Dance Upon the Air (29 page)

She was already rushing across the street as motion and voices started again.

“Well, goddamn it, Ed, you're under arrest.” Zack snapped the cuffs in place as Ripley did the same. “And for good measure, the same goes for you, Bill.
Couple of hotheaded peckerbrains. You people go on about your business now,” he ordered as he muscled Ed around.

He caught sight of Nell, standing on the sidewalk like a deer caught in the headlights, and cursed again.

“Come on, Sheriff, you know I wasn't aiming at you.”

“Doesn't matter a damn to me who you were aiming at.” Not when he tasted blood in his mouth. “You just assaulted an officer.”

“He started it.”

“Like hell,” Bill shot back as Ripley walked him briskly along. “But I'm sure as hell going to finish it when I get the chance.”

“You and what army?”

“Just shut up,” Ripley ordered. “Couple of forty-year-old delinquents.”

“Ed's the one who punched him. What're you hauling me in for?”

“You're a damn public nuisance. If the two of you want to butt heads, do it in the privacy of one of your homes and keep it off the streets.”

“You're not going to put us in jail.” Calmer now as he saw his fate, Ed turned his head to appeal. “Come on now, Zack, you know my wife'll skin me if you lock me up. It was just family business, after all.”

“Not when it's on my street, and not when it involves my goddamn face.” His jaw throbbed like a bitch. He marched Ed straight into the station house and back to one of the two tiny holding cells. “You're going to have some time to cool off before I get around to calling your wife. Whether she cares enough to come down and make your bail is up to her.”

“Same goes,” Ripley told Bill cheerfully as she uncuffed him and nudged him into a cell.

Once the cell doors were shut and locked, she dusted her hands. “I'll write up the report. I type slower than you do. I'll call the wives, too, though I suspect they'll hear about this before I even start on the paperwork.”

“Yeah.” Disgusted, Zack swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and smeared blood.

“You're going to want some ice on that jaw. Lip, too. Ed Sutter's got a fist the size of Idaho. Hey, Nell, why don't you take our hero to your place and give him some ice?”

Unaware that she'd come in, Zack turned slowly and stared at Nell as she stood in the open doorway.

“Yes. All right.”

“There's ice in the back. I can take care of it.”

“You'd be better off putting some distance between yourself and Ed,” Ripley advised. “Until you're sure you're not going to unlock that cell and punch him back.”

“Maybe.”

His eyes weren't cold anymore, Nell noted. They were hot green glass. She moistened her lips. “Ice'll help keep the swelling down. And . . . some rosemary tea might help the ache.”

“Fine. Great.” His head was already ringing, why not finish it off? “Two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fine, for both of them,” he snapped at Ripley. “Or twenty days. They don't like the sound of that, fill out a formal arrest warrant, and they can deal with the court.”

“Yes, sir.” Ripley beamed as Zack stalked out.
Wasn't this great? she thought. The whole thing had really brightened her mood.

They walked to the cottage in silence. Nell no longer knew what to say or how to say it. This furiously angry man was every bit as much a stranger as the icy cold one had been. There was no doubt in her mind that he didn't particularly want to deal with her right now. She knew just how long it could take to regain equilibrium after a blow to the face.

Still, he'd taken a fist at short range, and other than the head, and temper snap, he'd had little reaction.

People were always saying someone was tougher than he looked. It seemed to be true about Zachariah Todd.

She opened the cottage door and, still saying nothing, walked back to the kitchen and began to make an ice pack out of a plastic bag wrapped in a thin cloth.

“Appreciate it. I'll get the dishcloth back to you.”

She'd already lifted the kettle to make tea. She blinked at him. “Where are you going?”

“To walk off what I can of this mad.”

Seeing no choice, she set the kettle down again. “I'll go with you.”

“You don't want to be with me right now, and I don't want to be with you.”

It was quite a discovery to learn that there were times a slap was preferable to words. “That can't be helped. We have things to talk about, and the longer it's put off the harder it'll be.”

She opened the kitchen door, waited. “Let's try the woods. We can consider it neutral territory.”

He hadn't bothered with a jacket, and the rain that
had swept in the night before had left cool temperatures in its wake. He didn't seem to mind. She glanced up at him as they headed into her little wedge of forest.

“That ice isn't going to do any good if you don't use it.”

He pressed it to his aching jaw and felt mildly ridiculous.

“In the summer when I came here I wondered what it would be like to walk through the trees in autumn, with all the color and the first bites of cold. I'd missed the cold, the change of seasons, when I lived in California.”

