Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  “We cast it out,” Mia said.

  They laid out a circle of salt and silver. Inside it Harding spat and howled like an animal, and his curses grew more foul, his threats more hideous.

  Faces shivered across his face, as if the bones knit and re-knit themselves.

  Thunder rolled across the sky in waves as wild as the surf. The wind cried piercingly.

  Harding’s pupils rolled as they ringed him and clasped hands.

  “We cast you out, dark into dark, from here till ever, you bear our mark.” Mia focused. A small white pentagram scored Harding’s cheek.

  He howled like a wolf.

  “Into the void and into the night,” Nell continued. “Out of this soul and beyond the light.”

  “Helen, I love you. You’re my wife, my world,” he said in Evan’s voice. “Have pity.”

  It was pity she felt. But the single tear that slipped down Nell’s cheek was all she could give.

  “In this place and in this hour,” Ripley chanted. “We cast you out and scorn your power. We are joined, we are the Three. As we will, so mote it be.”

  “We cast you out,” Mia repeated, and each who clasped hands repeated, one by one until the words overlapped into a single voice.

  The force of it came like a gale, cold and fetid. It swirled up, a black funnel, then spewed into the air. And into the sea.

  On the sand Harding, his face gray but unmarked, groaned.

  “He needs tending,” Nell said.

  “Go ahead and take care of him, then.” Ripley stepped back. Immediately the strength went out of her legs and she buckled.

  “Okay, baby. Okay.” Mac caught her, lowering her gently to her knees. “Catch your breath, clear your head.”

  “I’m all right. Just a bit wobbly.” She managed to lift her head, look at her brother. “Guess you won’t have to lock me up for homicide.”

  “Guess not.” He knelt as well, took her face in his hands. “Scared me, Rip.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. “We’re going to be busy tomorrow. Storm damage.”

  “We’ll handle it. Todds take care of the Sisters.”

  “Damn right.” She breathed in, breathed out, and felt free. “You ought to give Nell a hand with Harding. Poor sap. I’m okay.”

  “You always were.” He kissed both her cheeks, held on for another minute. Then looked at Mac as he got to his feet. “Make sure she stays that way.”

  She drew in another breath. “Give me a minute, will you?” she asked Mac.

  “I can probably spare two, but not much more.”

  “Okay,” she agreed as he helped her up.

  Her knees were jelly, but she willed them to hold her, steadied herself, and turned toward Mia. Then she forgot the weakness, the shock, even the echoes of power. Mia stood, smiling just a little, one hand on Lucy’s head. The dog’s tail was wagging like a madcap metronome.

  “Lucy!” In one leap she had her face buried in the dog’s fur. “I thought she was gone. I saw . . .” She jerked back and began stroking at Lucy, searching for the wound.

  “It wasn’t real,” Mia said quietly. “His sword was only an illusion, a trick of violence to test you. He used it to push you to repeat the sin. He didn’t want your death—not yet. He wanted your soul, and your power.”

  Ripley squeezed Lucy one last time, then straightened and turned to Mia. “Well, he lost, didn’t he?”

  “So he did.”

  “Did you know, all along?”

  “Pieces.” Mia shook her head. “Not enough to be sure, just enough to doubt and worry.” She held out a hand as Nell crossed to them. “In my heart, I knew you wouldn’t fail. But in my head, I wasn’t sure. You’ve always been a difficult puzzle for me.”

  “I might have done it. I was mad enough, frightened enough. But I felt both of you, inside. I never wanted this,” she said in a furious whisper. “You know I never wanted this.”

  “Life’s tough,” Mia said with a shrug. “You play the cards you’re dealt or you fold.”

  “I knew you’d win.” Nell took her injured hand, gently uncurled the fingers. “You need to see to this.”

  “I will. It’s not bad.” She pressed her lips together. “I want the scar,” she said. “I need it.”

