“Hey, Layla. Sorry, did I startle you?”

“No. A little. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Fox is out of the office this afternoon.”

“Oh. Well.” Brian dipped his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “I was in town, thought I’d drop in.”

“He probably won’t be back until after six. If you want to leave a message-”

“No. No big. You know, since I’m here, maybe I’ll just go back.” He pulled a hand free to gesture with his thumb. “Fox is talking about new flooring in the kitchen, and a couple of things. I’ll just go measure. Want any coffee or anything?”

Layla tilted her head. “How are you going to measure without a measuring tape?”

“Right. Right. I’ll get one out of the truck.”

"Mr. O’Dell, did Fox ask you to come in this afternoon?”

“Ah. He’s not here.”

“Exactly.” Like the son, Layla thought, the father was a poor liar. “So he asked if you’d come in, check on me. Which I might not have copped to except that your wife dropped in about an hour ago, with a dozen eggs. Putting that together with this, I smell babysitters.”

Brian grinned, scratched his head. “Busted. He doesn’t like you being here alone. I can’t say I blame him.” He strolled over, dropped into one of the visitors’ chairs. “I hope you’re not going to give him a hard time about it.”

“No.” She sighed, sat herself. “I guess, one way or another, we all worry about each other. But I’ve got my cell in my pocket, and everyone I know on speed dial. Mr. O’Dell-”

“Brian.”

“Brian. How do you handle it? Knowing what’s happening, what may happen to Fox?”

“You know, I was nineteen when Sage was born.” In the language of a man settling in for a spell, he propped one work-booted foot on his knee. “Jo was eighteen. Couple of kids who thought we knew it all, had it all covered. Then, you have a kid of your own, and the whole world shifts. There’s a part of me that’s been worried for thirty-three years now.” He smiled as he said it. “I guess there’s just more parts of me worried when it comes to Fox. And truth? It pisses me off that he had his childhood, his innocence stolen from him. He came home that day, his tenth birthday, and he was never a little boy, not in the same way, again.”

“Did he tell you what happened? The morning he came back from the Pagan Stone?”

“I like to think we got a lot right with our kids, but one thing I know we got right. They know they can tell us anything. He’d spun that one about camping out in Cal’s backyard, but Jo and I saw through that.”

“You knew he was going to spend the night in the woods?”

“We knew he was taking an adventure, and we gave him the room. If we hadn’t, he’d’ve found a way around it. Birds have to fledge. You can’t stop it, no matter how much you want to keep them safe in the nest.”

He paused a moment, and Layla could see him looking back, wondered what it was like to look back over the course of another’s lifetime. Someone you loved.

“He had Gage with him when he came home,” Brian continued. “You could see, in both of them, something had changed. Then they told us, and everything changed. We talked about leaving. Jo and I talked about selling the farm and moving on. But he needed to be here. After the week was up, we all thought it was over. But more than that, we knew Fox needed to be here, with Cal and Gage.”

“You’ve seen him face this three times before, and now he’s facing it again. I think it must take tremendous courage to accept what he’s doing. Not to try to stop him.”

The smile was easy, the smile clear. “It’s not courage, it’s faith. I have complete faith in Fox. He’s the best man I know.”

Brian stayed until she closed the office, then insisted on driving her home. The best man I know, she mused as she walked in the house. Was there a higher tribute from father to son? She walked upstairs to take the journal back to the home office.

Quinn sat at her desk, scowling at her monitor.

“How’s it going?”

“Crappy. I’m on deadline with the article, and I can’t keep my head in the game.”

“Sorry. I’ll go down, give you the room.”

“No. Shit.” She shoved away. “I shouldn’t have said I’d write the stupid article except, hello, money. But we’ve been pushing on this idea of the blood ritual, and clever words to go with it, and Cybil’s snarly.”

“Where is she?”

“Working in her room because apparently I think too loud.” Quinn waved it away. “We get like this with each other if we work on a project for any serious length of time. Only she gets like this more. I wish I had a cookie.” Quinn propped her chin on her hand. “I wish I had a bag of Milanos. Crap.” She picked up the apple from the desk, bit in. “What are you smiling at, size freaking two?”

“Four, and I’m smiling because it’s reassuring to come home and find you in this lousy mood wishing for cookies, and Cybil holed up in her room. It’s so normal.”

With something between a grunt and a snort, Quinn took another bite of apple. “My mother sent a swatch for bridesmaids’ gowns. It’s fuchsia. How’s that for normal, Sunny Jane?”

“I could wear fuchsia if I had to. Please don’t make me.”

Blue eyes wickedly amused, Quinn chewed and smiled. “Cyb would look horrible in fuchsia. If she keeps crabbing at me, I’ll make her wear it. You know what? We need to get out of here for a while. All work, no play. We’re taking tomorrow off and shopping for my wedding dress.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“I thought you’d never ask. I’ve been dying to do this. Where-”

Layla turned as Cybil’s door opened. “We’re going shopping. For Quinn’s wedding gown.”

“Good, that’s good.” At the doorway, Cybil leaned on the jamb, studied both her friends. “That’s what we could call a ritual-a white one, a female one. Unless we want to take a closer look at the symbolism. White equals virginal, veil equals submission-”

“We don’t,” Quinn interrupted. “I will, without shame, toss my feminist principles to the wind for the perfect wedding dress. I’ll live with it.”

“Right. Well, anyway…” Absently, Cybil shoved back her mass of hair. “It’s still a female ritual. Maybe it’ll balance out what we’ll be doing in another two weeks. Blood magic.”

FOX DROVE STRAIGHT TO LAYLA’S AFTER HIS APPOINTMENTS. She opened the door as he started up the walk, her hair swinging, her lips curved in a welcoming smile. Could he help it if that was exactly what he hoped to come home to every night?

“Hey.” He leaned down to kiss her, leaned up and cocked his head at the absent response. “Why don’t we try that again?”

“Sorry. I’m distracted.” She took the lapels of his jacket in her hands, and put herself into the kiss.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” But he saw now there was no reflection of that smile of greeting in her eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“Did you get my voice mail?”

“Meeting here, as soon as I could make it. I made it.”

“We’re in the living room. It’s-Cybil thinks she’s nailed down the blood ritual.”

“Fun and games for all.” Concerned, he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “What’s the problem?”

“She- She’s waiting until you get here to explain it to the three of you.”

“Whatever she explained to you didn’t put roses in your cheeks.”

“Some of the variables on the potential outcome aren’t rosy.” She took his hand. “You’d better hear it for yourself. But before… I have to tell you something else.”

“Okay.”

“Fox…” Her fingers tightened on his, as if in comfort. “Can we just sit here a minute?”

They sat on the porch steps, looking out at the quiet street. Her hands clasped on her knee, one of her signs- Gage would call it a tell-of nerves. “How bad is it?” Fox asked her.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.” She pressed her lips together once, hard. “I’m going to say it straight out, then you can take whatever time you need to, well, absorb it. Carly was connected. To this. She was a descendent of Hester Deale’s.”