Ceremony In Death

CHAPTER SIX

Shopping wasn't something Eve considered one of the small pleasures in life. She wasn't a browser, a window shopper, or a electronic catalogue surfer. She avoided, whenever possible, the shops and boutiques in, above, and below Manhattan. She shuddered at the very thought of a trip to one of the sky malls.

She imagined her outward resistance to the consumption of merchandise was the primary reason Isis pegged her as a cop the minute she stepped into Spirit Quest.

As stores went, Eve considered it tolerable. She wasn't interested in the crystals and cards, the statues and candles, even though they were attractively displayed. The background music was soft, more of a murmur than a tune, and the light was allowed to play over the edges of raw crystals and polished stones in pretty rainbows.

The place smelled, she thought, not offensively of forest.

If witches were what she was dealing with, Eve decided, Isis and Selina couldn't have been more dramatically opposed in appearance. Selina had been pale and slim and feline. Isis was an exotic amazon of a female with gypsy curls of flaming red, round black eyes, and cheekbones that could have carved wood. Her skin was the soft gold of a mixed-race heritage, her features bold and broad. Eve measured her at just over six feet and a well-packed and curvy one-seventy.

She wore a loose, flowing robe of blinding white with a belt studded with rough stones. Her right arm was wound with gold coils from elbow to shoulder, and her large hands winked and flashed with as many as a dozen rings.

"Welcome." The voice suited her, oddly accented and throaty. Her lips curved, but it was a smile of grieving rather than pleasure. "Alice's cop."

Eve lifted a brow as she took out her shield. She figured she looked like a cop. And, since Roarke, her face had been in the media relentlessly. "Dallas. You'd be Isis, then?"

"I would. You'll wish to talk. Excuse me." She walked to the door. Graceful, Eve observed, the way an athlete is graceful. She turned an old-fashioned hand-lettered sign to Closed, pulled the shade over the glass of the door, and flicked a thumb latch.

When she turned back, her eyes were intense, her mouth grim. "You bring dark shadows into my light. She clings – such a stench." At Eve's narrowed look, she inclined her head. "Selina. One moment."

She went to a wide shelf and began to light candles and cones of incense. "To purify and shield, to protect and defend. You have shadows of your own, Dallas." She smiled briefly at Peabody. "And not just your aide."

"I'm here to talk about Alice."

"Yes, I know. And you're impatient with what you see as my foolish window dressing. I don't mind. Every religion should be open to questions and change. Will you sit?"

She gestured to a corner where two chairs flanked a round table etched with symbols. Again, she smiled at Peabody. "I can get another chair from the back for you."

"No problem. I'll stand." She couldn't help it; her gaze traveled the room, lingering now and then wistfully on some pretty bauble.

"Please feel free to browse."

"We're not here to shop." Eve took a seat, shot Peabody a withering glance. "When did you last see or speak with Alice?"

"On the night she died."

"At what time?"

"I believe it was about two a.m. She was already dead," Isis added, folding her large, beautiful hands.

"You saw her after she was dead."

"Her spirit came to me. You find this foolish; I understand. But I can only tell you what is, and was. I was asleep, and I awoke. She was there, beside the bed. I knew we'd lost her. She feels she's failed. Herself, her family, me. Her spirit is restless and full of grief."

"Her body's dead, Isis. That's my concern."

"Yes." Isis picked up a smooth, rose-colored stone from the table, worried it in her hand. "Even for me, with my beliefs, it's difficult to accept her death. So young, so bright." The huge, dark eyes swam. "I loved her very much, as you would a younger sister. But it wasn't meant for me to save her in this life. Her spirit will return, be reborn. I know we'll meet again."

"Fine. Let's concentrate on this life. And this death."

Isis blinked back the tears and managed a quick, genuine smile. "How tedious you must find all of this. You have such a logical mind. I want to help you, Dallas, for Alice. For myself, perhaps for yourself as well. I recognize you."

"I gathered that."

"No, from another time. Another place. Another plane." She spread her hands. "I last saw Alice alive on the day of her grandfather's memorial service. She blamed herself, was determined to make an atonement. She'd strayed for a time, been misled, but she had a strong and bright heart. Her family was dear to her. And she was afraid, desperately afraid of what Selina would do to her – body and soul."

