“A reminder.” He bit off the words. “To be more cautious.”
“No, you don’t. Think like a scientist. The way you were when we started this. You’re supposed to be objective, right?”
“Fuck objectivity.”
“Come on, Mac. We can’t just toss the results out the window. Tell me. I’m interested.” When he frowned at her, she sighed. “It’s not just your deal now. I have a pretty personal interest in what went on here.”
She was right. Because she was right, he dug down for calm. “How much do you remember?”
“All of it, I think. For a minute I was eight years old. It was kind of cool.”
“You started to regress, on your own.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. Clear the brain, he ordered himself. Bag the emotion. And give her some answers.
“Maybe the game was the trigger,” he considered. “If you want a quick analysis, I’d say you went back to a time when you weren’t conflicted. Subconsciously you needed to go back to a time when things were simpler and you didn’t question yourself. You used to enjoy your gift.”
“Yeah. And for a while, the Craft—the learning, the refining, I guess you’d say.” Restless now, she moved her shoulders. “And then you get a little older and you start thinking about the weight. The consequences.”
He laid a hand on her cheek. “This, all of this, troubles you.”
“Well, things aren’t simple now, are they? They haven’t been for me for ten years.”
He said nothing, watching her patiently. Words trembled on her tongue, then began to spill out in a flood. “I could see, in dreams, how it might be if I took a step too far. If I didn’t strap it in, wasn’t careful enough. And sometimes, in those dreams, it felt good. Amazingly good to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Screw the rules.”
“But you never did,” he said quietly. “Instead you just stopped it all.”
“When Sam Logan left Mia, she was a wreck. I kept thinking, why the hell doesn’t shedo something about it? Make him pay, the son of a bitch. Make him suffer the way she’s suffering. And I thought of what I’d do. What I could do. Nobody would hurt me that way, because if they tried . . .”
She shuddered. “I imagined it, and almost before I realized, a bolt of light shot out of the sky. A black bolt of light, barbed like an arrow. I sank Zack’s boat,” she said with a weak smile. “Nobody was in it, but they could have been. He could have been, and I wouldn’t have been able to stop it. No control, just anger.”
He laid a hand on her leg, rubbed. “How old were you?”
“Not quite twenty. But that doesn’t matter,” she said fiercely. “You know that doesn’t matter. ‘And it harm none.’ That’s vital, and I couldn’t be sure I could keep that pledge. God, he’d been in that damn boat not twenty minutes before it happened. I wasn’t thinking of him, wasn’t concerned about him or anyone. I was just mad.”
“So you denied yourself your gift, and your friend.”
“I had to. There was no one without the other in this. They’re too twined together. She would never have understood or accepted, and damn it, she’d never have stopped nagging at me. Plus, I was pissed at her because . . .”
She knuckled a tear away and said aloud what she’d refused to admit even to herself. “I felt her pain like it was my own, physically felt it. Her grief, her despair. Her desperate love for him. And I couldn’t stand it. We were too close, and I couldn’t breathe.”
“It’s been as hard on you as it has on her. Maybe harder.”
“I guess. I’ve never told anybody any of this. I’d appreciate it if we kept it between us.”
He nodded, and when his lips brushed hers they were warm. “You’ll have to talk to Mia sooner or later.”
“I choose later.” She sniffled again, rubbed her face briskly. “Let’s move on, okay? Or I guess it’s back. You got your readings, you got your tape,” she said, nodding at his equipment. “I didn’t think you’d be able to put me under. I keep underestimating you. It was relaxing, even pleasant.” She pushed back her heavy hair. “And then . . .”
“What then?” he prompted. He didn’t have to check his machines to know her heart rate and respiration were spiking.
“It was like something was trying to get it. Claw its way in. Something crouched and waiting. Boy, that sounds dramatic.” And though she laughed at herself, she drew her knees up protectively. “Not her. It wasn’t her. It was something . . . else.”
“It hurt you.”