She let out a little breath, drew one in. “I lived in California for three years. Los Angeles primarily, though we spent a lot of time in the house in Monterey. I preferred it there, but I learned not to let him know that or he'd have found ways to cancel trips north. He liked to find little ways to punish me.”

“You married him.”

“I did. He was handsome and romantic and clever and rich. I thought, Why, here comes my prince and we'll live happily ever after. I was dazzled and flattered and in love. He worked very hard to make me fall in love with him. There's no point in going into all the details. You've guessed some of them anyway. He was cruel, in little ways, in big ones. He made me feel small. Small, smaller, smallest, until I all but disappeared. When he hit me . . . the first time it was a shock. No one had ever hit me before. I should've left, right that minute. Or tried. He would never have let me, but I should've tried. But I'd only been married a few months, and somehow he made me feel I'd
deserved it. For being stupid. Or clumsy. Or forgetful. For all manner of things. He trained me like a dog. I'm not proud of that.”

“Did you get help?”

It was so quiet in the woods. She could hear, in that quiet, every step she and Zack took over the ground already strewn with fallen leaves.

“Not at first. I knew about abuse, intellectually. I'd read articles, stories. But that didn't apply to me. I wasn't part of that cycle. I'd come from a good, stable home. I'd married an intelligent, successful man. I lived in a big, beautiful house. I had servants.”

She slipped a hand into her pocket. She'd made a magic bag for courage, and had tied it with seven careful knots. Letting her fingers worry it helped calm her nerves.

“It was just that I kept making mistakes, that was all. I thought that once I learned, everything would be fine again. But it only got worse, and I couldn't keep deluding myself. One night he dragged me upstairs by my hair. I had long hair then,” she explained. “I thought he would kill me. I thought he would beat me and rape me, then kill me. He didn't. He didn't do any of those things. But I realized he could have, and I wouldn't have been able to stop him. I went to the police, but he's an influential man. He has connections. I had a few bruises, but nothing major. They didn't do anything.”

Knowing that burned a hole through him. “They should have. They should've taken you to a shelter.”

“As far as they were concerned, I was a rich, spoiled trophy wife causing trouble. It doesn't matter,” she said wearily. “They could have taken me anywhere.
He'd have found me. I ran once, and he found me. And I paid for it. He made it clear to me, he made sure I understood one vital point: I belonged to him, and I would never get away. Wherever I went, he'd find me. He loved me.”

It sent a violent chill through her to say it. She stopped, turned to face Zack. “His version of love, beyond rules, beyond bounds. Selfish, cold and obsessive and powerful. He would see me dead before he'd let me go. That's not an exaggeration.”

“I believe you. But you got away.”

“Because he thinks I'm dead.” She told him, her voice clear and empty of emotion, what she had done to break the chains.

“Jesus Christ, Nell.” He threw the ice bag to the ground. “It's a miracle you didn't kill yourself.”

“Either way, I was getting away. I was coming here. I believe, completely believe, that the minute that car went over the cliff, I started coming here. And to you.”

Because he wanted, too strongly, to touch her and wasn't yet sure if it would be a caress or a furious shake, he jammed his hands in his pockets. “I had a right to know, when things changed between us. I had a right to know.”

“I didn't expect things to change between us.”

“But they damn well did. And if you didn't know where we were heading, then you
are
stupid.”

“I'm not stupid.” Her voice took on an edge. “Maybe I was wrong, but I'm not stupid. I didn't expect to fall in love with you, I didn't
want
to fall in love with you, or even get involved with you. You pursued me.”

“It doesn't make any difference how it happened.
The fact is, it did. You know where you stood and why, but you didn't let me know.”

“I'm a liar,” she said evenly. “I'm a cheat, I'm a bitch. But don't you ever call me stupid again.”

“Jesus Christ.” At his wits' end, he stalked away, lifted his gaze to the sky.

“I won't be demeaned, not by anyone. Not ever again. I won't be belittled, and I won't be brushed aside until it's convenient for you to pay attention again.”

Curious, he turned his head, stared at her. “Is that what you think this is?”

“I'm
telling
you how it is. I did a lot of thinking since you walked out of the house yesterday. I'm not going to whimper and slide into the corner just because you're annoyed with me. That insults both of us.”

“Well, three cheers.”

“Oh, go to hell.”

He turned completely around and stepped toward her. The dread curled in her stomach, her palms went clammy, but she stood her ground.

“It's a hell of a time to pick a fight with me, especially when you're wrong.”