"You know Selina Cross?"

"Yes. We've met."

"In this life?" Eve asked dryly, and made Isis smile again.

"In this life, and others. She's no threat to me, but she is dangerous. She seduces the weak, the confused, and those who prefer her way."

"Her claims to be a witch – "

"She is no witch." Isis drew her shoulders back, lifted her head. "We who embrace the craft do so in the light and live by an unbreakable code. And it harm none. She used what pitiful power she has to call on the dark, to exploit its violence, its ugliness. We know what evil is, Dallas. We've both seen it. Whatever form it takes doesn't change its basic nature."

"We can agree on that. Why would she harm Alice?"

"Because she could. Because she would enjoy it. There's no question that she's responsible for this death. You won't find it easy to prove it. You won't give up." Isis kept her eyes on Eve's, looking long, looking deep. "Selina will be surprised and infuriated by your tenacity, your strength. Death offends you, and the death of the young cuts small slices from your heart. You remember too well, but not all. You weren't born Eve Dallas, but you've become her, and she you. When you stand by the dead, stand for the dead, nothing moves you aside. His death was necessary for your life."

"Stop," Eve ordered.

"Why should it haunt you?" Isis's breathing was slow and thick, her eyes dark and clear. "The choice was made correctly. Innocence was lost, but strength took its place. For some, it must be so. You'll need all before this cycle passes. A wolf, a boar, and a silver blade. Fire, smoke, and death. Trust the wolf, slay the boar, and live."

Abruptly, she blinked. Her eyes clouded as she lifted a hand to press fingers to her temple. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend – '' She let out a quiet moan, squeezed her eyes shut. "Headache. Vicious. Excuse me one minute." She got shakily to her feet and hurried into the back.

"Jesus, Dallas, this is getting way too weird. Do you know what she was talking about?"

"His death was necessary for your life.'' Her father. Eve thought, fighting off a shudder. A cold room, a dark night, and blood on the knife clutched in a desperate child's hand.

"No, it's just jibberish." Her palms were damp, infuriating her. "These people figure they have to pull out some magic tricks to keep us interested."

"I studied at the Kijinsky Institute in Prague," Isis said as she stepped back into the room. "And was studied." She set a small cup aside, managed a smile as the headache eased. "My psychic abilities are documented – for those who need documentation. But I apologize, Dallas. I didn't intend to drift in that manner. It's very rare for it to happen without my consciously controlling it."

She came back to sit as she spoke, spread the skirts of her robe gracefully. "It would be sheer hell to be privy to thoughts and memories without some power to control and block. I don't like to pry into personal thoughts. And it hurts," she added, gently rubbing her temple again. "I want to help you do what Alice wanted, so she can rest. I want, for personal and selfish reasons, to see Selina pay the proper price for what she's responsible for. I'll do whatever I can, whatever you'll allow me to do, to help you."

Trust didn't come easily for Eve, and she would check very thoroughly into Isis's background. But for now, she'd use her. "Tell me what you know about Selina Cross."

"I know she's a woman without conscience or morals. I would think your term would be sociopath, but I find that too simple and too clean for what she is. I prefer the more direct term of evil. She's a clever woman with a skill for reading weaknesses. As for her power, what she can read or see or do, I can't say."

"What about Alban?"

"About him I know next to nothing. She keeps him close. I assume he's her lover and she finds him useful or she would have – dispatched him by now."

"This club of hers?''

Isis smiled thinly. "I don't frequent such… establishments."

"But you know of it?"

"One hears rumors, gossip." She lifted her broad shoulders. "Dark ceremonies, Black Masses, the drinking of blood, human sacrifice. Rape, murder, infanticide, the calling up of demons." Then she sighed. "But then, you might hear such talk about Wiccans from those who have no understanding of the craft and who see black draped crones and eye of newt when they think of witches."

"Alice claimed to have seen a child murdered."

"Yes, and I believe she did. She couldn't have invented such a thing. She was in shock and ill when she came to me." Isis pressed her lips together, shuddered out a breath. "I did what I could for her."

"Such as encouraging her to report the incident to the police?''