“No, but it wanted to. Then I was sliding underwater, and she was the surface. I can’t explain it any other way.”
“That’s good enough.”
“I don’t see what’s good about it. I couldn’t control it. Like I couldn’t control what happened to Zack’s boat. Couldn’t control what I started with the lights tonight. Even though she was inside me, some part of her, it didn’t seem as if she could control it either. Like the power was caught somewhere between. Up for grabs.” She shivered and felt her skin grow icy. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Okay, we’ll stop.” He took her hands, soothed. “I’m going to put everything away.”
Though she nodded, she knew he didn’t understand her. She didn’t want any of it any longer. But she was afraid, deeply afraid, that she wasn’t going to be given the choice.
Something was coming, she thought. For her.
He tucked herin like a baby, and she let him. When he drew her close to comfort her in the dark, she pretended to sleep. He stroked her hair, and she felt the beginning of tears.
If she was normal, if she was ordinary, her life could be like this, she thought bitterly. She could be held close in the dark by the man she loved.
A simple thing. Everything.
If she’d never met him, she’d have been content to go on as she was. Enjoying a man now and then when he caught her fancy and her interest. Whether or not she would have embraced her powers again she couldn’t be sure. But her heart would have remained her own.
Once you gave your heart, you risked more than self. You risked the one who held it.
How could she?
Weary of the worry, she breathed him in, and gave herself to sleep.
The storm wasback, cold and bitter. It drove the sea into a frenzy of sound and fury. Lightning blasted over the sky, shattering it like glass.
Black rain gushed from the shards to be hurled like frozen barbs by the wicked wind.
The storm was feral. And she ruled it.
Power fueled her, pumping through muscle and bone with such gloriousstrength. Here was an energy beyond anything she’d known before, had believed possible.
And with this force at her fingertips, she would have vengeance.
No, no. Justice. It wasn’t vengeance to seek punishment for wrongs. Todemand it. To mete it out with a clear mind.
But her mind wasn’t clear. Even in the throes of her hunger, she knew it. And feared it.
She was damning herself.
She looked down at the man who cowered at her feet. What was power if it couldn’t be used to right wrongs, to stop evil, to punish the wicked?
“If you do this, it ends in violence. In hopelessness.”
Her grief-stricken sisters stood in the circle, and she without.
“I have the right!”
“No one does. Do this, and you rip out the heart of the gift. The soul of what you are.”
She was already lost. “I can’t stop it.”
“You can. Only you can. Come, stand with us. It’s he who will destroy you.”
She looked down and saw the face of the man change, features over features that slid from terror, to glee, to plea, to hunger.
“No. He ends here.”
She threw up a hand. Lightning exploded, arrowed down to her fingertips. And became a silver sword. “With what is mine I take your life. To right the wrong and end the strife. For justice I set my fury free, and take the path of destiny. From this place and from this hour
. . .” Thrilled, darkly thrilled, she lifted the sword high as he screamed. “I will taste the ripe fruit of power. Blood for blood I now decree. As I will, so mote it be.”
She brought the sword down in one vicious swipe. He smiled as its tip sliced flesh. And he vanished.
The night screamed, the earth trembled. And through the storm, the one she loved came running.
“Stay back!” she shouted. “Stay away!”
But he fought his way through the gale, reaching for her. From the tip of her sword, lightning erupted, and arrowed into his heart.
“Ripley, come on,honey. Wake up now. It’s a bad dream.”
She was sobbing with it, and the wrenching grief in the sound worried him more than the trembling.
“I couldn’t stop it. I killed him. I couldn’t make it stop.”
“It’s over now.” He fumbled for the bedside lamp, but couldn’t find the switch. Instead he simply sat up with her, cuddled her, rocked. “It’s all over now. You’re okay. Wake up.” He kissed her damp cheeks, her forehead.
Her arms banded around him like steel. “Mac.”
“That’s right. I’m here. You had a nightmare. Do you want me to turn on the light, get you some water?”