  “Then . . .” Slowly, Nell curled Ripley’s fingers into a loose fist. “Zack and I are going to take Mr. Harding back to the house for now. He needs a hot meal. He’s shaken up, confused, but all in all”—she glanced back to where Zack had Harding on his feet—“amazingly unharmed. He remembers little.”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” Ripley demanded. “All right, let’s go back, clean the rest of this up.” She tilted her head up to the sky, saw the clouds dissolving, and the halo of the moon glowing pure and white. “Storm’s passing,” she murmured.

  Mia nodded. “For now.”

  Ripley opened her mouth, looked toward Harding again. “Maybe the guys could take Harding back, give us another minute here.”

  “All right. I’ll tell Zack.”

  The wind had gentled to a breeze, and the breeze smelled of night and of water. Ripley waited until the men, and the cheerful dog, turned toward home.

  With Mia and Nell she closed the circle they had cast. She took her ritual sword—that had been real enough—and cleansed it. The surf foamed up, tame now and lovely, and dampened her boots.

  “When I lifted the sword,” she began, knowing her friends were beside her, “I wanted blood. Like a craving. Bringing it down seemed to take hours.” She shifted her feet. “I’m not big on this vision crap. That’s your deal, Mia. Usually. But I saw images. I saw Mac, Mac and me. My parents, my brother. I saw the three of us in the forest the way we were last fall. I saw Nell. You had a baby in your arms.”

  “A baby.” Nell’s voice went soft, dreamy, as she pressed a hand to her belly. “But I’m not—”

  “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Oh, boy!” Nell let out a thrilled and baffled laugh. “Oh, boy, oh, boy!”

  “Anyway,” Ripley continued, “I saw those things, and more. The three sisters, in a dark wood, in a circle of light. The one who was Earth on this very beach, in a storm. There were so many, coming so fast they overlapped, but each was perfectly clear.

  “And I saw you, Mia. Standing on your cliffs, on the edge of your cliffs. Alone and crying. There was darkness all around you, the kind that came out of Harding tonight. It wanted you. Somehow, I . . . It’s always been you, most of all.”

  Even as the chill crept up her spine, Mia nodded. “Are you telling me to . . . beware?”

  “Very ware. I saw something else, at the instant I stopped the sword. One last flash. The three of us, in a circle. And I knew it was okay. What I’m saying is, I know it can be okay. If we do what we’re supposed to do, make the right choices.”

  “You made yours tonight,” Mia reminded her. “Trust me to make mine.”

  “You’re the strongest.”

  “Well, well. Is that a compliment I hear?”

  “Can it, okay? In the magic stuff, you’re the strongest. What comes at you’s going to be the strongest, too.”

  “None of us is alone now.” Nell took Mia’s hand, then Ripley’s. “We’re three.”

  Ripley took Mia’s hand to finish the link. “Yeah. Witches Are Us.”

  Ripley told herself she was doing what needed to be done, but that didn’t mean she would enjoy it. She watched Nell soothe and charm Harding. Bolster him with soup and tea. She let Mia treat and bind her hand. And avoided being alone with Mac until they left to walk to the yellow cottage.

  “We can load up your equipment tonight if you want.”

  “I’ll get it tomorrow,” he answered. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t know why, but he sensed she wasn’t ready for that yet.

  “I guess Harding’s going to write his book after all.”

  “Not the one he might have had in mind. But, yeah, I think Nell likes the idea of a book
that offers hope to people in an abuse cycle. He’s barely the worse for wear now that he’s . . .”

  “Exorcised?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Can I ask you a technical question?”

  “I guess.” It was a beautiful night. Cool and fresh and clear. There was no reason, she told herself, to be so edgy now.

  “How did you know the blood would hold him?”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “Hereditary knowledge?” Mac offered and got a shrug.