"That was for her to decide." Isis lifted her chin again, met the iced anger in Eve's eyes. "I was more concerned with her emotional and spiritual survival. The child was already lost; I had hoped to save Alice from the same fate." Her eyes dropped now, and dampened. "And I regret, bitterly, that I didn't act differently. And that, in the end, I failed her. Perhaps it was pride." She looked at Eve again. "You'd understand the power and the deception of personal pride. I thought I could handle it, that I was wise enough, strong enough. I was wrong. So, Dallas, to atone, I'll do anything you ask, avail you of all knowledge and any power the goddess grants me."

"Information will do." Eve angled her head. "Selina treated us to a little demonstration of what she'd call power. It impressed Peabody."

"It caught me off guard," Peabody muttered, studying Isis warily. She didn't think she was up for another demonstration. To Peabody's surprise, and Eve's, Isis threw back her magnificent head and laughed. It was like hearing silver buoys clang in pearly fog.

"Should I call up the wind?" With one hand pressed to her breast, she chuckled. "Summon the dead, strike the cold fire? Really, Dallas, you believe in none of that, so it would be a waste of my time and energy. But perhaps you'd be interested in observing one of our gatherings. We have one at the end of next week. I can arrange it."

"I'll think about it."

"You smirk," Isis said lightly, "yet the pledge you wear on your finger carries the ancient symbol of protection."

"What?"

"Your wedding ring, Dallas." With that quiet smile, Isis lifted Eve's left hand. "It's carved with an old Celtic design for protection."

Baffled, Eve studied the pretty etching in the slim gold ring. "It's just a design."

"It's a very specific and powerful one, to give the wearer protection from harm." Amused, she raised her brows. "I see you didn't know. Is it so surprising, really? Your husband has the blood of the Celts, and you lead a very precarious life. Roarke loves you very much, and you wear the symbol of it."

"I prefer facts to superstitions," Eve said and rose.

"As you should," Isis agreed. "But you will be welcome at the next gathering, should you choose to attend. Roarke will also be welcome." She smiled at Peabody. "And your aide. Will you accept a gift?"

"It's against the rules."

"And rules are to be respected." Rising, Isis moved behind a display counter, took out a small, clear bowl with a wide lip. "Then perhaps you will buy this. I have, after all, lost potential business by closing to speak to you. Twenty dollars."

"Fair enough." Eve dug into her pocket for credits. "What is it?"

"We'll call it a worry bowl. In this you place all your pain, your sorrow, your worries. Set it aside and sleep without shadows."

"Such a deal." Eve set the credits on the counter and waited for Isis to wrap the bowl in protective paper.

– =O=-***-=O=-

Eve got home early, a rarity. She thought she could dive into work in the quiet of her home office. She could get past Summerset easily enough, she mused as she pulled up at the end of the drive. The butler would simply sniff and ignore her. She'd have a couple of hours clear to run data on Isis and to contact Dr. Mira's office and make an appointment with the psychiatrist. It would, Eve decided, be interesting to get Mira's take on personalities such as Selina Cross and Isis.

Eve got no farther than the front door when her plans disintegrated.

Music pounded, blasting out of the front parlor like compact nuclear explosions. Staggering against the waves, Eve slapped her hands over her ears and shouted.

She didn't have to be told it was Mavis. No one else in her sphere would play clashing, discordant notes at that decibel. When she reached the doorway, the volume was still revved high. Her shouted demands reached neither the remote nor the single occupant of the room.

Alone, decked out in a micro robe of searing magenta that echoed the spiral curls shooting out of her head, Mavis Freestone lounged on the couch, doing the impossible. She slept like a baby.

"Jesus Christ." Since vocal commands were useless, Eve risked her eardrums and dropped her hands to fumble with the recessed control unit. "Off, off, off!" She shouted stabbing buttons. The noise shut down in midblast and made her moan.

Mavis's eyes popped open. "Hey, how's it going?"

"What?'' Eve shook her head to try to dispel the high-pitched ringing. "What?"

"That was a new group I picked up this morning. Mayhem. Pretty decent."

"What?"

With a chuckle, Mavis unfolded her neat little body and bounced to a cabinet. "Looks like you could use a drink, Dallas. I must have zoned. Up pretty late the last few nights. Wanted to talk to you – about stuff."

"Your mouth is moving," Eve observed. "Are you talking to me?"

