The enormity of it left her breathless, but energized.
“No—I need to move. Can you give me an hour? I need to absorb this.”
“Sure.” Helping her up, he kept his arm around her, escorted her out of the bathroom and to the door, grabbing her blue leather jacket off the coat rack. “We’ll need to make some decisions when you come back.”
She halted, her jacket only half on. “You mean about telling people?”
“That, and the wedding, to start. If you want to wait until after . . . we can talk about it when you get back.” That hesitation clearly told her he didn’t want to wait.
She shoved her other arm in her jacket and brushed hair off her forehead. “Okay—I have more to think about than I thought.” She smiled, shaking her head. “And with that pithy statement, I’m out of here.”
Eric stopped her, framed her face with his hands, kissed her. “If you’re up for it, we’ll celebrate when you get back.”
She nodded, her throat too tight to get any words through, and wandered out of the hotel. Turning right, she walked down the alley next to the hotel, and out to the patchwork fields behind it.
Before she realized where she wanted to go, she was heading for the standing stones she read about in the paper. Most of them still stood, casting shadows on the grass. On this rare sunny day, they were bathed in the clear yellow light, looking otherworldly in the wind blown field, surrounded by bleating sheep. She and Eric had been so busy with other sites, she hadn’t had the chance to visit them until now.
She stopped in between two of the leaning stones. They were at least ten feet high, and oddly graceful, smoothed and shaped by centuries of wind and weather—
“Jeez—where did that come from?” She wasn’t fanciful—hell, even her approach to witchcraft was practical. Eric, she thought. Eric made her believe in pretty much everything.
As she stood still, one hand on the surprisingly warm stone, she felt the ley lines that supposedly ran across this entire part of the country, humming under her feet.
She felt it, and couldn’t deny it. This place held magic. Powerful magic, that pulled her in, called to her own power. As she let the silence surround her, she felt her sapphire ring warm against her finger. After the last few years as Claire’s friend, standing in the middle of the impossible, she thought she couldn’t be surprised by anything.
But the south of England surprised her—with its long stretches of green field, populated only by sheep, cows, and the occasional farmstead. There were postcard perfect villages, where they’d been welcomed with a warmth she didn’t expect, and the soft, quiet beauty of the land. She’d never seen anything like it, and it took her by surprise, again, every time she ventured out. It also soothed, in a way she didn’t expect from anywhere but her beloved beach at home.
She needed that sense of peace now, her thoughts crashing against each other. Still a little shaky, she leaned against the stone, one hand on her stomach.
“God,” she whispered, staring at the ground. “How am I going to do this?”
Torn grass caught her eye. She followed it—and anger gave her a boost of adrenaline when she saw the damage.
“Damn stupid asshat. How could they do that?”
She made her way to the standing stone, now at a dangerous angle. The paper said that archaeologists were on their way to assess and help repair the damage done to the circle. They obviously hadn’t come yet.
She smelled the intruder just before the high-pitched voice scraped across her skin.
“What are you doing here?”
Annie turned, and almost ran into the owner. The short, overweight woman looked ridiculous in the heavy black cloak, the tight black dress she wore underneath accentuating every roll. Patchouli surrounded her, the wind blowing it around the circle. Annie tried to shallow breathe so she wouldn’t swallow any of the stench. Man, she hated patchouli. And it didn’t help the nausea just waiting to jump her again.
“I wanted to see the standing stones I’ve read about in the paper,” Annie said. Pale grey eyes stared up at her, made Annie want to lay down a protection spell. They were intense, and not quite sane.
“You do not belong here. You have no right to this place or the . . .” Her voice faded, wide eyes moving down to Annie’s hand. Her ring sparked in response, and the woman gasped. “You will not cast—”
“I don’t attack other witches.” Not that this woman’s meager power qualified. Despite the costume, she didn’t have what Annie thought of as the scent of a witch; a certain, indefinable presence. Claire had it in spades, even with her diminished power. “But if you want to be alone, I’ll be happy to go.” She already felt nauseous again, and had a feeling the power humming around her was only part of the reason. The patchouli rolling off this woman didn’t help.