“We’re together now, the three of us. I have Zack, and Ripley has Mac. I wish—”

“Don’t wish for me. I have what I need.”

“Mia . . .” Trying to find the right words, Nell got out her colander. “Even if—when—we face what’s here now, there’s one more step. Yours.”

“Do you think I’ll fling myself off my cliffs?” Mia relaxed enough to laugh. “I can promise you, I won’t. I enjoy living entirely too much.”

There were other ways, Nell thought, to leap into a void. She started to say so, then held her tongue. They had enough to deal with for now.

What was wrong with them? Ripley listened to the conversation hum around the table, spiced with the scent of good food well served. Everyday words in easy voices.

Pass the salt.

Jesus.

It felt as if something was simmering inside her, right on the edge of boil, ready to bubble up and spew over the lid. And everyone else kept chatting and eating as if it were just another evening. A part of her knew it was only a lull, that space of time used to gather forces and brace. But she had no patience with it, with Nell’s utter calm, with Mia’s cool waiting. Her own brother helped himself to another serving of pasta as if everything in his life that mattered wasn’t teetering on the brink. And Mac . . .

Observing, absorbing, assessing, she thought with a helpless resentment. A geek to the last. There was something hungry out there, something that wouldn’t be sated with a tidy, home-cooked meal. Couldn’t they feel it? It wanted blood, blood and bone, death and anguish. It craved sorrow. And its need clawed at her.

“This blows.” She shoved at her plate, and conversation snapped off. “We’re just sitting here, slurping up noodles. This isn’t a goddamn party.”

“There are a lot of ways to prepare for a confrontation,” Mac began, and laid a hand on her arm. She wanted to slap his hand away, and hated herself for it. “Confrontation? This is a battle.”

“A lot of ways to prepare,” he said again. “Coming together like this, sharing a meal. A symbol of life and unity—”

“It’s past time for symbols. We need to do something definite.”

“Anger only feeds it,” Mia chimed in.

“Then it should be full to bursting,” Ripley snapped back and shoved to her feet. “Because I am supremely pissed off.”

“Hate, anger, a thirst for violence.” Mia brought the glass of wine to her lips. “All those negative emotions strengthen it, weaken you.”

“Don’t tell me what to feel.”

“Could I ever? You want what you’ve always wanted. A clear answer. When you don’t get it, you pound with your fists or turn away.”

“Don’t,” Nell pleaded. “We can’t turn on each other now.”

“Right. Let’s keep the peace.” Ripley heard the bite in her own voice, and even while it shamed her she couldn’t soften it. “Why don’t we have coffee and cake?”

“That’s enough, Rip.”

“It’s not enough.” Frustrated beyond bearing, she rounded on Zack. “Nothing’s enough until this is dealt with, until it’s over. It’ll be more than a knife to her throat this time, more than a knife already coated with your blood. I won’t lose what I love. I won’t just sit here and wait for it to come after us.”

“On that we can agree.” Mia set down her glass. “We won’t lose. And since arguing is bad for the digestion, why don’t we get to work?”

She rose, began to clear the table. “Nell will feel better,” she said before Ripley could make some snide comment, “if her house is put in order.”

“Fine, great.” She snatched up her plate. “Let’s be tidy.”

She sailed into the kitchen and gave herself points for not simply heaving her plate into the sink. What control. What amazing restraint.

God, she wanted to scream!

It was Mac who came in quietly behind her, alone. He set the dishes on the counter, then just turned her, put his hands on her stiff and rigid shoulders.

“You’re afraid.” He shook his head before she could speak. “We all are. But you feel that the weight of this, what happens next, is on you. It doesn’t have to be.”

“Don’t placate me, Mac. I know when I’m being a bitch.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to point that out, do I? We’re going to get through this.”

“You don’t feel what I feel. You can’t.”

“No, I can’t. But I love you, Ripley, with everything that’s in me. So I know, and that’s the next thing to feeling.”

She let herself give, just for a minute. Let herself go into his arms and be held there. Safe within the circle of him. “It’d be easier if we’d found this after.”

His cheek rubbed her hair. “You think?”

“You could’ve come along when everything was normal again, and we’d’ve gotten mushy on each other and had a regular life. Cookouts, marital spats, great sex, and dental bills.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Right this minute, it sounds aces. I’d rather be mad than scared. I work better that way.”

“Just remember, it all comes down to this.” He tipped back her head, laid his lips on hers. “Right there is more magic than most people ever know.”

“Don’t give up on me. Okay?”

“Not a chance.”

She tried to curb her impatience as the preparations were made. She refused to lie down on the couch because it made her feel too vulnerable. Instead she sat in a chair in the living room, her hands on the arms, and blocked out the monitors and cameras.

She knew she should have felt comforted by having Mia and Nell standing on either side of her, like sentinels. But she felt foolish.

“Just do it,” she told Mac.

“You need to relax.” He’d pulled a chair up to face hers, and sat there, almost idly holding the pendant.

“Breathe slow. In and out.”

He put her under. So effortlessly this time, so swiftly, it brought him a quick ripple of nerves.

“She’s tuned to you,” Mia said, herself surprised at how completely Ripley had given herself over. “And you to her. That, itself, is a kind of strength.”