“I'm only wrong if I'm standing where you are. Standing here, I did what I had to do. I wish I hadn't hurt you, but I can't go back and change that.”

“No, you can't. So we go from here. Did you leave out anything else I should know?”

“The woman who drove off that cliff was named Helen Remington. Mrs. Evan Remington. I don't answer to that name anymore. It's not who I am.”

“Remington.” He said it softly. She could all but
see him flipping through some mental data file. “Hollywood type.”

“That's right.”

“You got about as far away from that as you could manage.”

“That's right, too. I'll never go back. I've found the life I want here.”

“With or without me?”

For the first time since she'd begun her story, her stomach clutched. “That's up to you.”

“No, it's not. You already know what I want. Now it's what you want.”

“I want you. You know that.”

“Then you have to finish what you started. You have to end it. File for divorce.”

“I can't. Haven't you heard anything I've said?”

“Every word, and more that you didn't say.” Part of him wanted to soothe her, to draw her close, shelter her. To tell her none of it mattered now.

But it did.

“You can't live your whole life wondering, looking over your shoulder, or pretending three years away. Neither can I. For one thing, it's going to start eating at you, and for another, the world's a small place. You'll never be sure he won't find you. If he does, or if you're afraid he has, are you going to run again?”

“It's been more than a year since I left. He can't find me if he thinks I'm dead.”

“You'll never be sure. You have to end it, but you don't have to end it alone. I won't let him touch you. This isn't his turf,” he said, lifting her face with a finger under her chin. “It's mine.”

“You're underestimating him.”

“I don't think so. I know I'm not underestimating myself, or Ripley, or Mia. Or a lot of people on the island who would go out of their way for you.”

“I don't know if I can do what you're asking. For more than a year I've focused on doing everything I could to make certain he doesn't find out I'm alive, he doesn't find out where I am. I don't know if I've got it in me to step out again. I need to think. I need you to give me time to think.”

“All right. Tell me what you decide.” He stooped to get the ice bag. The ice was mostly melted. As he didn't care a great deal about the pain in his jaw, he opened it, spilled out the contents. “If you don't want to marry me, Nell, I'll accept that. But after you think all this through, I need you to tell me what you decide there, too.”

“I love you. I don't have to think that through.”

He stared at her, standing in the quiet woods where the leaves rioted color and the air still carried the faintest scent of yesterday's rain.

He held out a hand for hers. “I'll walk you home.”

R
ipley gave Zack
her most pitiful look. And whined. She saved up her whines to add to the impact when she whipped one out.

“But I don't wanna go to Mia's.”

Living with her for nearly thirty years made him immune to such tactics. Though he had to give her big points for delivery.

“When you were a kid you practically lived at Mia's.”

“Then, now. See the difference? Why can't you go?”

“Because I have a penis. I'll restrain myself and not ask if you see the difference. Be a pal, Rip.”

She spun in a circle, her version of drumming her heels on the floor. “If Nell's going to be hanging out at Mia's tonight, then Mia can keep an eye on her. Jesus, Zack, don't be such a mommy. The asshole in L.A. doesn't even know she's alive yet.”

“If I'm being overprotective we'll just all have to
live with it. I don't want her driving to the cliffs alone at night.” The thought of her car flying over cliffs three thousand miles away left a ball of ice in his gut. “Until this thing is resolved, I want to keep an eye on her.”

“So keep
your
eye on her. You're the ones trying to decide if you're going to be long-suffering, star-crossed lovers, or Ward and June Cleaver.”

He let the insult pass, as it was her way of starting a pissing match so she could storm out and get out of doing what he asked. “I'll never figure how it is I know more about women than you do, when you're of the same species.”

“Watch it, slick.”

He supposed he hadn't let the insult pass after all. “She doesn't need me hovering over her. She doesn't need a man, even such a sterling example of manhood as myself, crowding her. She's got tough decisions to make. I'm trying to keep a little distance, without making an issue of keeping a little distance, until she's made them.”

“Gee, you sure do think a lot.”

The simple fact was, he was putting her in a hell of a pinch. He wanted her to keep an eye on Nell, and Ripley wanted to keep an eye on Zack. She hadn't had an easy moment in the two days since he'd told her Nell's story.

Blood on the moon, she thought. Nell's vision of Zack covered with blood. A sociopathic, potentially homicidal husband, and Ripley's own disturbing dreams. She hated knowing she was dipping into omen territory, but . . . hell, it didn't bode well.

