Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  He made do with the lemon drop and watched the island.

  He’d consulted with a shaman in Arizona, visited a man who claimed to be a vampire in the mountains of Hungary, been cursed by a brujo after a regrettable incident in Mexico. He’d lived among ghosts in a cottage in Cornwall and had documented the rights and rituals of a necromancer in Romania.

  For nearly twelve years, MacAllister Booke had studied, recorded, witnessed the impossible. He’d interviewed witches, ghosts, lycanthropes, alien abductees, and psychics. Ninety-eight percent of them were delusional or con artists. But the remaining two percent . . . well, that kept him going.

  He didn’t just believe in the extraordinary. He’d made it his life’s work.

  The idea of spending the next few months on a chunk of land that legend claimed had been torn from the mainland of Massachusetts by a trio of witches and settled as a sanctuary was fascinating to him.

  He’d researched Three Sisters Island extensively and had dug up every scrap of information he could find on Mia Devlin, the current island witch. She hadn’t promised him interviews, or access to any of her work. But he hoped to persuade her.

  A man who had talked himself into a ceremony held by neo-Druids should be able to convince a solitary witch to let him watch her work a few spells.

  Besides, he imagined they could make a trade. He had something he was sure would interest her, and anyone else who was tied into the three-hundred-year-old curse.

  He lifted his camera again, adjusting the framing to capture the spear of the white lighthouse, the brooding ramble of the old stone house, both clinging to the high cliffs. He knew Mia lived there, high above the village, close to the thick slice of forest.

  Just as he knew she owned the village bookstore and ran it successfully. A practical witch who, by all appearances, knew how to live, and live well, in both worlds.

  He could hardly wait to meet her face-to-face.

  The blast of the horn warned him to prepare for docking. He walked back to his Land Rover, put his camera in its case on the passenger seat.

  The lens cap in his pocket was, once again, forgotten.

  While he had these last few minutes to himself, he updated some notes, then added to the day’s journal entry.

  The ferry ride was pleasant. The day’s clear and cold. I was able to take a number of pictures from different vantage points, though I’ll need to rent a boat for views of the windward side of the island.

  Geographically, topographically, there’s nothing unusual about Three Sisters Island. Its area is approximately nine square miles, and its year-round inhabitants—largely in the fishing or the retail and tourist trade—number less than three thousand. It has a small sand beach, numerous inlets, coves, and shale beaches. It is partially forested, and the indigenous fauna include whitetail deer, rabbit, raccoon. Typical seabirds for this area. As well as owls, hawks, and pileated woodpecker in the forested regions.

  There is one village. The majority of the residents live in the village proper or within a half-mile radius, though there are some houses and rental units farther afield.

  There is nothing about the island’s appearance that would indicate it is a source of paranormal activity. But I’ve found that appearances are unreliable documentary tools.

  I’m eager to meet Mia Devlin and begin my study.

  He felt the slight bump of the ferry’s docking, but didn’t look up.

  Docked, Three Sisters Island, January 6, 2002. Glanced at his watch. 12:03 P.M. EST.

  The village streets were storybook tidy, the traffic light. Mac drove through, circled, logging various spots on his tape recorder. He could find an ancient Mayan ruin in the jungle with a map scribbled on a crushed napkin, but he had a habit of forgetting more pedestrian locations. Bank, post office, market. Ah, pizzeria, hot damn!

  He found a parking place without trouble only a stop down from Café Book. He liked the look of the place immediately—the display window, the view of the sea. He fished around for his briefcase, tossed the mini-recorder inside, just in case, and climbed out.

  He liked the look of the store even more on the inside. The cheerful fire in a stone hearth, the big checkout counter carved with moons and stars. Seventeenth century, he decided, and suitable for a museum. Mia Devlin had taste as well as talent.

  He started to cross to it and the little gnomelike woman sitting on a high stool behind it. A movement, a flash of color caught his attention. Mia stepped out of the stacks and smiled.

