“And for you?”

“For me it’s a goddamn stampede.”

“So you chose to fence it in.”

“And I didn’t use strong enough nails,” she finished, with just a hint of bitterness, and shook her head to ward off any more questions.

Mac supposed the food and wine were another kind of ritual, one used as a bridge between the fantastic and the ordinary. Though he doubted he would forget even the smallest detail about the night, he scribbled in his notebook as Mia played hostess.

“Is it all right to ask questions?”

She smiled at him.

“Of course,” she replied, as she curled cozily in a chair. “But they may or may not be answered.”

“What you did tonight . . . your preparations, your ceremonial tools and ritualistic, well, trappings, were very simple, very basic for such extraordinary results.”

“Too many trappings and too much ceremony is usually a cloak to disguise a lack of power, or used to feed the ego, perhaps to impress an audience.”

“Do you need them at all?”

“What an interesting question, Mac. What do you think?”

“I think not.” And even he, before tonight, wouldn’t have believed it. “I think the gift in each one of you is beyond them. I think you could light the fire in your hearth without moving from that chair, without casting a circle, without ritual.”

She sat back, regarding him. What was it about him, she wondered, that tugged at her? That made her want to share with him what she’d shared with no outsider? “There’s a reason for traditions, even for superstition. For ceremony. It helps focus power, and pays respect to the source. But, of course . . .”

Behind her, the fire leaped to life in the hearth. “You’re quite right.”

“Show-off,” Ripley muttered.

She laughed, and the fire damped down to a soft and pleasant glow. “You’re right, too.” She sipped her wine, and her eyes met Ripley’s over the rim of her glass. “You used to have more of a sense of humor about it.”

“And you used to lecture that I should take more responsibility.”

“I suppose I did. How tedious of me.”

“Oh, don’t start pinching at each other,” Nell ordered. “You wear me out.”

“We could have used her as a mediator years ago.” Mia sipped her wine again. “We are the Three. It can’t be changed, avoided, or ignored. You know the legend,” she said to Mac.

“Very well. The one called Air left the sanctuary of the island. She married a man who couldn’t accept her, wouldn’t cherish her, and in the end destroyed her.”

“She destroyed herself,” Nell said, disagreeing. “By not believing in who she was, by lacking the courage to.”

“Maybe.” Mac nodded. “The one called Earth refused to accept what had happened. It ate through her until she used her power to avenge her sister.”

“She wanted justice.” Ripley rose to prowl. “She needed it.”

“Her need caused her to break trust.” Mia’s hand lifted an inch off the chair, then lowered again. It wasn’t time to reach out. “To turn from everything she was and had been given and use power to harm.”

“She couldn’t control it,” Ripley said in a shaky voice. “She couldn’t stop it.”

“She didn’t control or stop it, and doomed herself and what she loved.”

“And the third,” Ripley spun back. “She who was Fire found a silkie in human form sleeping in a cave near a cove. And taking his pelt, she hid it and bound him to her.”

“It’s not against the laws of magic to do so.” In a casual move that cost her a great deal, Mia leaned over and selected a cube of cheese from a tray. “She took him as lover, as husband, raised her children with him, then the children of her lost sisters.”

The food tasted like chalk in her throat, but she nibbled casually. “She gave him her heart. But the day came when she was less than vigilant, and he found his pelt. And though he had loved her, when a silkie has his pelt, the sea beckons. He forgot her, their life, their love, their children—as though they had never existed—and left her for the sea.”

Mia lifted a shoulder. “Without sister, without lover, without husband she pined, and pining, despaired. She cursed her magic for bringing her love, then stealing it away. And abjuring it, leaped from the cliffs to the sea where her lover had gone.”

“Death isn’t the answer,” Nell added. “I know.”

“It was, at that moment, hers,” Mia stated. “So three hundred years later, the descendants of the sisters, of the Three, must make restitution, must turn back each key. One by three. Or the island they made will tumble forever into the sea.”

“If you believe that, why do you live here?” Ripley demanded. “Why are you in this house, why the bookstore, why anything?”

“This is my place, and my time. The same as it’s yours, and Nell’s. If you don’t believe it, why are you here tonight?”

Mia could feel her temper begin to snap, and yanked it back. She also saw the misery on Ripley’s face. It was hard, after so many years, to reach out. But she got to her feet, held out a hand.

“Tell me. Let me help.”

“I saw—it was painful, like being ripped open, head to gut. And so fast there was no time to react.”

“You know it doesn’t have to be that way. You know it doesn’t ask for pain, nor want harm.”

“Threefold.” A single tear spilled over before she could stop it. “What you send comes back, times three. She destroyed them.”

“Not alone. Each of them had responsibility. Tell me.” She wiped the tear from Ripley’s cheek herself.

“What did you see?”

“I saw . . .” She replayed the vision, her voice calming as she spoke. “I don’t know who he was, or what he represented, but he’ll come. None of you could stop me, no more than I could stop myself. It was my sword, Mia. My ritual sword. I killed him with it—and killed us all.”

“You won’t. You won’t,” she repeated before Ripley could protest. “You’re stronger than that.”

“I wanted to hurt him. I could feel the rage. I’ve never had control over power when my emotions take over. Why the hell do you think I stopped?”