Leo put his arm around her and she leaned against his shoulder.

I sat beside them and took her hand. I'd never known exactly what had happened but it didn't surprise me. "You never meant to do it. It was an accident."

She shook her head, her eyes furious. "I didn't mean to do it, but Cicely, I killed that little girl and over a decade later, I can still remember her screaming, pounding on the window, trying to get out. And the flames were so hot . . . so hot. And then the explosion . . . I watched her die, and I still see her every day. She haunts my dreams. I haven't touched my flame since that day."

"You can't run from the fire. If you keep running from it, the flames will build up inside you. They'll devour you! Look at what happened to Krystal. She ran from her powers and ended up a strung-out bloodwhore, and she died in a nameless alley because she was afraid. Rhiannon, you need to be strong."

She let out a snort. "The Society said I was tainted--that I'll never be able to control my powers. Marta threatened to kick Heather out if she ever taught me to use my abilities. I found that out by accident, so one day I told her they'd vanished, to keep her from worrying. She never believed me."

"What?" I gave her a long look. "The Society said what to you?"

"Marta refused to sanction any further training for me because my hands were sullied with blood, and since Heather is a member of the Society, she had to obey."

I snorted. "Fuck them, then. Where were they when you needed help? Fuck them and their rules. Marta's dead and Heather needs you. She's out there, the Indigo Court has her, and we don't know what the hell they're doing to her. And since the Society wouldn't do its job, then we'll help you."

Leo kissed the top of Rhiannon's head and gently guided her to her feet. She was shaky, but he braced her elbow.

I shook my head. "The Thirteen Moons Society is almost defunct. We can't rely on anybody but ourselves. We're in this by our lonesome. Ask Kaylin if he's interested in joining us. If you trust him, go for it. And Leo--can you please give Geoffrey a call now that the sun's down?"

"I still don't think it's a good idea, but I'll set up a meeting." The look on his face told me he thought I was crazy.

"You do that." Weary--the day had seemed long beyond words--I sighed and pushed to my feet. "Meanwhile, I need to unpack."

"We'll make dinner while you're doing that. Then we'll figure out how to ward the house."

As I headed upstairs, I whispered to Ulean, Back me up, friend. I think we're all in trouble.

Always and forever came the reply.

Chapter 7

Once in my room, I pulled out my wallet and counted how much cash I had left. Checking accounts had never been a part of my life. Five hundred and twenty-three dollars. Add to that the four thousand in Marta's business checking and I still needed a job before long.

The wallet had been Krystal's. I'd always suspected she'd lifted it off some john. Why I kept it, I didn't know, but it was one of the few links I had to my mother. It had contained a single photo when I found it on her bruised and bloodied body. I slid the photo out of the wallet and flipped it over.

A crinkled picture of my mother and Heather, arms around each other. Krystal and Heather had been twenty years old, according to the date written on the back. They looked so young, and Heather was smiling, the wind blowing her hair in her face. Krystal was also smiling, but there was something in her gaze--a fear that had never left her.

"You just couldn't get it right, could you? You always fucked up." I hadn't cried when I found her dead, and two years later, I still couldn't cry. There was just a void--a hole filled with dark smoke.

I glanced at the picture again, then sighed. The past was gone. There was nothing I could do to change it now, and in truth, despite the problems of my childhood, I liked myself. And if I'd had it easier, who knows who I would have turned out to be?

After a moment, I propped the photo against the lamp on the desk and carefully laid out a soft black cloth, rolled and tied with a ribbon. Thanks to my nomadic childhood, I'd kept my magical tools to a minimum, too, making each item multitask.

I untied the ribbon and spread out the cloth to reveal a stiletto athame--my ritual dagger. Double-bladed, the silver hilt was engraved with an owl motif, the blade highly polished. Next to it, wrapped in tissue paper to keep it safe, was an owl feather. The very possession of the feather could land me a hefty fine and/or time in jail since it was protected by wildlife laws, so I kept it out of sight. As I touched it, it hummed.

Whoa. The feather had never done that before.