"It wasn't that loud. Have a drink. Summerset said it would be all right if I hung for awhile. Didn't know when you'd check in."

For reasons that eluded Eve, the stiff-necked butler appeared to have a major crush on Mavis. "He's probably in his cage, composing odes to your legs."

"Hey, it's nothing sexual. He just likes me. So." Mavis clunked her glass against Eve's. "Roarke's not around, right?"

"With that music blasting?" Eve snorted, sipped. "Figure it out."

"Well, that's good, because I wanted to roll it out with you." But she sat, twisted the glass in her hands, and said nothing.

"What's the problem? You and Leonardo have a fight or something?"

"No, no. You can't really fight with Leonardo. He's too sweet. He's in Milan for a few days. Some fashion deal.''

"Why didn't you go with him?" Eve sat, rested her booted feet on the priceless coffee table, crossed her ankles.

"I've got the gig at the Down and Dirty. I wouldn't let Crack down after he bailed me."

"Hmm." Eve rolled her shoulders and began to relax. Mavis's career as a performer – it was difficult to use the term singer when defining Mavis's talents – was moving along. There had been some serious roadblocks, but they'd been overcome. "I didn't figure you'd work there much longer. Not with a recording contract."

"Yeah, well, that's the thing. The contract. You know, after finding out Jess was using me – and you and Roarke – for his mind games, I didn't figure the demo I'd cut with him would go anywhere."

"It was good, Mavis; flashy, unique. That's why it got picked up."

"Is it?" She rose again, a tiny woman with wild hair. "I found out today that Roarke owns the recording company that offered the contract." Gulping her drink, she paced away. "I know we go back a ways, Dallas, a long ways, and I appreciate you putting Roarke up to it, but I don't feel right about it. I wanted to thank you." She turned then, her silver eyes tragic and bleak. "And tell you that I'm going to turn it down."

Eve pursed her lips. "Mavis, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Are you telling me that Roarke, the guy who lives here, is producing your disc?"

"It's his company. Eclectic. It produces everything from classical to brain drain. It's the company. Totally mag, which was why I was so wired up about the deal."

Eclectic, Eve mused. The company. It sounded just like him. "I don't know anything about it. I didn't ask him to do anything, Mavis."

She blinked, lowered slowly to the arm of a chair. "You didn't? Solid?"

"I didn't ask," Eve repeated, "and he didn't tell me." Which was also just like him. "I'd have to say that if his company is offering you a contract, it's because Roarke, or whoever he's put in charge of that stuff, figures you're worth it."

Mavis took slow breaths. She'd worked herself up to the selfless sacrifice, unwilling to take advantage of friendship. Now she teetered. "Maybe he arranged it, like a favor."

Eve cocked a brow. "Roarke's business is business. I'd say he figures you're going to make him richer. And if he did do it as a favor, which I doubt, then you'll just have to prove to him that you're worth it. Won't you, Mavis?"

"Yeah." She let out a long breath. "I'm going to kick ass, you wait and see." Her smile beamed out. "Maybe you could come by the D and D tonight. I've got some new material, and Roarke could get another close-up of his latest investment."

"Have to pass tonight. I've got work. I've got to check out The Athame."

Mavis grimaced. "What the hell are you going there for? Nasty place."

"You know it?"

"Only by rep, and the rep's down below bad news."

"Someone I've got to talk to there, connected with a case I'm working on." She considered. There was no one she knew more likely to have a line on the unusual. "Know any witches, Mavis?"

"Yeah, sort of. A couple of servers down at the Blue Squirrel were into it. Brushed a few way back when I was on the grift."

"You believe in that stuff? Chanting and spells and palm reading?''

Mavis cocked her head and looked thoughtful. "It's major bullshit."

"You never fail to surprise me," Eve decided. "I figured you'd be into it."

"I ran a con once. Spirit guide. I was Ariel, reincarnation of a fairy queen. You'd be amazed how many straights paid up for me to contact their dead relatives or tell them their future."

To demonstrate, she let her head fall back. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth went slack. Slowly, her arms lifted, palms turned up. "I feel a presence, strong, seeking, sorrowful." Her voice had deepened, attained a faint accent. "There are dark forces working against you. They hide from you, wait to do harm. Beware."

