Blood Magick

  “And I wouldn’t mind you leaving the kitchen as it is if one of you would go check on Fin,” Branna said. “This was more of a strain on him than it was on me, and I’ll confess, I’m worn through from it.”

  “I’ll give him a few minutes, then go over,” Connor told her. “I’ll stay if that’s what he needs, or stay till I’m sure he’s settled. We can still see to the kitchen. Go on up now, don’t worry.”

  “Then I will. Good night.”

  Meara waited until Branna was out of earshot, Kathel by her side, then walked over to put the kettle on. “You’re the one who’s worrying, Connor.”

  “She didn’t eat, not a thing.” He glanced toward the kitchen doorway, stuck his hands in his pockets as if he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with them. “She only pretended to eat. There were shadows under her eyes that weren’t there at the start of the spell. Then letting you and Iona fuss over her without putting up a fight? She’s worn to the bone, that’s what.

  “You’ll look after her, won’t you, Meara? You and Iona will see to her. I won’t be long at Fin’s unless I’m needed. And we’ll stay here tonight.”

  “Give Fin what he needs, and we’ll see to Branna.”

  “Without making it like you’re seeing to her.”

  She shot the fretting brother a glance. “I’ve known her near as long as you, Connor. I think I know how to handle Branna O’Dwyer as much as any can. We’ll give her a bit of female time, then leave her alone. She’ll do best with the quiet and alone.”

  “True enough. I’ll run over to Fin’s, and be back as soon as I can.”

  “If you need to stay, you’ve only to let us know.” She turned her face for a kiss when he came over, smiled at his quick, hard hug.

  She finished up Branna’s tea while Connor put on his outdoor gear, and turned to Boyle when they were alone. “It looks like you’re left with the dirty dishes.” Meara gave him a quick pat on the shoulder as she sailed out.

  He looked around the empty kitchen, sighed. “Ah, well.” And rolled up his sleeves.

  • • •

  CONNOR WALKED STRAIGHT INTO FIN’S AS HE HAD SINCE the day the front door went up. Before, come to that, as he’d installed the door himself.

  He found Fin with another whiskey in front of the living room fire, the little stable dog Bugs curled up sleeping at his feet.

  “I’ve orders to check in on you,” he announced, and thought it was good he had. Fin looked as worn and bruised as Branna.

  “I’m fine, as you can see plain enough.”

  “You’re not, as I see plain enough,” Connor corrected, and helped himself to a whiskey, then a chair. “Iona’s after drawing Branna a bath, and Meara’s making her tea. She’s letting them, which tells me she needs the fussing. What do you need?”

  “And if I ask it, you’ll give it?”

  “You know I will, though it’s a mortifying thought I may be drawing your bath and tucking you up.”

  Fin didn’t smile, only shifted his gaze from whatever he saw in the fire, met Connor’s eyes. “It was a hard pull, a bloody brutal pull. For a moment I could feel all it promises. That power beyond what any of us hold. It’s black and it’s cold, but it’s . . . seductive. And all I have to say is, I’ll take it.”

  “You didn’t. And you won’t.”

  “I didn’t, this time. Or times before, but it’s a call to the blood. And to the animal that’s inside all of us. So I’ll ask you for something, Connor, as you’re my friend as near as much a brother to me as you are to Branna.”

  “I’m both.”

  “Then you’ll swear to me, on your own blood, on your heart where your magick roots, if I turn, if the pull is too much and I fall, you’ll stop me by whatever means it takes.”

  “You’d never—”

  “I need you to swear it,” Fin interrupted, eyes fierce. “Otherwise I’ll need to go, I’ll need to leave here, leave her—leave all of you. I won’t risk it.”

  Connor stretched out his legs, crossed his boots at the ankles, stared at them for several moments.

  Then slowly, he lifted his gaze to Fin’s.

  “Listen to yourself. You want his end more than the three, more than the three we come from, but you’d step away, on the chance you’ve put in your block of a head you could fall when you’ve stood all this time.”

  “You weren’t in the cave. You didn’t feel what I felt.”