“No, just . . . no. Hold on to me a minute, okay?”
“Absolutely.”
Not a nightmare, she thought as she let herself cling to him. But a vision, a blend of what had been and what would be. She’d recognized the face—the faces—of the man on the beach. One she had seen in other dreams. He’d died three centuries before. Cursed by the one called Earth.
Another she had first seen in the woods by the yellow cottage. When he’d held a knife to Nell’s throat.
And the third she had seen in the café, reading a newspaper and eating soup.
Three parts of one whole? Three steps in one fate? God! How was she to know?
She had killed them. In the end she’d seen herself standing in the storm, with her sword in her hand. She’d killed because she could, because the need had been so huge.
And the payment horribly dear.
It had been Mac she’d seen running through the storm. Mac who’d been struck down, because she couldn’t control what was inside her.
“I won’t let it happen,” she whispered. “I won’t.”
“Tell me. Tell me about the dream. It’ll help.”
“No. This will.” She lifted her mouth to his, poured herself into the kiss. “Touch me. God. Make love with me. I need to be with you.” Fresh tears spilled as she melted against him. “I need you.”
To comfort, to fill, to want. She would take this, and give it. This last time. All that might have been, all that she had let herself wish, would gather together and stream into this perfect act of love.
She could see him in the dark. Every feature, every line, every plane was etched on mind and heart. How could she have fallen so deeply, so hopelessly in love?
She’d never believed herself capable of it, never wanted it. Yet here it was, aching inside her. He was the beginning and the end for her, and she had no words to tell him.
He needed none.
He tumbled into her, the yield and demand. There was a tenderness here, a depth to it that neither had explored before. Swamped by it, he murmured her name. He wanted to give her everything. Heart, mind, body. To warm her with his hands and mouth. To hold her safe forever.
She rose to him, drew him down. Met his sigh with her own. Love was like a feast, and each supped slowly.
A gentle caress, a melting of lips. A quiet need that stirred souls.
She opened, and he filled. Warmth enclosed in warmth. They moved together in the seamless dark, beat for sustained beat, while pleasure bloomed and ripened.
His lips brushed at her tears, and the taste of them was lovely. In the dark, his hands found hers, linked.
“You’re all there is.”
She heard him say it, tenderly. And as the wave rose to sweep them both, it was soft as silk.
In the dark, she slept away the rest of the night in his arms. Without dreams.
Morning had tocome. She was prepared for it. There were steps to be taken, and she would take them without hesitation and, she promised herself, without regret.
She slipped out of the house early. She took one last glance at Mac, how he looked sleeping peacefully in her bed. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what might have been.
Then she closed the door and didn’t look back.
She could hear Nell, already up and singing in the kitchen, and knew her brother would be up and starting the day soon. She needed to get a jump on it.
She left by the front door, heading for the village and the station house at a brisk jog.
The wind and rain had died in the night. Under clear skies, the air had turned bitter again.
She could hear the pounding of the sea. The surf would still be high and wild, and the beach littered with whatever the water had cast out.
But there would be no long, freeing run for her that morning.
The village was as still as a painting, captured under a crystalline coating of ice. She imagined it waking, yawning, stretching, and cracking that thin sheath like an eggshell.
Determined that her home, and everyone on it, would wake safe, she unlocked the door of the station house.
It was chilly inside and warned her they were running on emergency power. Lost power during the night, and the generator kicked on. She imagined that she and Zack would be busy later, dealing with any of the residents who didn’t have backup power.
But that was later.
With a check of the time, she booted up the computer. She could run it off the battery long enough to get what she needed.
Jonathan Q. Harding. She rolled her shoulders and began her search.
The basic police work steadied her. It was routine, it was second nature. Her stop at the hotel had garnered her his home address—or the address he’d given, she reminded herself.
Now, she would see just who the hell he was. And with that, begin to piece together the puzzle of what part he played in her personal drama.