  “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”

  His first clear thought was, Wow.

  “I’m, ah, hmm. I’m looking for Ms. Devlin. Mia Devlin.”

  “And you’ve found her.” She walked toward him, held out a hand. “MacAllister Booke?”

  “Yeah.” Her hand was long and narrow. Rings sparkled on it like jewels on white silk. He was afraid to squeeze too hard.

  “Welcome to Three Sisters. Why don’t you come upstairs? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, or perhaps some lunch. We’re very proud of our café.”

  “Ah . . . I wouldn’t mind some lunch. I’ve heard good things about your café.”

  “Perfect. I hope your trip in was uneventful.”

  Up till now, he thought. “It was fine, thanks.” He followed her up the stairs. “I like your store.”

  “So do I. I hope you’ll make use of it during your stay on the island. This is my friend, and the artist of our café, Nell Todd. Nell, Dr. Booke.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  She showed her dimples and leaned over the counter to shake his hand.

  “Dr. Booke has just arrived from the mainland, and I imagine he could use some lunch. On the house, Dr. Booke. Just tell Nell what you’d like.”

  “I’ll take the sandwich special, and a large cappuccino, thanks. Do you do the baking, too?”

  “That’s right. I recommend the apple brown Betty today.”

  “I’ll try it.”

  “Mia?” Nell asked.

  “Just a cup of the soup and the jasmine tea.”

  “Coming up. I’ll bring your orders out.”

  “I can see I’m not going to have to worry about my next meal while I’m here,” Mac commented as they took a window table.

  “Nell also owns and runs Sisters Catering. She delivers.”

  “Good to know.” He blinked twice, but her face—the sheer glory of it—didn’t dim. “Okay, I just have to get this out, and I hope you’re not offended. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life.”

  “Thank you.” She sat back. “And I’m not the least bit offended.”

  “Good. I don’t want things to start off on the wrong foot, since I’m hoping to work with you.”

  “And as I explained over the phone, I don’t . . . work for audiences.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll change your mind after you get to know me better.”

  He had a potent smile, she decided. Charmingly crooked, deceptively harmless. “We’ll see about that. As for your interest in the island itself, and its history, you won’t lack for data. The majority of the permanent residents here are from families who’ve lived on Sisters for generations.”

  “Todd, for instance,” he said, glancing back toward the counter.

  “Nell married a Todd, just a little under two weeks ago, in fact. Zachariah Todd, our sheriff. While she’s . . . new to the island, the Todds have, indeed, lived here for generations.”

  He knew who Nell was. The former wife of Evan Remington. A man who had once wielded considerable power and influence in the entertainment industry. A man who had been found to be a violent abuser. And who was now deemed legally insane and under lock and key.

  It had been Sheriff Todd who’d arrested him, right here on Sisters Island, after what were reputed to be strange events on Halloween night.

  The Sabbat of Samhain.

  It was something Mac intended to explore in more depth.

  Even as he started to bring it up, something in Mia�
��s expression warned him to bide his time there.

  “Looks great. Thanks,” he said instead to Nell as she served their lunch.

  “Enjoy. Mia, is tonight still good for you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’ll come up about seven, then. Let me know if you need anything else, Dr. Booke.”

  “Nell’s just back from her honeymoon,” Mia said in a quiet voice when she was alone with him again. “I don’t think questions about certain areas of her life are appropriate just now.”

  “All right.”

  “Are you always so cooperative, Dr. Booke?”

  “Mac. Probably not. But I don’t want to make you mad right off the bat.” He bit into his sandwich. “Good,” he managed. “Really good.”

  She leaned forward, toyed with her soup. “Lulling the natives into complacency?”

  “You’re really good, too. Do you have psychic abilities?”

  “Don’t we all, on some level? Didn’t one of your papers explore the development of what you called the neglected sixth sense?”

  “You’ve read my work.”