She dropped her arms and grinned. "So, you tell the mark you need to have trust in order to offer protection from the dark forces. All they have to do is put say, a thousand cash – cash is all that works – in an envelope. Seal it. You make sure you tell them to seal it with this special wax you're going to sell them. Then you're going to do this cool chant over it, and bury the envelope in a secret place under the dark of the moon. After the moon's cycled, you'll dig up the envelope and give it back. The dark forces will have been vanquished."

"That's it? People just hand over the money?"

"Well, you string it out a little longer, do some research so you can hit them with names and events and shit. But basically, yeah. People want to believe."

"Why?"

"Because life can really suck."

– =O=-***-=O=-

Yes, Eve thought when she was alone again, she supposed it could. Hers certainly had for long stretches of time. Now she was living in a mansion with a man who, for some reason, loved her. She didn't always understand her life or the man who now shared it, but she was adjusting. So well, in fact, that she decided not to go bury herself in work, but to go outside, into the golden autumn evening and take an hour for herself.

She was used to streets and sidewalks, crowded sky-glides, jammed people movers. The sheer space Roarke could command always astonished her. His grounds were like a well-tended park, quiet and lush, with the foliage of rich man's trees in the dazzling flame of fall. The scents were of spicy flowers, the faintly smoky fragrance of October in the country.

Overhead, the sky was nearly empty of traffic, and even that was a dignified hum. No rumbling airbuses or lumbering tourist blimps over Roarke's land.

And the world she knew, and that knew her, was beyond the gates and over the walls, in the seamy dark.

Here she could forget that for a short time. Forget New York existed with its death and its anger – and its perpetually appealing arrogance. She needed the quiet and the air. As she walked over thick, green grass, she worried the ring with its odd symbols on her finger.

On the north side of the house was an arbor of thin, somehow fluid iron. The vines twisting and tumbling over it were smothered with flowers wildly red. She had married him there, in an old, traditional ceremony where vows were exchanged and promises made. A ceremony, she thought now. A rite that included music, flowers, witnesses, words that were repeated time after time, place after place, century through century.

And so, she thought, other ceremonies were preserved and repeated and believed to hold power. Back to Cain and Abel, she mused. One had planted crops, the other tended a flock. And both had offered sacrifice. One had been accepted, the other dismissed. Thus, she imagined, some would say good and evil were born. Because each needed the balance and challenge of the other.

So it continued. Science and logic disproved, but the rites continued, incense and chanting, offerings and the drinking of wine that symbolized blood.

And the sacrifice of the innocent.

Annoyed with herself, she rubbed her hands over her face. Philosophizing was foolish and useless. Murder had been done by human force. And it was human force that would dispense justice. That was, after all, the ultimate balance of good and evil.

She sat on the ground under the arbor of bloodred blossoms and drew in the burning scent of evening.

"This isn't usual for you." Roarke came up quietly behind her – so quietly, her heart gave a quick trip before he settled on the grass beside her. "Communing with nature?"

"Maybe I spent too much time inside today." She had to smile when he handed her one of the red flowers. She twirled it in her fingers, watched it spin before she looked over at him.

He was relaxed, his dark hair skimming his shoulders, as he leaned back on his elbows, legs stretched out, feet crossed at the ankles. She imagined his pricey and beautiful suit would pick up grass stains that would horrify Summerset. He smelled male, and expensive. Lust curled comfortably in her stomach.

"Successful day?" she asked.

"We'll have bread on the table another day or two."

She flicked her fingers at the ends of his hair. "It's not the money, is it? It's the making it."

"Oh, it's the money." His eyes laughed at her. "And the making it." In a quick move she told herself she should have seen coming, he reached up, cupped the back of her neck, and overbalanced her onto him and into a hot kiss.

"Hold on."

She didn't squirm quickly enough and ended up under him.

"I am."

His mouth fastened greedily on her throat and sent little licks of heat straight down her body to her toes.

"I want to talk to you."

"Okay, you talk while I get you out of these clothes. Still wearing your weapon," he observed as he hit the release for the harness. "Thinking of zapping some wildlife?"

"That's against city ordinance. Roarke." She caught his wrist as his hand closed sneakily over her breast. "I want to talk to you."

"I want to make love with you. Let's see who wins."