  “I’m here now. I’ve known you near to all our lives, before the mark came on you and after. I know who you are. And because I do, I’ll swear it to you, Fin, if that’s what you need. What I have comes from my heart, as you said, and my heart knows you. So you’ll have your brood, and I’ll say you’ve earned it. And tomorrow we’ll be back to it.”

  “All right then.” Steadier now, Fin sipped his whiskey. “I have earned a brood.”

  “That you have, and I’ll brood with you until I finish my whiskey.” Connor sipped and sat awhile in silence. “We both love her,” he said.

  Fin leaned back, shut his eyes. “That’s the fucking truth.”

  And love, Connor knew well, pulled stronger than any dark promises.

  10

  FIN CONSIDERED HIMSELF SOCIABLE ENOUGH. HE KNEW when to stand a round in the pub, was a good guest who could make conversation at dinner. If he had mates over to watch a match or play some snooker, he provided plenty of beer and food and didn’t fuss about the mess made.

  He hadn’t been raised in a barn, after all, so he understood as well as any man the basic expectations and duties when hosting a party.

  Iona reeducated him.

  In midafternoon on the last day of the year, she came to his door with her sunlight crown of hair tucked into a bright blue cap he remembered her Nan had knit her for Christmas. And loaded down with shopping bags.

  “Didn’t we just have Christmas?”

  “Party supplies.” She pushed some bags in his hand, carried the rest with her as she walked back to his kitchen. After dumping them on the center island, she pulled off her coat, scarf, hat, gloves, then her boots—and took all of them into his laundry room.

  “We’ve got candles,” she began.

  “I have candles. I bought some from Branna not long before Yule.”

  “Not enough, not nearly.” Both firmness and pity lived in Iona’s shake of the head. “You need them everywhere.”

  She dug into a bag, started taking things out. “These are for the living room mantel. You’ll get a twelve-hour burn, so you want to light them about a half hour before you expect people to start coming.”

  “Do I?”

  “You do,” she said definitely. “They’ll set a pretty, celebrational yet elegant atmosphere. These are for the powder room up here, and for the bathroom downstairs, and the main bath upstairs. No one should go into your master suite unless invited, but there’s extra so you should put some there, just in case. And these are guest towels—pretty, simple, and disposable.”

  She laid out a wrapped stack of white napkins embossed with silver champagne flutes.

  “So people don’t have to dry their hands on the same cloth towel someone else dried their hands on.”

  Fin let out a quick laugh. “Seriously now?”

  “Fin, look at my face.” She pointed to it. “Deadly serious. I got some extra candles for your dining room in case you didn’t have enough there, and others for the mantel on your lower level. Now, it’s essential you make sure there’s plenty of TP in the bathrooms. Women hate, loathe, and despise when they’re sitting there and there’s no TP.”

  “I can only imagine. Fortunately.”

  “I plan to do an hourly check on the bathrooms, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You’re a comfort to me, Iona.”

  She laid her hands on his cheeks. “I got you into this, and I said I’d help. I’m here to help. Now. The caterers will pretty much take over the kitchen, and they’ll know what they’re doing. I checked on them, and they’re supposed to be
stellar. Good choice.”

  “Thanks. I do what I can.”

  She only smiled. “We’ll just want to be sure the servers understand they’ll need to cover your lower level with food and drink because you’re going to have a lot of people gathering down there to play games, dance, and hang out. You’ll have fires going, of course.”

  “Well, of course.”

  “I know everyone will have plenty to eat and drink. It’s not called The Night of the Big Portion or . . . wait.” She closed her eyes a moment. “Or Oiche ne Coda Moire, for nothing.”

  Now he grinned at her. “You handled the Irish brilliantly.”

  “I’ve been practicing. We don’t have to get into the New Year’s Eve tradition of cleaning the house—I read up on Irish traditions—because yours is already spotless. You’re as scary as Branna there, so I’m going to put these candles where they belong, and the guest towels, and oh—” She reached into another bag. “I picked up these pretty mints and these candied almonds. The colors are so pretty, and it’s a nice thing to have here and there in little bowls. Oh, and Boyle’s picking up the rolling rack I borrowed from Nan’s friend’s daughter.”