I waited, but it didn't do anything else and, after a moment I shrugged and laid it down, then set out the few other assorted tools I had: a smudge stick, a quartz crystal that I'd attuned to myself, a ritual fan . . . that was the extent of my magical goody bag.

But with what I inherited from Marta, my stash of magical tools and components would drastically increase. The thought of being able to practice on a regular basis, with enough supplies to really delve into my wind magic, made me all shivery in a good way. Even though it came all bundled up with Heather's disappearance and Grieve and the Indigo Court, I couldn't help but smile.

First, though, we had to do something about Rhiannon. Stifling up all that magical energy couldn't be good for her.

My cousin and I had been born on the same day--the summer solstice--twelve hours apart. Rhiannon was born at daybreak, a daughter of the sun, when the year was still waxing, I was born at dusk, a daughter of the moon, when the year had shifted over to waning. We grew up calling ourselves twins, even though we didn't look anything alike. She took after her mother; I took after Krystal.

Amber and jet, Aunt Heather called us when we were little. Fire and ice.

Rhiannon had always been the quieter one, more intent on thinking things through before acting. She wasn't exactly timid, but she seemed delicate to me--almost like a hollow reed.

Reeds are strong, you know, Ulean whispered to me. They bend during storms, rather than break.

I blinked. Yes, but reeds won't hold up a house.

They make a good raft, so don't write them off so fast.

Shaking away the thought of Rhiannon being a life raft, I headed downstairs to find her finishing up on the kitchen. It looked spotless.

I yawned as I slid into one of the kitchen chairs.

"So what next? We . . ." I stopped, realizing that we had no idea of what to do after we warded the house. At least as far as finding Heather. "What the hell are we going to do next?"

"Yeah, I know," Rhiannon said, softly. "I've been thinking the same thing. My mother's gone, and I may never see her again. I love Heather. I know we had our differences, but she stood up for me and I love her. I'm not sure what I'm going to do if she's gone for good."

"Don't say that! We'll find her, we'll bring her back." Even as I said the words, I didn't know if I believed them.

"I can't think about this right now. Everything's too much to take in. So tell me what happened with Grieve."

I shook my head. "What can I say? He's dangerous and I love him. The two are mutually exclusive, aren't they? I guess I never stopped loving him. No man in the past nine years has ever meant anything to me beyond being a one-night stand. Or a friend. Now I know why."

Rhiannon wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tight. "I know it hurts to hear, but Cicely, if he warned you away, there must be a reason." One look at my face and she slipped into the chair next to me. "You've got it bad."

"I wasn't ready to stay when I was here before. I wasn't ready to commit myself to him, and Krystal needed me. But now I am. And now it's too late. He belongs to the enemy."

She rubbed my shoulders. "Let it be. What will happen, will happen. And maybe . . . maybe he's still who he was. Maybe he can shake the turning somehow--it's not like he's dead, if what the book says is correct."

There was a sound, like knocking. I glanced at my cousin, who shook her head. "Don't," she said.

I'm here, Ulean whispered.

Slowly, I made my way to the front door and opened it. There was no one there. I stepped out onto the porch, looking right and left, and almost immediately felt someone's gaze focused on me from the ravine. A look over at the trailhead showed that a wolf stood half-on, half-off the path.

Grieve.

He padded toward me through the snow, and the next thing I knew, I was on the lawn, then halfway across toward the thicket with the wolf approaching me, eyes brilliant emerald, fur a silvery gray.

I reached out and he touched his nose to my hand. A spark ricocheted up and down my spine, then spread through my stomach where my wolf's head tattoo was located. A resonance tingled across my lower abs, singing through the ink. I gasped as the wolf jumped up, its forepaws on my shoulders, and gazed into my eyes. In another flash, the animal was gone as Grieve pulled me into his arms and pressed his lips against mine.

"Let go of me." Grieve held me so tight I could barely breathe. I elbowed him, trying to break away.

"Stop squirming," he whispered. "It drives me crazy when you struggle, and I could hurt you." And there it was, in his voice. The hypnotic pull. And a deadly threat hiding behind the desire.

