"He didn't, doesn't, treat me like I'm fragile or needy or, I don't know… wounded. So I don't feel fragile or needy or wounded when I'm with him. The first time, we barely made it into the house, and ended up on the floor tearing at each other's clothes. It was so normal."

"We could all use a bit of that kind of normal now and then. He's a great kisser, isn't he?"

"Oh, boy, and when he…" Trailing off, Nell paled.

"I was fifteen," Mia explained as she bit into the cinnamon bun again. "He gave me a ride home from a party, and we satisfied our mutual curiosity with a couple of very long, very intense lip-locks. While I won't insult your intelligence and claim it was like kissing my brother, I will say we didn't suit and have chosen to be friends. But they were really fine kisses."

She licked icing off her finger. "So I have some small idea just how delightful your weekend was."

"I'm glad I didn't know that before. I might have been intimidated."

"Aren't you sweet? So, what are you going to do about Zachariah Todd?"

"Enjoy him."

"Perfect answer." For the moment. "He has really good hands, too, doesn't he?" Mia commented as she strolled away.

"Now you're going to have to shut up."

Laughing, Mia started down the steps. "I'm opening the doors."

And so, she thought, little sister, are you.

It wouldn't have surprised Mia to know that Zack was undergoing personal interrogation over coffee and buns as well.

"Didn't see you around much this weekend."

"Had stuff to do. And didn't I bring you a present?"

Ripley worked her way enthusiastically through the first bun. "Um. Good," she managed to slur. "Guess the stuff had to do with the island's best cook, which I cleverly deduced since you've got a bag holding half a dozen buns."

"Down to four now." He enjoyed one of his own while he slogged through paperwork at his desk. "John Macey still hasn't paid these parking tickets. He needs a goose."

"I'll goose him. So, you and Nell got down to the mattress rhumba?"

Zack gave her a single withering look. "You've got such a mushy, romantic heart, Rip. I don't know how you get through life with it weighing you down."

"Avoiding the question's usually answering the question in the affirmative. Cop 101. How'd it go?"

"Do I ask you about your sex life?"

She waved a finger, signaling a pause in the conversation while she swallowed. "Yes."

"Only because I'm older and wiser."

"Yeah, right." She snagged a second bun, not only because they were incredible but because she knew it would annoy him. "If we let you slide on the older and wiser bull, then we'll agree I'm younger and more cynical. Are you going to do a deeper run on her background?"

"No." Deliberately he opened a drawer, dropped the bag of buns inside, shut it.

"If you're serious about her, and knowing you, you are, you need a handle on it, Zack. She didn't drop out of the sky onto Three Sisters."

"She took the ferry," he said coolly. "What's your problem with her? I thought you liked her."

"I do. A lot, as it happens." She eased a hip onto the corner of his desk. "But for reasons that often escape me, I like you a lot, too. You've got a soft spot for the troubled and wounded, Zack, and sometimes, through no fault of their own, the troubled and wounded can bite right through the soft parts."

"Have you ever known me not to be able to take care of myself?"

"You're in love with her." When he blinked, stared, she pushed off the desk, paced restlessly around the office area. "What, am I blind and stupid? I've known you all my life, and I know every move, every tone, every expression on that dopey face of yours. You're in love with her, and you don't even know who she is."

"She's exactly who and what I've wanted my whole life."

Ripley stopped in the act of kicking the desk, and her eyes went soft and helpless. "Aw, damn it, Zack. Why'd you have to go and say something like that?"

"Because it's true. It's the way it is for us Todds, isn't it? We go along, go alone, then pow, it hits and it's all over. I've been hit, and I like it."

"Okay, let's just back up a little." Determined to stand up for him whether he wanted it or not, she slapped her palms on the desk, leaned over. "She's got trouble. She's managed to break free of it, at least temporarily, but it's there. He may come after her, Zack. If I hadn't been worried about you, I'd never have asked Mia about it. Rather saw my tongue in half with a rusty kitchen knife. But I did ask her, and she's not clear on it."

"Honey, what you said before about knowing me, that's true. Now what do you think my reaction is to what you just said?"

She hissed out a breath. "If he comes after her, he'll have to get through you."

"Close enough. Shouldn't you be out on patrol, or would you rather take the paperwork portion of our day?"

"I'd rather eat lice." She put on her cap, yanked the tail of her hair through the back. "Look, I'm glad you found someone who suits you. I'm even more glad I like her. But there's more to Nell Channing than a nice woman with a murky past who can bake like a team of angels."

"You mean she's a witch," he said easily. "Yeah, I figured that out. I've got no particular problem with it." So saying, he went back to the keyboard, chuckling to himself when Ripley slammed the door behind her.

"The goddess doesn't require sacrifice," Mia said. "She's a mother. Like a mother, she requires respect, love, discipline, and wants happiness for her children."

The evening was cool. Mia could already scent the end of summer. Soon her woods would change from green and lush to wild color. She'd already seen the woolly caterpillars, watched the busy squirrel hoarding nuts. Signals, she thought, of a long, cold winter.

But for now, her roses bloomed, and the most tender of her herbs trailed fragrantly among her garden stones.

"Magic springs from the elements, and from the heart. But its rituals are best served with tools, even visual aids, if you will. Any craft depends on certain routines and implements."

She walked through her garden to her kitchen door, opened it for Nell. "I have some for you."

The room was as fragrant as the garden. Hanks of herbs dried on hooks. Pots of flowers that Mia had chosen for indoor company stood on the long line of smooth counter. What could only be described as a cauldron sat on the stove, simmering away with the strong sweetness of heliotrope.

"What are you cooking?"

"Oh, just a little charm for someone who has a job interview later in the week. She's nervous." Mia passed a hand through the steam. "Heliotrope for success, sunflower for career, a bit of hazel to assist in communication-and this and that. I'll empower some suitable crystals for her that she can carry in a pouch in her purse."

"Will she get the job?"

"That's up to her. The Craft doesn't promise us everything we desire, nor is it a crutch for weak spines to lean on. Now, your tools," she continued, gesturing to the table.

She'd selected them carefully, with an image of Nell in her mind.

"You should, once you're home, cleanse them. No one should touch them without your permission. They require your energy. The wand is made from a birch branch pruned from a living tree on the winter solstice. The crystal on its tip is clear quartz. It was a gift to me from the one who trained me."

It was lovely, slim and smooth, and felt almost silky when Nell trailed a finger over it. "You can't give me something that was a gift."

"It was meant to be passed on. You'll want to have others, too; copper is good. This is your broom," she continued, lifting a brow as Nell stifled a laugh.