

Still, he reminded himself, the journal was for impressions. The thought that she was beautiful must have been in his mind for him to note it down. So it stayed.

The second incident occurred just before we left, and was, I have no doubt, more difficult for her. The fact that she would remove the burns, deliberately demonstrate her ability, indicates a strong sense of right and wrong. That, as with her instinct to protect who and what she loves, overcomes her need to block off her gift.

I hope, as time goes on, to discover what event or events influenced her to deny or abjure her powers.

I need to see her again, to verify my suppositions.

“Oh, hell,” he muttered. If he couldn’t be honest here, where?

I want to see her again, on a completely personal level. I’ve enjoyed being with her, even when she’s rude and insulting. It worries me, a bit, that I might enjoy being with her because she’s rude and insulting. Beyond that, there’s a strong sexual attraction. Unlike the sheer admiration for beauty I felt on first
meeting Mia Devlin—and the completely natural and human fantasy that resulted—this is more basic, and therefore, more compelling. I want, on one level, to carefully take this complex woman apart, piece by piece, and understand what she is. On the other, I just want to . . .

Nope, Mac decided, even a personal journal needed some censoring. He couldn’t write down just what he wanted to do with Ripley Todd.

I find myself wondering what it would be like to be her lover.

There, he thought, that was acceptable. No point in going into graphic detail.

I drove her home tonight, as the temperatures are hovering at zero Fahrenheit. The fact that she had walked here, and would have walked home under such conditions, demonstrates her stubbornness as well as her independence. She was, very obviously, amused at simple courtesies such as helping her with her coat, holding the door. Not insulted, but amused, which I found disarming.

I wouldn’t have kissed her if she hadn’t brought it up. I certainly had no intention of doing so at this early stage of our relationship. Her response was unexpected and. . . arousing. She’s a strong woman, body and mind, and to feel her going almost limp . . .

He had to stop, take a breath, guzzle some of the water he’d poured.

To feel the reaction of her body to mine, and the heat . . . Knowing the chemical and biological causes for the increase of body heat during such an event doesn’t diminish the wonder of the experience. I can still taste her—strong again, a strong and sharp flavor. And hear the kind of purr she made down in her throat. My legs went weak, and when her arms came around my neck, it was like being surrounded by her. Another minute—another instant, and I would have forgotten that we were standing on an open porch on a bitterly cold night.

But since I had—despite her teasing—initiated the embrace, it was my responsibility. At least I had the satisfaction of seeing her face, and the dazed, dreamy expression in her eyes. And of watching her walk straight into the door.

That was a good one.

Of course, I nearly ran off the road twice coming back to the cottage—and got lost, but that part isn’t atypical without the stimuli.

Yes, I want to see her again, on a number of levels. And I don’t expect to sleep particularly well tonight.

Five

N
ell iced the
last batch of cinnamon buns and bided her time. She had an hour before she needed to load up her car with the café stock. Today’s soup was porcini mushroom, and it was already sealed in the kettle. The three salad selections were prepared, the muffins baked. She’d finished the napoleons.

She’d been up and at it since five-thirty.

Diego, her sleek gray cat, was curled on one of the kitchen chairs, watching her. Lucy, the big black Lab, sprawled in a corner, watching Diego. They had come to terms—Diego’s terms—and lived together in an acceptable state of distrust and suspicion.

While her cookies baked, Nell kept the radio on low and waited.

When Ripley entered, bleary-eyed, wearing the sweatpants and football jersey she’d slept in, Nell simply held out a mug of coffee.

Ripley grunted, as close to a thank-you as she could manage before caffeine, and plopped into a chair.

“Too much snow for your morning run.”

Ripley grunted again. She never felt completely herself
without her three miles. But the coffee was helping. She sipped, idly patted Lucy’s head when the Lab came over to greet her.

She’d have to use the damn treadmill. Hated that. But she couldn’t go two days without a run. Zack was taking the first shift—where the hell was Zack?—so she could wait until midmorning before popping into the gym.

She didn’t want to run into Mac.

Not that he worried her or anything. She’d already reasoned out a number of very plausible excuses for her reaction to that good-night kiss.

She just didn’t want to deal with him, that was all there was to it.

Nell set a bowl in front of her. Ripley blinked at it. “What?”

“Oatmeal.”

Suspicious and far from enthusiastic, Ripley leaned over and sniffed. “What’s in it?”

“Nutrition.” Nell took a batch of cookies from the oven, slid in another tray. “Try it before you make icky faces.”

