“Nonsense,” Mia said lightly. “And there’s no point in taking that route to try to scare Nell.”

“The end of the third and last harvest of the year.” Nell breathed deep of the night. “A time for remembering the dead, for celebrating the eternal cycle. Also the night when the veil between life and death is said to be its thinnest. Hardly a negative time, but one of reaffirmation and fun. And, of course, Mia’s birthday.”

“The big three-oh this time, too,” said Ripley.

“Don’t be so smug.” There was a little bite in Mia’s voice, a not entirely playful nip. “You’ll be hitting it yourself in six weeks.”

“Yeah, but you’ll always be older than me.”

Isis was already in the clearing, sitting still as a sphinx in the center.

“We have some candles for working light. You can put them on the stones, Ripley, and light them.”

“No.” She shoved her hands, very deliberately, into the pockets of her bomber jacket. “Carting your bag of tricks is one thing. I won’t participate.”

“Oh, for pity sakes. You’ll hardly spoil your magic celibacy by lighting one or two candles.” But Mia snatched the bag from her and stalked to the stones.

“I’ll do it,” Nell insisted. “There’s no point in either of you being angry, when you’re each doing what you want.”

“Why are you so angry?” Ripley kept her voice down, crouched as Mia came back to select what she needed from her bags. “I usually have to work a lot harder to get under your skin.”

“Maybe my skin’s thinner these days.”

“You look tired.”

“I am tired. Something’s coming. It’s pushing, and pushing closer. I don’t know how much longer I can hold it back, or even if I’m meant to. There’ll be blood.”

She gripped Ripley’s wrist, held her still. “And pain. Terror and grief. And I’m afraid that without the circle there’ll be death.”

“If you’re so sure of this, afraid of this, why haven’t you sent for someone? You know others.”

“It’s not for others, and you know it.” She glanced back toward Nell. “Maybe she’s strong enough.”

Mia straightened, tossed back her hood. “Nell. We’ll cast the circle.”

Whatever she’d expected to feel, Ripley hadn’t expected the yearning that ribboned through her as she watched the basic ritual, as the familiar words echoed in her head.

She’d given it up, she reminded herself. She’d set it aside.

She watched wand and athame glimmer. She had always preferred the sword.

Her mouth pursed in consideration as Mia lit candles with a wooden match. Even as she opened her mouth to speak, to question, Mia sent her a quieting look.

Fine, your way as usual, Ripley thought, and kept her comments to herself.