  “I have. What I am, Mac, isn’t something I neglect. Neither is it something I exploit or allow to be exploited. I agreed to rent you the cottage, and to talk with you when the mood strikes me, because of one simple thing.”

  “Okay. What?”

  “You have a brilliant and, more important, a flexible mind. I admire that. As far as trusting that, time will tell.” She glanced over and gestured. “And here comes a bright enough, and very inflexible, mind. Deputy Ripley Todd.”

  Mac looked over, saw the attractive brunette stride on long legs to the café counter, lean on it, chat with Nell. “Ripley’s another common surname on the island.”

  “Yes, she’s Zack’s sister. Their mother was a Ripley. They have long ties, on both sides of their family, to the Sisters. Very long ties,” Mia repeated. “If you’re looking for a cynic to weigh in on your research, Ripley’s your girl.”

  Unable to resist, Mia caught Ripley’s attention and motioned her over.

  Ordinarily Ripley would merely have sneered and walked in the opposite direction. But a strange face on the island usually bore checking out.

  A good-looking guy, she thought as she strolled over. In a bookish kind of way. As soon as the thought hit, her brows drew together. Bookish. Mia’s doctor of freakology.

  “Dr. MacAllister Booke, Deputy Ripley Todd.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He got to his feet, surprising Ripley with his length as he unfolded himself from the chair. Most of his height, she judged, was leg.

  “I didn’t know they gave out degrees for the study of crapola.”

  “Isn’t she adorable?” Mia beamed. “I was just telling Mac that he should interview you for your narrow, closed mind. After all, it wouldn’t take much time.”

  “Yawn.” Ripley hooked her thumbs in her pockets and studied Mac’s face. “I don’t think I’d have much to say that you’d want to hear. Mia’s the goddess of woo-woo stuff around here. You have any questions about the practicalities of day-to-day life on the island, you can usually find me or the sheriff around.”

  “Appreciate it. Oh, I’ve only got a master’s in crapola. Haven’t finished my thesis on that one yet.”

  Her lips twitched. “Cute. That your Rover out front?”

  “Yes.” Had he left the keys in it again? he wondered, already patting pockets. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. Nice ride. I’m going to grab some lunch.”

  “She isn’t abrasive and annoying on purpose,” Mia said when Ripley walked away. “She was born that way.”

  “It’s okay.” He sat again, picked up his meal where he’d left off. “I get a lot of that kind of thing.” He nodded at Mia. “I imagine you do, too.”

  “Now and then. You’re awfully well adjusted and affable, aren’t you, Dr. MacAllister Booke?”

  “Afraid so. It’s pretty boring.”

  “I don’t think so.” Mia picked up her tea, studied him over the rim. “No, I don’t think so at all.”

  Mac left his things in the Rover and did a solo walk-through of the yellow cottage. He’d assured Mia he didn’t need her to come along. The fact was, he wanted to get a feel of the place without her. She had a strong and distracting presence.

  It was small, charmingly quaint, and heads above the majority of accommodations he usually had on a research jaunt. He knew a lot of people thought he was a man more suited to a dark and dusty library. He often was, but he was just as much at home in a tent in the jungle, so long as he had enough battery power for his equipment.

  The living room here was small and cozy, with a sofa that looked comfortably broken in and a little fireplace already set for lighting. He decided to take care of that first and patted his pockets absently before he saw the box of wooden matches on the narrow mantel.

  Grateful for small favors, he got the fire going and continued on his tour. Because he talked to himself habitually, his voice echoed a bit.

  “Two bedrooms. That one’ll do for a sub-office. I think I’m going to set up primarily in the living room. Kitchen’ll do if I get desperate enough to cook. Nell Todd.”

  He dug in his pockets again, came up with the business card for Sisters Catering that he’d taken from the café counter. He laid it in the middle of the stove where he would see it if he thought about cooking.

  He looked out the windows, appreciating the woods that tucked in close and the lack of other houses. He often worked odd hours. Here he didn’t have any neighbors close enough to complain.