“Okay, okay.” She had been making icky faces behind Nell’s back. It was sort of lowering to be caught at it. She sampled, pursed her lips, took another spoonful. There didn’t seem to be anything Nell put together that didn’t go down well. “It’s good. My mother used to cook oatmeal in the winter, but it looked like gray glue. Tasted worse.”

“Your mother has other talents.” Nell poured herself a cup of coffee. She’d all but shoved Zack out of the house early so she could grab this time with Ripley. She didn’t intend to waste it. She sat. “So, how did it go?”

“What?”

“Your evening with Mac Booke.”

“It wasn’t an evening. It was an hour.”

Defensive, Nell thought. Cranky. Well, well. “How did your hour go?”

“It came and it went, which wraps up my obligation.”

“I was glad he drove you home.” At Ripley’s lifted brows, Nell blinked her baby blues innocently. “I heard the car.”

And had looked out the window. Had seen Mac walk Ripley to the door. There’d been quite the little time lag before he’d walked back to the car.

“Yeah, he was all ‘It’s too cold out. You’ll get frostbite and die before you get home.’ ” She shoved oatmeal into her mouth, then wagged her spoon. “Like I don’t know how to take care of myself. Guys like that burn me. He can’t even find his keys half the time, but I’m going to wander off and turn into a Popsicle. Please.”

“I’m glad he drove you home,” Nell repeated.

“Yeah, well.” Ripley sighed, toyed with her oatmeal by putting little crescent-shaped dents on it with the tip of her spoon. She decided it looked sort of like a moonscape.

If he hadn’t driven her home, she’d have been fine, but she’d have missed one whale of a kiss. Not that she was obsessing about it or anything.

“You wouldn’t recognize the cottage,” she went on. “It looks like the den of some mad scientist. All this electronic and computer junk shoved in there. No place to sit down except the kitchen. The guy’s totally wrapped up in his spook show. He’s even got some voodoo charm in his glove compartment. He knows about me,” she finished in a rush, and lifted her gaze to Nell’s.

“Oh.” Nell drew in a quiet breath. “Did you tell him?”

Ripley shook her head. Her insides jittered, infuriating her. “He just knew. Like I had a sign on my forehead, saying ‘Local Witch.’ It’s all real academic with him. ‘Well,
this is interesting, Deputy Todd, perhaps you could conjure something for me for the recorder.’ ”

“Did he ask you to do magic?”

“No.” Ripley rubbed her hands over her face. “No,” she said again. “But I . . . Damn it, he pissed me off, and I . . . I burned him.”

“Oh, my God.” Coffee sloshed at the rim as Nell set her cup down.

“I didn’t set him on fire or anything. I burned his wrist with my fingers.” She stared down at them now. Harmless, ordinary, maybe a little on the long side, with short, unpainted nails.

Nothing special.

Lethal.

“I didn’t think about it, not consciously. All the mad went to heat and the heat went to my fingers. I haven’t needed to think about it, to worry about it, in so long. The last few months . . .”

“Since you opened back up to help me,” Nell finished quietly. She rose at the buzz of the oven timer.

“I don’t regret that, Nell, not for an instant. It was my choice, and I’d do it again. It’s just that it’s been harder to lock everything down again. I don’t know why—”

Wouldn’t admit why, she thought, and ground that thought to dust. “It just is. I caused physical harm. I had to fix it, but that doesn’t make up for causing it.”

“How did he deal with it?”

“Like it was no big deal. Got me a glass of water, practically patted me on the head and went back to conversation like I’d done nothing more than spill some wine on the tablecloth. The man’s got
cajones
, I’ll give him that.”

Nell walked back, stroked Ripley’s hair as she might have stroked a child. “You’re too hard on yourself. I can’t
even count the mistakes I’ve made in the past few months, even with Mia guiding me step by step.”

“It’s not a good time to bring her name up.” Ripley leaned over again, began to eat as if the food would ease the clenching in her stomach. “If she hadn’t brought him here—”

“She didn’t bring him, Ripley.” The faint but unmistakable edge of impatience in Nell’s voice had Ripley hunching her shoulders. “And if she hadn’t rented him the cottage, he’d have found another, or stayed at the hotel. Did it ever occur to you that by renting him her cottage, by agreeing to talk to him, she controls the situation to an extent that she couldn’t otherwise?”

Ripley opened her mouth, shut it again. “No, it didn’t. It should have. She never misses a trick.”

“I’m going to talk to him, too.”

The spoon clattered into the bowl. “That’s just a bad idea. All-round bad idea.”

“I’ve thought about it. He’s promised Mia that he won’t use real names without permission. I’m interested in his work,” she continued, scooping cookies off the tray and onto the cooling rack. “I’d like to know more about it myself. I don’t have the same feelings for what I am as you do.”

