Face the Fire Page 0,10

held other objects. There was a wand she'd made herself, from maple that she had harvested on Samhain when she turned sixteen. A broom, her best chalice, her oldest anthame, and a ball of pale blue crystal. Candles and oils and incense, a scrying mirror. All this and more, carefully organized.

She gathered what she needed, then slipped out of her dress. She preferred, whenever possible, to work skyclad.

And so she cast the circle, calling on her element - fire - for energy. The candles she lighted with a breath were blue, for calm, for wisdom, for protection.

She had performed this ritual before, several times in the past decade. Whenever she felt her heart weaken or her purpose waver. She admitted that if she hadn't done so she would have known Sam was coming back to the Sisters before he'd arrived. So the years of relative peace had their price. She would block him again - block her thoughts and feelings from him, and his from her. They would not touch each other, on any level.

"My heart and mind are mine to keep," she began, lighting incense, sprinkling herbs on still water.

"When I wake and when I sleep. What once I gave with love and free will, I take back to me, and hold calm and still. Then lovers, now strangers without joined destiny. As I will, so mote it be."

With her cupped palms lifted, she waited for the cool flow of serenity, the stream of confidence that would indicate her ritual was complete. As she watched, the cup of herb-scattered water began to shiver. Water lapped against the rim in quiet, teasing waves.

She fisted her hands, fought back her own temper. Focusing her energy, she punched magic against magic. "My circle is closed to all but me. Your tricks are foolish and bore me. Do not enter what's mine

again without invitation."

At the flick of her fingers, the lights from the candles streamed up, lancing to the ceiling. Smoke from them billowed, spread, and blanketed the surface of the water.

Even then she couldn't find her calm, or get a clean grasp of her temper. He would dare test his power against hers? And in her own home?

So he hadn't changed, she decided. Samuel Logan had always been an arrogant witch. And his element, she thought, hating herself when the first tear escaped, was water. In her circle, behind the haze of smoke, she lay down and wept. Bitterly. The island grapevine spread the news fast. By the next morning, the hot topic of Sam Logan had outdistanced every other tendril of gossip.

Conflicting reports had him selling the Magick Inn to mainland developers, expanding it into some fancy resort, firing the staff, or giving everyone a raise.

One thing everyone could agree on was that it was very, very interesting that he was renting Mia Devlin's little cottage. There was no consensus on what it meant, only that it was a puzzler. Islanders, hoping to gather more nuggets, found reasons to drop into Cafe Book or stroll into the lobby of the hotel. Nobody had enough gumption to ask Sam or Mia directly, but there was plenty of watching and hoping for some excitement.

It had been a long, slow winter.

"Still handsome as sin and twice as deadly." Hester Birmingham confided this information to Gladys Macey as she bagged Gladys's weekly supply of groceries at Island Market. "Strolled in here big as life and twice as bold, and said hello to me like we'd just seen each other a week ago."

"What did he buy?" Gladys questioned.

"Coffee, milk, dry cereal. Whole wheat bread and stick butter. Some fruit. We got bananas on special, but he passed them up and paid dear for fresh strawberries. Bought himself some fancy cheese and fancy crackers and some bottled water. Oh, and some orange juice in a carton."

"Not planning on doing any cooking or cleaning for himself from the sound of it." Confidentially, she leaned closer to Hester. "I ran into Hank from the liquor store. He says Sam Logan breezed in and bought up five hundred dollars' worth of wine, some beer, and a bottle of single malt scotch."

"Five hundred!" Hester's voice lowered to a hiss. "You think he picked up a drinking problem inNew York ?"

"Wasn't the number of bottles, but the price," Gladys hissed back. "Two bottles of French champagne, and two of that fancy red wine you-know-who favors."

"Who?"

Gladys rolled her eyes. "Mia Devlin. Heaven's sake, Hester, who do you think!"

"I heard she kicked him out