The Pagan Stone by Nora Roberts Page B

the energy, the anonymity of a casino or a city.
    If they killed the bastard and lived through it, he thought he’d buzz off somewhere for a few weeks. Cal’s wedding in September would bring him back, but in the meantime, there was a big world out there, and a lot of cards to be dealt. Maybe Amsterdam or Luxembourg for a change of pace.
    Or, if he was in the get-Cybil-naked mode, he might suggest Paris. Romance, sex, gambling, and fashion all in one shot. He thought she’d like the idea. After all, she shared his affection for travel and a good hotel. Finding out how they traveled together might be a nice way to celebrate living beyond his thirty-first birthday.
    She was bound to bring him luck—good or bad was yet to be seen—but a woman like that tipped scales. He was willing to gamble they’d tip his way.
    A couple of weeks, pure fun, no strings, then they’d come back, watch their friends get hooked up, and part ways. It was a good blueprint, he decided, one that could easily be adjusted to whim and circumstance.
    With the paper tucked under his arm, he started back the way he came.
    The woman stood just over the other side of the little wooden bridge that spanned the creek. Her hair fell loose and free around her shoulders, and glowed pale gold in the delicate sunlight. Her long dress was a quiet blue, high at the neck. His heart gave one hard thump as he knew her to be Ann Hawkins, dead for centuries.
    But just for an instant, for one quick beat when she smiled, he saw his mother in her.
    “You are the last of the sons of the sons of my sons. You are what came from me and my love, what came from passion, cold blood, and bitter sacrifice. Faith and hope came before you, and must remain steadfast. You are the vision. You and she who came from the dark. Your blood, its blood, our blood. With this, the stone is whole once more. With this, you are blessed.”
    “Blah, blah, blah,” he said, and wondered if the gods struck you dead for mouthing off to a ghost. “Why don’t you tell me how to use it, and we’ll finish this thing and get on with our lives?”
    Ann Hawkins tilted her head, and damned if he didn’t see the mother look on her face. “Anger is a weapon as well, if used judiciously. He did all that he could, gave you all you would need. You have only to see, to trust what you know, to take what is given. I wept for you, little boy.”
    “Appreciate it, but tears didn’t do me a lot of good.”
    “Hers will, when they come. You are not alone. You never were. From blood and fire came the light and the dark. With blood and fire, one will prevail. The key to your vision, to the answers, is in your hand. Turn it, and see.”
    When she faded, he stood where he was. Typical, he thought, typical female. They just couldn’t make things simple. Irritated now, he crossed the bridge and climbed the slope of the lane to the house.
    The lovebirds were in the kitchen, so he’d lost his chance for that quiet and solitary cup of coffee. They were wrapped around each other, naturally, lip-locked in front of the damn coffeepot.
    “Break it up.” Gage bumped Fox with his shoulder to nudge him clear of the pot.
    “Hasn’t had his first cup yet.” Fox gave Layla a last squeeze before picking up the Coke he’d already opened. “He’s bitchy until.”
    “Do you want me to fix you some breakfast?” Layla offered. “We’ve got time before we have to leave for the office.”
    “Aren’t you Mary Sunshine?” On this grouchy pronouncement, Gage pulled a box of cereal out of the cupboard, then dug in for a handful. “I’m good.” Then he narrowed his eyes as Fox opened the paper. “I walked down for that, I get it first.”
    “I’m just checking the box scores, Mr. Happy. Any Pop-Tarts around here?”
    “God, you’re pathetic.”
    “Man, you’re eating Froot Loops out of the box. Pot, kettle.”
    With a frown, Gage glanced down. So he was. And since the coffee kicked the worst of his crabbiness down,