  He tossed the single bag he’d brought in with him on the bed in the larger of the two bedrooms, dropped his butt on the bed to give it a test bounce.

  The image of Mia drifted into his mind. “Down, boy,” he warned himself. “No carnal thoughts about a woman who might be able to pluck them out of your head, and who’s also your primary research target.”

  Satisfied with his living arrangements, he headed outside to unload the Rover.

  On his second trip he stopped to watch the sheriff’s cruiser pull up, and Ripley climb out.

  “Deputy Todd.”

  “Dr. Booke.” She was feeling vaguely guilty about giving him a hard time on their first encounter. Which she wouldn’t have felt, she thought resentfully, if Nell hadn’t scolded her about it. “You’ve got a lot of stuff here.”

  “Oh, this is only part of it. I’ve got more being sent in tomorrow.”

  Nosy by nature, she looked in the back of the Rover. “More than this?”

  “Yeah. Lots of neat stuff.”

  She turned her head. “Neat?”

  “Lots of it. Sensors, scanners, and gauges and cameras and computers. Cool toys.”

  He looked so pleased with the idea that she didn’t have the heart to smirk. “I’ll give you a hand hauling what you’ve got inside.”

  “That’s okay. Some of it’s pretty heavy.”

  Now she did smirk, and hefted a large box out of the back. “I can handle it.”

  No question about that, he decided and led the way inside. “Thanks. You work out? What do you bench-press?”

  Her brows lifted. “I do twelve reps of ninety pounds in a set.” She couldn’t get a good gauge of his body type in the long coat and the thick sweater under it. “You?”

  “Oh, about the same, considering body weight.” He walked out again, leaving her following and trying to get a sense of his shoulders. And his ass.

  “What do you do with all this . . . neat stuff?”

  “Study, observe, record, document. The occult, the paranormal, the arcane. You know, the different.”

  “Freak shows.”

  He only smiled. Not just his mouth, she noted, but his eyes as well. “Some people think so.”

  They hauled the rest of the boxes and bags in together.

  “It’s going to take you a week to unpack.”

  He scratched his head, scanned the piles now crowding the living space. “I
never mean to bring so much, but then, you never know what you might need. I was just in Borneo and could’ve kicked myself for not packing my backup energy detector—like a motion detector, but not,” he explained. “You just can’t find one of those on Borneo.”

  “I bet.”

  “I’ll show you.” He shrugged out of his coat, tossed it carelessly aside before hunkering down to paw through a box.

  Surprise, surprise, Ripley thought. Dr. Weird had one excellent butt.

  “See, this one’s handheld. Completely portable. I designed it myself.”

  It put her in mind of a little Geiger counter, though she didn’t think she’d ever seen an actual Geiger counter.

  “It detects and measures positive and negative force,” he explained. “Simply put, it reacts to charged particles in the air, or in a solid object, even water. Except this one isn’t submersible. I’m working on one that will be. I can hook this up, when I need to, to my computer and generate a graphic printout of the size and density of the force and other pertinent data.”

  “Uh-huh.” She gave a quick glance at his face. He looked so earnest, she thought, so pleased with his little handheld gadget. “You’re really a total geek, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.” He flipped his unit on to check the batteries. “I’ve always been into the paranormal and electronics. I found a way to indulge myself on both levels.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” But she scanned the piles of boxed equipment. It looked like Radio Shack had exploded. “All this high-tech junk. Lots of dough, I bet.”

  “Mmm.” He wasn’t giving her his full attention. His activated sensor was giving off a low but definite reading.

  “Do they give you grants for stuff like this?”

  “Umm, maybe, but I never needed one. I’m a really rich geek.”

  “No kidding? Don’t let Mia know or she’ll jack up the rent.” Curious, she wound her way through the boxes. She’d always liked the little cottage well enough, and was still a bit steamed that she wasn’t the one moving in. But things with MacAllister Booke weren’t adding up for her.