It should have infuriated her, the fact that he already had her shirt open and her breasts aching. Then his mouth closed over that sensitive flesh and had her eyes all but crossing in pleasure. Still, it wouldn't do to let him win too easily.

She let her body go limp, moaned, and combed her fingers through his hair, ran them over his shoulders. "Your jacket," she murmured and tugged at it. When he shifted to shrug free, she had him.

It was a basic tenet of hand-to-hand. Never lower your guard. She scissored, shoved, and pinned him with a knee to the crotch and an elbow to the throat.

"You're tricky." He calculated he could dislodge the elbow, but the knee… There were some things a man didn't care to risk. He kept his eyes on hers and slowly, carefully skimmed his fingertips up her bare torso, circled her breast. "I admire that in a woman."

"You're easy." His thumb brushed lightly over her nipple, quickening her breath. "I admire that in a man."

"Well, you've got me now." He unsnapped her waistband, teased her stomach muscles to quiver. "Be kind."

She grinned, levered her elbow away to brace her hands on either side of his head. "I don't think so." Lowering her head, she caught his mouth with hers.

She heard his breath suck in, felt his arms come around her, fingers digging in. His groan thundered through her pulse.

"Your knee," he managed.

"Hmm?" Lust was full-blown now and raging. She shifted lips and teeth to his throat.

"Your knee, darling." She moved to attack his ear and nearly unmanned him. "It's very effective."

"Oh, sorry." Snorting, she lowered her knee, lowered her body, and let him roll her over. "Forgot."

"A likely story. You may have caused permanent damage."

"Aw." With a wicked grin, she tugged open his trousers. "I bet we can make it all better."

His eyes went dark when she stroked him, stayed open and on hers when their lips met again. This kiss, surprisingly tender, twined that terrifyingly strong emotion with the easy lust.

The lower edges of the sky were as wildly red as the blossoms arching over them. The shadows were long and soft. She could hear birdsong and the whisper of air through the dying leaves. The touch of his hands on her was like a miracle, chasing away all the ugliness and pain of the world she walked in.

She didn't even know she needed to be soothed, he thought as he stroked, and he soothed, so that arousal was slow and warm and liquid. Perhaps neither had he, until they held like this, touched like this. The romance of the air, the light, the gradual surrender of a strong woman was gloriously seductive.

He eased into her, watching her face as the first orgasm rolled through her, feeling her body clench, shudder, go pliant as his fueled it and filled it.

She kept her eyes open, as fascinated by the intensity of his stare as the silvery ripples of sensation that pumped through her. She matched his pace, silky and smooth even as her breath tore. And when she saw those dark Celtic eyes cloud, go opaque, she framed his face with her hands, pulled his mouth to hers to savor his long, long groan of release.

When his body was ranged weightily over hers, his face buried in her hair, she wrapped her arms companionably around him. "I let you seduce me."

"Uh-huh."

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"Thank you. You tolerated it all so stoically, too."

"It's the training. Cops have to be stoic."

He reached out, ran a hand over the grass, and plucked up her shield. "Your badge, Lieutenant."

She snickered, slapped him on the ass. "Get off me. You weigh a ton."

"Keep sweet-talking me, and God knows what could happen." Lazily, he rolled aside, noted that the sky had gone from cloudy blue to pearl gray. "I'm starving. You distracted me, and now it's well past dinnertime."

"It's going to be a little more past." She sat up and began to tug on her clothes. "You had your sex, pal. Now it's my turn. We have to talk."

"We could talk over dinner." He sighed when she sent him a steely stare. "Or we could talk here. Problem?" he asked and skimmed his thumb over the dent in her chin.

"Let's just say I have some questions."

"I might have the answers. What are they?''

"To begin with – " She broke off, blew out a breath. He was sitting there, mostly naked, looking very much like a sleek, well-satisfied cat. "Put some clothes on, will you? You're going to distract me." She tossed his shirt at him when he only grinned. "Mavis was waiting for me when I got home."

"Oh." He shook out his shirt, noted its deplorable condition, but slipped it on. "Why didn't she stay?"

"She's got a gig at the Down and Dirty. Roarke, why didn't you tell me you own Eclectic?"

"It's not a secret." He hitched into his slacks, then handed her her weapon harness. "I own a number of things."