“I can’t tell you what to do.” But Ripley would make certain Mac didn’t push too hard, or in the wrong direction. “How does Zack feel about it?”

“He’s left it up to me. He trusts me, respects me. That’s every bit as wonderful as knowing he loves me. I’m not worried about Dr. Booke.”

“He’s sneakier than he looks,” Ripley muttered. “He sort of lulls you into thinking he’s like this harmless puppy dog. But he’s not.”

“What is he?”

“Smart, slick. Oh, he’s got those puppy-dog qualities in there, and the combination throws you off. One minute he’s looking around with that lost look, wondering where he put his head last time he took it off. And the next . . .”

Nell sat again. “And the next?”

“He kissed me.”

Nell’s fingertips tapped together before she laced them. “Really?”

“It was supposed to be like a joke. Guy has to walk you to the door like you’re coming back from prom night. Then he just sort of . . .” She trailed off as she tried to mime the way his arms had slid around her. “And you know, reeled me in. Taking his time about it, and everything got blurry and hot. Then it was like being gulped down, slow.”

“Oh, my.”

“I didn’t have any bones left, so I was just, like, fused against him while he’s doing all these incredible things to my mouth.” She blew out a breath, sucked another in. “I’ve kissed a lot of men, and I’m damn good at it. But I couldn’t keep up.”

“Wow. Well.” Nell scooted her chair an inch closer. “What happened next?”

“I walked into the door.” Ripley cringed. “It was mortifying. I walked right into the door.
Blap.
And Dr. Romeo just politely opens it for me. It’s the first time a kiss ever made me feel like an idiot, and it’s going to be the last.”

“If you’re attracted to him—”

“He’s cute, he’s built, he’s sexy, of course I’m attracted to him.” Ripley gave a quick shake of her head. “But that’s not the issue. He shouldn’t have been able to dissolve my brain with one kiss. The problem is I haven’t been going out in a while. It’s been more than four months since I had, you know. . . .”

“Ripley.” Nell gave a quick laugh.

“I figure this was just like, I don’t know, spontaneous combustion or something. He’s got good moves, boom. Now that I know what’s up, I can handle it.”

Feeling better, she polished off the oatmeal. “I can handle him.”

Mac browsed the
bookstore, flipping pages, scanning covers. He’d already acquired and read material on Three Sisters, but there were a couple of books here he’d yet to come across.

He tucked them under his arm and continued to wander.

The store had a nice eclectic selection. He found a pretty volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s
Sonnets from the Portuguese
; the latest in a vampire hunter series he liked; two books on local sites, flora and fauna; and a handbook for solitary witches. And two other books on the paranormal to replace those he’d misplaced. . . somewhere.

Then there was a really cool Arthurian Tarot deck.

Not that he collected them or anything.

Never one to miss an opportunity to indulge in books, he took them all. They would, he thought, entertain him in his free time and give him the opening he wanted to talk to Lulu.

He carried the books to the checkout counter, offered his most innocent smile. “Terrific bookstore. You don’t expect to see this kind of selection in a small town.”

“Lots of things around here people don’t expect.” Lulu glared at him over the top of her glasses to let him know she’d yet to make up her mind about him. “Cash or charge?”

“Uh, charge.” He dug out his wallet, tilted his head to
see the title of the book she’d been reading.
Serial Killers: Their Hearts, Their Minds.
Oh, boy. “How’s the book?”

“Too much psychobabble, not enough blood. Intellectual types don’t cut much mustard.”

“A lot of intellectual types don’t get out in the world enough. Too much classroom, not enough fieldwork.” He leaned companionably on the counter, as if she were handing him roses instead of thorns. “Did you know one theory is Jack the Ripper had preternatural powers, and while his period in London was the first documented case of serial killing, he’d lived before, and killed before, in Rome, Gaul, Brittany.”

She continued to watch him over the top of her glasses as she rang up the books. “I don’t hold with that.”

“Me, either. But it makes a good story.
The Ripper—Murder Through Time.
The way I read it, he was the first to use the hornless goat—human sacrifice,” he explained when Lulu’s eyes narrowed—“in ritual magic. Black magic. Very black.”

“Is that what you’re looking for around here? Blood sacrifices?”

“No, ma’am. Wicca uses no blood sacrifice. The white witch harms none.”

“Lulu. Don’t call me ma’am.” She sniffed at him. “Pretty clever, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it irritates people.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree with me, pretty boy. I’m not a witch.”

“No, you just raised one. It must’ve been interesting watching Mia grow up. And Ripley.” He began to shuffle his purchases idly. “They’re about the same age, aren’t they?”