  “A rolling rack?” For reasons he didn’t want to explore, he got the immediate image of a portable torture device.

  “For hanging coats. You have to do something with people’s coats, so we’re borrowing the rack. It should work fine in the laundry room. One of us will take people’s coats as they come in, hang them up, get them when people want to leave. You can’t just toss them on the couch or on a bed.”

  “I hadn’t given it a thought. I’m lucky to have you.”

  “You are, and it’s also good practice. I’m already planning a blow-out party next summer when our house is finished and furnished, and we’re settled in.”

  “I’m already looking forward to it.”

  “We’ll have finished Cabhan by then. I believe it. We won’t be working every day as we are now on how and when. We’ll just be living. I know it’s been a hard week, on you and Branna especially.”

  “It’s not meant to be easy.”

  Carefully, Iona tidied the stacks of guest towels. “Have you seen her today?”

  “Not today, no.”

  “This morning she said she was going to try some calculations on finishing this a year from the day I arrived—the day I first went to the cottage to meet her.”

  He considered. “There’s a thought.”

  “And she looked as doubtful it’s right as you do, but it’s something to consider. So we will. But not tonight. Tonight is party time.”

  “Hmm. What’s in this other bag here?”

  “Ah, well . . . some people like silly party hats and noisemakers.”

  He opened the bag, stared in at colorful paper hats, sparkly tiaras. “I’m going to tell you right out of the gate. Though I adore the very ground you walk on, I won’t be wearing one of these.”

  “Completely optional. I thought we could put them in a couple big baskets for anyone who wants them. Anyway, I’m going to set all this up, then I’m going to work with Branna for an hour or two before I deck myself out in my party clothes. I’ll be here an hour early for finishing touches.”

  She carted out candles, and he looked deeper into the bag full of paper hats. No, he wouldn’t be wearing one, but he’d put himself up as her second in command now, help her with her candles and fussing.

  Then he’d take an hour himself for some calculations of his own.

  • • •

  LATER, WHEN THE CATERERS INVADED AND HE’D ANSWERED dozens of questions, made far too many decisions on details he hadn’t considered, he closed himself off in his room for a blessed half hour to dress in the quiet. He wondered what his odds were of staying closed in, considered Iona’s cheerful determination and calculated them at nil.

  Where had he been this time last year? he wondered. The Italian Alps, near Lake Como. He’d spent three weeks or so there. He’d found it easier to spend holidays away from home, to celebrate them in his own way with strangers.

  Now he’d see how he managed not only to be home, but to have those he knew in his home.

  Maybe he dawdled a little longer than necessary, then dressed in black jeans and black sweater, started downstairs.

  He heard voices, music, laughter. Glanced at his watch to see if he’d completely miscalculated the time. But no, he had forty minutes yet before guests were due.

  Candles in red glass holders glowed on his mantel above a crackling fire. His tree shined. A bouncy reel played out of his speakers. The massive candlestand he’d bought in some faraway place stood in a corner, cleverly filled with votives that radiated more light.

  Light and music, he thought, his circle’s weapon against the dark.

  Iona had been right. She’d been perfectly right.

  He started back, noted she’d set more candles in his library, still more in the space he’d fashioned into a music room.

  She’d come up with flowers as well—little glass jars of roses tied with silver ribbons.

  He found her and Meara, along with some of the catering staff, busy in the dining area.

  Another fire, more candles, more roses, silver trays and crystal dishes filled with food, chafing dishes holding more.

  And all the sweets displayed on his buffet—the cakes and biscuits and pastries. Offerings of cheeses under a clear dome.

  Iona, in a short sheath of dark, deep silver, had her hands on her hips as she took—he had no doubt—eagle-eyed stock. Beside her, Meara had her hair tumbling loose over the shoulders of a gown the color of carnelian that clung to her curves.