“What are you going to be doing while I'm baby-sitting the love of your life at Witch Central?”

There was something else he'd learned in nearly thirty years of knowing her. He could always count on Ripley. “Taking both our evening patrols, buying some takeout, and going home to a lonely dinner.”

“If you think that makes me feel sorry for you, think again. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat.” She walked to the door. “I'll go by Nell's, tell her I want to tag along tonight. I want you to watch your back.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don't want to talk about it. I'm just saying.”

“I'll watch my back.”

“And buy some beer. You drank the last bottle.”

She slammed the door because . . . just because.

Mia set out
fresh charms. Every day, it seemed, the air got a little heavier. As if something was dragging it down. She glanced outside. It was already dark. There was so much night at the end of October, so many hours until dawn.

There were things it wasn't wise to speak of at night, or even think. Night could be an open window.

She burned incense of sage to counter negativity, fastened on earrings of amethyst to strengthen her intuition. She'd been tempted to slip some rosemary under her pillow, to help chase away her troubled dreams. But she needed to see, needed to look.

She added jasper to the chain around her neck, a strengthener of energy, a reliever of stress.

It was the first time in years she could recall being so constantly hounded by stress.

Tonight wasn't the time for it, she reminded herself. She was going to take Nell to the next step, and such things should be joyful.

She fingered the magic bag in her pocket, filled with crystals and herbs, and, as she'd taught Nell, tied with seven knots. She detested being so edgy, as if waiting and waiting for disaster to strike.

Foolish, really, when she'd been preparing for disaster, and how to divert it, all her life.

She heard the car, saw the streak of lights slash across her front windows. As she walked to the door, she visualized pouring the stress into a small silver box, locking it.

So she appeared to be her usual calm self as she opened the door. Until she saw Ripley.

“Slumming, Deputy?”

“Didn't have anything better to do.” She was surprised to see Mia in a long black dress. Mia rarely wore black. The one thing Ripley had to admit, the woman wasn't often obvious. “Special occasion?”

“As it happens. I don't have any objections to you being here, if Nell wants you. But don't interfere.”

“You don't interest me enough to interfere.”

“Is this argument going to take long?” Nell asked pleasantly. “I was hoping for a glass of wine.”

“I think we're done. Come in, and welcome. We'll take the wine with us.”

“With us? Where are we going?”

“To the circle. You've brought what I told you?”

“Yes.” Nell patted the large leather pouch she wore.

“Good. I'll get what I need, then we'll go.”

Ripley wandered around freely enough while Mia got ready. She had always liked the cliff house. Loved it. The big, crowded rooms, the odd corners, the thick carved doors and glossy floors.

She'd have gotten by happily enough with one room and a cot, but she had to admit Mia's place had style. And class. As far as atmosphere went, you couldn't top it.

Class, style, and atmosphere aside, it was always comfortable. A place where you knew you could sink into a chair and put your feet up.

A place, she recalled, where she had once run as free and as welcome as a pet puppy. It was a hell of a note to realize, all at once, how much she'd missed it. Missed it all.

“You still use the gable room?” Ripley asked casually while Mia selected a red wine from the rack.

When Mia glanced back their eyes met. Shared memories. “Yes. Some of your things are still there,” she said as she wrapped three glasses in white linen.

“I don't want them.”

“They're still there, in any case. Since you're here, you can carry this bag.” She gestured, then picked up the second that held the wine and glasses.

She opened the back door, and Isis streaked through. It surprised Nell, as the cat generally couldn't be bothered to join them.

“It's a special night.” Mia threw up the hood of the cloak she swirled over her shoulders. Black again, with a lining of deep wine-red. “She knows it. It's nearly Samhain. Nell needs to practice lighting the balefire.”

Ripley's head snapped up. “Moving a little fast, aren't you?”

Mia merely studied the moon as they walked. It was down to a thumbnail and would soon be full dark. Around that sliver of white she could see a haze blacker, thicker than the sky.

“No.”

Annoyed that Mia had made her uneasy yet again, Ripley shrugged. “Halloween. Lifting the dead. The night boils with evil spirits and only the brave or foolish walk in the dark.”

“Nonsense,” Mia said lightly. “And there's no point in taking that route to try to scare Nell.”

“The end of the third and last harvest of the year.” Nell breathed deep of the night. “A time for remembering the dead, for celebrating the eternal cycle. Also the night when the veil between life and death is said to be its thinnest. Hardly a negative time, but one of reaffirmation and fun. And, of course, Mia's birthday.”