She scanned the data as it scrolled on-screen. Harding, Jonathan Quincy. Age forty-eight. Divorced. No children. Los Angeles.
“L.A.,” she repeated, and felt the little quiver she’d experienced when she’d gotten his city of residence from the hotel registration.
Evan Remington was from Los Angeles. So were a lot of other people, she reminded herself, as she had the day before. But there wasn’t as much conviction in it this time around.
She read his employment information. A magazine writer. Reporter. Son of a bitch.
“Looking for a hot story, Harding? Well, it’s not going to happen. You just try getting through me to Nell and . . .”
She broke off, blew out a breath, and deliberately, consciously, tamped down on the instinctive anger.
There had been other reporters, she reminded herself. Gawkers, parasites, and the curious. They’d handled it without any real trouble. They would handle this one the same way.
She went back to the data, noting that Harding had no criminal record. Not even an outstanding parking violation. So he was, by all appearances, a law-abiding sort.
She sat back, considered.
If she were a reporter from L.A. looking for a story, where would she start? Remington’s family was a good bet. His sister, then some friends, some associates. Research the key players, who included Nell. From there? Police reports, probably. Interviews with people who had known both Remington and Nell.
But that was all background, wasn’t it? You couldn’t get to the meat until you’d talked directly to the main characters.
She snatched up the phone, intending to contact the facility where Remington was being held. And heard the line crackle and die. First the power, she thought, now the phones. Muttering complaints, she yanked out her cell phone, hit Power. And ground her teeth when the display announced that her battery was dead.
/>
“Damn it. Goddamn it!” Pushing herself out of the chair, she paced. There was an urgency in her now. Whether it was the cop, the woman, or the witch pushing didn’t seem to matter. Shehad to know if Harding had met with Remington.
“All right, then.” She steadied herself again. It was imperative to stay calm and controlled.
It had been a long time since she’d attempted a flight. She had no tools with her to help focus her energy. And though she wished, just once, for Mia, she accepted that in this she was on her own.
Struggling not to rush, she cast the circle, and in its center cleared her mind, and opened.
“I call to all who hold the power, unto me your help endower. Rise up the wind to aid my flight, open your eyes to aid my sight. My body remains, but my spirit flies free. As I will, so mote it be.”
It was like a drawing up, a tingling that flowed gently through the body. Then a lifting out of what she was from the shell that held it.
She glanced down at her own form—the Ripley who stood, head lifted, eyes closed, in the circle.
Knowing the risks of lingering, of becoming too charmed by the sensation of flight, she centered her thoughts on her target. And let herself soar.
The stream of the wind, the sea beneath. There was such joy in it—and that, she knew, was a dangerous seduction. Before she could be lulled into the glorious silence and motion, she let sounds fill her head.
Voices humming—the thoughts and the speech of an entire city were alive within her. Worries, joys, tempers, passions mixed together in such a wonderfully human music.
As she traveled, sliding downward, she separated them and found what she needed.
“There was no change overnight.” One nurse handed a chart to another. Their thoughts sent up a mild interference.
Complaints, fatigue, a remembered fight with a spouse, and one gnawing desire for ice cream.
“Well, he’s less trouble in a coma. Strange, though, the way he dropped just a couple of hours after that reporter left. He’d been alert, stable, responsive for days, then this complete turnaround.”
As the nurses moved down the corridor, one of them shivered slightly as Ripley passed.
“Wow. Got a chill.”
She moved through the closed door and into the room where Remington lay. Machines monitored his vital signs, cameras watched him.
Ripley hovered, studying him. Comatose, restrained, behind lock and key. What harm could he do now?
Even as she thought it, his eyes opened and grinned into hers.
She felt a stab in the heart, the pain unbelievably sharp and completely real. The power in her, around her, wavered. And she felt herself falling.
His thoughts beat at her mind. Bloody, vicious fists that spoke of vengeance, death, destruction. They pinched at her, greedy fingers that were somehow, hideously, arousing. Tempting her to surrender.