"You know what I'm talking about." She would be patient here, Eve told herself, because it was a delicate area for everyone. "Eclectic's offered Mavis a contract."

"Yes, I know."

"I know you know," she snapped, slapping away his hand as he attempted to smooth down her hair. "Damn it, Roarke, you could have told me. I'd have been prepared when she asked me about it."

"Asked you what? It's a standard contract. She'll certainly want an agent or representative to look it over, but – ''

"Did you do it for me?" she interrupted, and her eyes were focused on his face.

"Did I do what for you?"

Now her teeth went on edge. "Offer Mavis the recording contract."

He folded his hands, cocked his head. "You're not planning on giving up law enforcement to be a theatrical agent, are you?"

"No, of course not. I – ''

"Well then, it has nothing to do with you."

"You're not going to sit there and tell me you like Mavis's music."

"Music is a term I'm not sure applies to Mavis's talents."

"There." She jabbed a finger into his chest.

"That talent, however, is – I believe – commercial. Eclectic's purpose is to produce and distribute commercial recording artists."

She sat back, tapped her finger on her knee. "So it's a business thing. Straight business."

"Naturally. I take business very seriously."

"You could be snowing me," she said after a moment. "You're good enough."

"Yes, I am." Pleased that he was one of the very few who could snow her, he smiled at her. "Either way, the deal's done. Is that all?"

"No." She hissed out a breath, then leaned forward and kissed him. "Thanks, either way."

"You're welcome."

"Next, I have to hit The Athame tonight, check a guy out." She saw the flicker in his eyes, the tensing of his jaw. "I'd like you to go with me." She had to bite her tongue to keep from snickering when he narrowed those eyes at her.

"Just like that? It's police business, but you're not going to make an issue out of it?''

"No, first because I think you might be helpful, and second because it saves time. We'd argue about it, and you'd just go, anyway. This way, I ask you to come and you go, understanding I'm in charge."

"Clever of you." He took her hand and drew her to her feet. "Agreed. But after dinner. I missed lunch."

"One more thing. Why did you have a Celtic symbol of protection carved into my wedding ring?"

He felt the jolt of surprise, covered it smoothly. "Excuse me?"

"No, you weren't quick enough that time." It pleased her that she'd spotted that minute and masterfully covered awareness. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. One of our friendly neighborhood witches tagged it today."

"I see." Caught, he realized, and he stalled by lifting her hand to examine the ring. "It's an appealing design."

"Don't bullshit me, Roarke. I'm a professional." She stepped in until their eyes were level again. "You buy into it, don't you? You actually buy all this hocus-pocus."

"It's not a matter of that." He fumbled and knew it when she furrowed her brow.

"You're embarrassed." Her brow cleared in surprise and amusement. "You're never embarrassed. By anything. This is weird. And kind of sweet."

"I'm not embarrassed." Mortified, he decided, but not embarrassed. "I'm simply… not entirely comfortable explaining myself. I love you," he said and stilled her muffled chuckle. "You risk your life, a life that's essential to me, just by being who you are. This…" He brushed his thumb over her wedding band. "Is a small and very personal shield."

"That's lovely, Roarke. Really. But you don't really believe all that magic nonsense."

His gaze lifted, and as twilight turned to night, his eyes glinted in the dark. Like a wolf's, she thought.

And it was a wolf, she remembered, she was to trust.

"Your world is relatively small, Eve. You couldn't call it sheltered, but it's limited. You haven't seen a giant's dance, or felt the power of the ancient stones. You haven't run your hand over the Ogham carving in the trunk of a tree petrified by time or heard the sounds that whisper through the mist that coats sacred ground."

Baffled, she shook her head. "It's, what, an Irish thing?"

"If you like, though it's certainly not limited to a single race or culture. You are grounded." He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders. "Almost brutal in your focus and your honesty. And I've lived, let's say, a flexible life. I need you, and I'll use whatever comes to hand to keep you safe." He lifted the ring to his lips. "Let's just call it covering the bases."

"Okay." This was a new aspect of him it would take time to explore. "But you don't have, like, a secret room where you dance around naked and chant?"

He tucked his tongue in his cheek. "I did, but I turned it into a den. More versatile."

"Good thinking. Okay, let's eat."

"Thank God." He took her hand and tugged her toward the house.