“The big three-oh this time, too,” said Ripley.

“Don't be so smug.” There was a little bite in Mia's voice, a not entirely playful nip. “You'll be hitting it yourself in six weeks.”

“Yeah, but you'll always be older than me.”

Isis was already in the clearing, sitting still as a sphinx in the center.

“We have some candles for working light. You can put them on the stones, Ripley, and light them.”

“No.” She shoved her hands, very deliberately, into the pockets of her bomber jacket. “Carting your bag of tricks is one thing. I won't participate.”

“Oh, for pity sakes. You'll hardly spoil your magic
celibacy by lighting one or two candles.” But Mia snatched the bag from her and stalked to the stones.

“I'll do it,” Nell insisted. “There's no point in either of you being angry, when you're each doing what you want.”

“Why are you so angry?” Ripley kept her voice down, crouched as Mia came back to select what she needed from her bags. “I usually have to work a lot harder to get under your skin.”

“Maybe my skin's thinner these days.”

“You look tired.”

“I am tired. Something's coming. It's pushing, and pushing closer. I don't know how much longer I can hold it back, or even if I'm meant to. There'll be blood.”

She gripped Ripley's wrist, held her still. “And pain. Terror and grief. And I'm afraid that without the circle there'll be death.”

“If you're so sure of this, afraid of this, why haven't you sent for someone? You know others.”

“It's not for others, and you know it.” She glanced back toward Nell. “Maybe she's strong enough.”

Mia straightened, tossed back her hood. “Nell. We'll cast the circle.”

Whatever she'd expected to feel, Ripley hadn't expected the yearning that ribboned through her as she watched the basic ritual, as the familiar words echoed in her head.

She'd given it up, she reminded herself. She'd set it aside.

She watched wand and athame glimmer. She had always preferred the sword.

Her mouth pursed in consideration as Mia lit
candles with a wooden match. Even as she opened her mouth to speak, to question, Mia sent her a quieting look.

Fine, your way as usual, Ripley thought, and kept her comments to herself.

“Earth, wind, fire, water—elements, hear this call from your daughters. While the moon above does ride, within the magic circle rise.”

With her head thrown back and her arms raised, Mia waited. And the wind lifted, all but sang, the candle flames speared, ruler-straight despite the swirl of humming air. Under her feet, the earth trembled lightly, and in her cauldron, fragrant liquid began to bubble.

As Mia lowered her arms again, each subsided.

Nell had yet to get her breath back. Over the past months, she'd seen and done and been told the fantastic. But until tonight she hadn't been treated to such a vivid display.

“Power awaits,” Mia told her, and held out a hand.

When Nell clasped it, she found Mia's skin warm, nearly hot.

“It waits in you. Your link is air, and calling to it comes most easily to you. But there are four. Tonight, you'll make fire.”

“The balefire, yes. But we didn't bring wood.”

With a little chuckle, Mia stepped back. “We won't need it. Center yourself. Clear your mind. This fire does not burn. This fire does no harm. It lights the dark and glows from charm. When you make its golden tower, you will know your strength and power. And once begun, bring harm to none.”

“It's too soon for her,” Ripley said from outside the circle.

“Quiet. You're not to interfere. Look at me, Nell. You can trust me, and yourself. Watch. And see.”

“Hold on to your hats,” Ripley muttered, and stepped a bit further back, just in case.

Mia opened her hands, empty hands. Spread her fingers. Turning them over, she held her arms out as if reaching.

There was a spark, electric blue. Then another, then a dozen, then too many to count. They sizzled, like fire on water, turned the air within the circle to deep sapphire.

And there, where the bare ground had been, rose a bright and gilded pillar of flame.

Nell's legs simply folded until her butt hit the ground with a solid thump. Nothing that was going through her mind, had she been able to capture any of the scattered pieces of her thoughts, could have made its way out of her mouth.

“Told you.” Ripley sighed, shook her head.

“Quiet!” Mia spun away from the fire, held out a hand to help Nell to her feet. “You've seen me do magic before, little sister. You've done magic yourself.”

“Not like that.”

“It's a basic skill.”

“Basic? Mia, really. You made
fire
. Out of nothing.”

“What she means is it's along the lines of losing your virginity. It's kind of a jolt,” Ripley said helpfully. “It might be less pleasurable than you expect the first time around, but after a while, you get better at it.”

“Close enough.” Mia agreed. “Now center
yourself, Nell. You know how. Clear your mind. Visualize, gather the power. Make your fire.”