  “Maybe. That kind of thing’s your bag. Magic runs through the blood. Mine,” she said, lifting her hand. “Yours, even though it’s pretty diluted.” She glanced over when he laughed. “That’s accurate enough,” she said testily. “And blood is a transmitter, a sacrifice, whatever. It’s life.”

  “No argument.” He stopped, turned at the verge of the trees where the shadows were soft and the moonlight dappled through black branches. “Was that all?”

  “There’s a bond. It’s emotional—apart from intellect or logic, even from ritual, I guess.”

  “Love.” He waited a beat. “Why can’t you say it now?”

  “You’ve never seen me like that before,” she said in a rush. “Everything that’s come before has been like kid stuff compared to tonight.”

  “You were magnificent.” He watched her eyes widen. It was going to be fun, he thought, to blindside her with statements like that for the next fifty or sixty years. “Did you think that seeing what I did would change what I feel for you?”

  “No. I don’t know. Mac, I was nearly seduced. Maybe when I went out it was with the idea that I could sacrifice myself—and don’t tell me that’s lame. I’ve already figured that out.”

  “Then I’ll restrain myself.”

  “Good. But the farther I got from the house, from all of you, the more I wanted blood. There was a moment, more than a moment, when I might have turned, when I might have grabbed what was offered. The power was outrageous—huge, seductive, staggering.”

  “But you didn’t take it.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted me more. I wanted you more. And I . . . this sounds hokey.”

  “Say it anyway.”

  “I wanted justice more.”

  He laid his hands on her shoulders, brushed a kiss over her brow. Then he lifted her bandaged palm and kissed that, too. “I said you looked magnificent. That’s accurate, too. There was a light, bursting out of you. Nothing could have dimmed it. And now . . . you’re just my girl.”

  “Your girl.” She snorted. “Please.”

  “All mine,” he said, and did what he’d wanted to do since he’d seen her with a shining sword gripped in her hands. He lifted her off her feet, nearly crushing her in an embrace as his mouth sought hers. “Marry me. Live with me in the house by the sea.”

  “Oh, God, Mac, I love you. It’s better than everything, more than everything. Hell, Mac”—she tipped her head back—“it is everything.”

  “And we’re just getting started.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder while he stroked her hair. Brilliant mind, tough body, generous heart. Her lips curved as she thought, All mine.

  “When the power was in me, I felt invincible, tremendous. It’s like having molten gold running through your veins. Do you know how I feel right now?”

  “How?”

  “Even better.”

  She lifted her face to his once more so their lips met, once more. The sound of the sea was a steady heartbeat in the distance, the moon sailed white overhead. Around them the night shimmered with the echoes of magic.

  And was enough.

  --3 Face the Fire (06-2002)--

  O love! O fire! once he drew

  With one long kiss my whole soul through

  My lips; as sunlight drinketh dew.

  —ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

  Prologue

  THREE SISTERS ISLAND

  SEPTEMBER 1702

  Her heart was broken. The jagged shards of it stabbed at her soul until each hour, each moment, of what her life had become was a misery. Even her children—those she had carried in her body, those she carried for her lost sisters—were no comfort.

  Nor was she, to her great shame, any comfort to them.

  She had left them, even as their father had left them. Her husband, her lover, her heart, had returned to the sea, and the parts of her that were hope and love and magic had died that day.

  Even now he would not remember the years they’d had together, the joy of them. He would not remember her, or their sons, their daughters, the life they’d made on the island.

  Such was his nature. Such was her fate.

  And her sisters’, she thought as she stood on the cliffs she loved, above a sea that boiled and bucked. They, too, had been fated to love and to lose. The one who was Air had loved a handsome face and kind words that had disguised a beast. A beast who had shed her blood. He had murdered her for what she was, and she had not used her power to stop him.

  And so the one who was Earth had raged and grieved and built her hatred stone by stone until it had become a wall that no one could breach. She had used her power for vengeance, forsaken her Craft, and embraced the dark.

  Now the dark closed in, and she who was Fire was alone with her pain. She could fight it no longer, could find no purpose for her own life.