"Grieve, please stop." I'd been in enough situations with crack-crazed junkies looking for drug money or a quick fuck that I'd learned how to relax and avoid setting off panic buttons. Grieve might not be a druggie, but I recognized the razor's edge in his voice. He was walking a thin line and I didn't want to push him over the brink.

I forced myself to hold still. Struggle, and I was prey. Submit, and he might come to his senses. Closing my eyes, I willed the wind to give me strength, to shore me up and calm my fears. As a cool breeze raced over me, my pulse slowed and my heart stopped racing.

Grieve loosened his embrace, but my wolf tattoo kept up a warm keening throughout my body.

I stumbled away, keeping my eyes on him. Never turn your back on a predator. Too dangerous. A deviant little smile crinkled the corner of his lips and he darted his tongue out as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking them.

"I can taste your sweat," he said, never taking his gaze off of me. "I can smell you. You still want me. Don't even try to lie about it."

I stared at him. He knew . . . Part of me didn't want him knowing how I felt because that knowledge would give him an advantage, and part of me wanted to rush right back into his embrace.

"Back off. Don't do anything you'd regret later."

He let out a sharp bark. "Regret? I have no regrets. Not anymore," he added softly, but something in his voice told me he was lying. At least to himself.

"I almost forgot you could change into a wolf." Which I hadn't, but it was something to say, something to ease us back to safety.

"I am born of the Cambyra Fae, the Shifting Ones. There's a great deal you seem to have forgotten about me, Cicely Waters. About us." He glanced at the house. Rhiannon and Leo were watching from the porch and I prayed they wouldn't make any sudden movements. "I'm sorry about your aunt. But she should have been more careful." He circled me slowly.

I turned, mirroring his movements. "Did you take her? Did you kidnap Heather?"

"Kidnap is such a pale word, don't you think?" He stopped, his face deadpan. Then he shook his head. "No, I didn't take her; I swear on my life that I did not. But I know who did. I told you, Myst rules the town. And she always gets whatever she wants."

"Is Heather still alive?"

"That's information I'm not privy to, Cicely."

I sucked in a deep breath. "So, I guess my next question is, does Myst rule your actions? Are you truly now a part of the Indigo Court, Grieve? What happened to your devotion to the Queen of Rivers and Rushes? Is Lainule still alive?"

He leaned toward me and I thought he might kiss me again but instead he lingered a few inches away from my lips. "Devotion is an honorable attribute but unfortunately not one apt to prolong my life under certain circumstances."

I narrowed my eyes. He hadn't hurt me yet, but that was no guarantee my luck would hold. I tensed to run should he decide to come at me.

"I'll ask you again: Do you answer to the Indigo Court? Are you . . . are you one of the Vampiric Fae? What happened to Lainule?"

Grieve's eyes flashed. He laughed, low and throaty.

"I was born of the Cambyra . . . but ask you this: How do you think those of us belonging to the nobility saved our necks? The Queen of Rivers and Rushes managed to escape. We don't know where she is, and for that I am grateful. I would not want to see her at the mercy of Myst. But hundreds in the court were slaughtered. Massacred. I watched them die, torn to bits, their souls drained even as their veins were bled dry."

He shuddered, a look of revulsion filling his face. "The Indigo Court feed in a frenzy, Cicely. Like sharks or piranha. They can devour their victims alive. They're bloody and terrifying, and entirely without remorse. I decided to forego the pleasure of that particular demise. Chatter was spared for two reasons only: he's not one of the nobility, and I begged them to let me keep him as my pet. I went down on my knees for him, and that is why he lives."

He reached out and stroked my cheek. "Chatter was worried I'd kill you. But trust me on this: I will never deliberately destroy you. I will never deliberately hurt you. Long ago I caught a glimpse of the future, a glimpse of what potential you had, and of who you would become. And of who you are. We're meant to be together, Cicely. I always knew you'd come back to me when you were ready. I told you to go away but . . . I can't bear the thought of seeing you leave again."