  The dark whispered to her in the night, its sly voice full of lies. Even knowing them for what they were, she was tempted by them.

  Her circle was broken, and she could not, would not, withstand alone.

  She felt it, creeping closer now, sliding along the ground in a filthy fog. It hungered. Her death would feed it, and still she could not face life.

  She lifted her arms so the flame of her hair snapped in the wind that she called up with a breath. She had such powers left in her. And the sea howled in response, the ground beneath her shuddered.

  Air and Earth and Fire—and the Water that had given her great love, then had stolen it away again.

  This last time they were hers to command again.

  Her children would be safe, she had seen to that. Their nurse would tend them, teach them, and the gift, the brightness, would be passed down.

  The darkness licked along her skin. Cold, cold kisses.

  She teetered on the edge, will straining against will as the storm within her, and the storm she’d conjured, raged.

  This island, that she and her sisters had conjured for safety from the ravages of those who would hunt and kill them, she thought, would be lost. All would be lost.

  You are alone, the darkness murmured. You are in pain. End the loneliness. End the pain.

  And so she would, but she would not forsake her children, or the children who came from them. Power was still in her, and the strength and wit to wield it.

  “A hundred years times three, this isle of the sisters is safe from thee.”

  From her reaching fingers, light whipped, spun, a circle in a circle.

  “My children your hand cannot reach. They will live and learn and teach. And when my spell comes undone, three more will rise to form the one. A circle of sisters joined in power to stand and face the darkest hour. Courage and trust, justice with mercy, love without boundaries are the lessons three. They must, by free will, join to face their destiny. If this they fail, one, two, or three, this island will sink into the sea. But if they turn back the dark, this place will never bear your mark. This spell is the last cast by me. As I will, so mote it be.”

  The darkness snatched at her as she leaped, but could not reach her. As she plunged toward the sea, she hurled her power around the island, where her children slept, like a silver net.

  One

  THREE SISTERS ISLAND

  MAY 2002

  It had been more than ten years since he’d stood on the island. Over a decade since he’d seen—except in his mind—the wedges of forest, the scatter of houses, the curve of beach and cove. And the drama of the
cliffs where the stone house stood beside the white lance of the island lighthouse.

  He shouldn’t have been so surprised by the pull and tug, or by the sheer simplicity of pleasure. Sam Logan was rarely surprised. But the delight in seeing what had changed, and what hadn’t, surprised him by its depth.

  He’d come home and hadn’t realized, not completely, what that meant to him until he’d gotten there.

  He parked near the ferry dock because he wanted to walk, to smell the salty spring air, to hear the voices from the boats, to see the life flowing along on the little bump of land off the coast of Massachusetts.

  And perhaps, he admitted, because he wanted a little more time to prepare himself before seeing the woman he’d come back for.

  He didn’t expect a warm welcome. The fact was, he didn’t know what to expect from Mia.

  Once he had. He’d known every expression on her face, every inflection of her voice. Once she would have been standing on the dock to meet him, her glorious red hair flying, her smoky eyes alight with pleasure and promise.

  He’d have heard her laugh as she raced into his arms.

  Those days were over, he thought as he climbed the road toward High Street and the stretch of pretty shops and offices. He’d ended them, and had exiled himself, deliberately, from the island and from Mia.

  Now, he was deliberately ending that exile.

  In the time between, the girl he’d left behind had become a woman. A businesswoman, he thought with a half laugh. No surprise there. Mia had always had a head for business and a view for profit. He intended to use that, if need be, to wheedle his way back into her good graces.

  Sam didn’t mind wheedling, as long as he won.

  He turned on High Street and paused to take a long look at the Magick Inn. The Gothic stone building was the island’s only hotel, and it belonged to him. He had some ideas that he intended to implement there, now that his father had finally released the reins.

  But business would wait, for once, until the personal was dealt with.