  “I think I’ve made a mistake,” he said and had both his friends turning to him. “Why have I invited people here tonight when I could have two beautiful women all to myself?”

  “That’s just the sort of charm that will have all your guests talking about this party for months,” Iona told him.

  “I was going to say bollocks, but it’s charming bollocks,” Meara decided. “Your home looks absolutely amazing on top of it all.”

  “I didn’t have much to do with it.”

  “Everything,” Iona corrected. “You just let me play with fire.” Laughing, she walked over, hooked her arm in his. “And Cecile and her team are the best. Honestly, Cecile, the food looks too good to eat.”

  Cecile, a tall blonde in black pants and a vest over a crisp white shirt, flushed with pleasure. “Thanks for that, but eating it’s just what we want everyone to do. We did some stations downstairs as Iona suggested,” she told Fin. “And have a bar set up there as well. We’ll have servers passing through regularly up here, down there, to be sure all your guests are well seen to.”

  “It all looks brilliant.”

  “You haven’t seen downstairs.” Iona led him to the stairs and down. “I went a little mad with the candles, and got nervous, so I did a protection spell. They can’t burn anything or anyone.”

  “You think of everything.”

  More candles and greenery, pretty food and flowers. He walked to the bar, to the fridge behind it and took out a bottle of champagne.

  “You should have the first drink.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  He opened the champagne with a muffled pop, poured her a flute, then poured one for himself. “It was a happy day when you came into our lives, deirfiúr bheag.”

  “The happiest of my life.”

  “To happy days then.”

  She tapped her glass to his. “To happy days, for all of us.”

  Within the hour it seemed he had half the village in his house. They swarmed or gathered, gawked or settled right in. They filled plates and glasses, sat or stood in his living room or, as Iona had predicted, wandered downstairs where the band he’d hired began their first set.

  He found himself happy enough with a beer in his hand to move from conversation to conversation. But of all the faces in his house, there was one he didn’t see.

  Then as if he
wished it, she was there.

  He came back upstairs to do his duty with his main-floor guests, and she was there, standing in his kitchen chatting with the caterers.

  She’d left her hair down, a black waterfall that teased the waist of a dress of velvet the color of rich red wine. He thought Iona could have found a hundred more candles and still not achieved the light Branna O’Dwyer brought into his home.

  He got a glass of champagne, brought it to her. “You’ll have a drink.”

  “I will indeed.” She turned to him, eyes smoky, lips as red as her dress. “You throw a fine party, Fin.”

  “I do, as I follow Iona’s orders.”

  “She’s been half mad with excitement and anxiety over tonight, having pushed you into it. And all but bought me out of candles. I see she made good use of them.”

  “They’re everywhere, as she commanded.”

  “And where is our Iona?”

  “She’s downstairs. Meara’s down there as well, and Boyle and Connor, and Iona’s Nan.” But he guided her toward the dining area as he spoke. “Will you eat?”

  “Sure I will as it looks delicious, but not just yet.”

  “Do you still have a weakness for these?” He picked up a mini cream puff drenched in powdered sugar.

  “A terrible one, which I usually deny. But all right, not tonight.” She took it, tried a small bite. “Oh, that’s a sinful wonder.”

  “Have two. Oiche na Coda Moire.”

  She laughed, shook her head. “I’ll come back for the second.”

  “Then I’ll take you down to your circle, and the music.”

  He offered a hand, waited until she put hers in it. “Will you dance with me, Branna? Put yesterday and tomorrow aside, and dance with me tonight?”

  She moved with him toward the music, the warmth, the glowing light.

  “I will.”

  • • •

  SHE NEARLY HADN’T COME. SHE TRIED TO FIND REASONS TO stay away, or failing that to simply pay a courtesy visit, then slip out again. But every reason devised rang the same way in her ears.

  As cowardice. Or worse, pettiness.

  She couldn’t be so petty, so cowardly as to snub him because it distressed her to be in his home, to see, to feel the life he’d built himself without her.

  Her choice, without him. Her duty, without him.

  So she’d come.

  She’d spent a great deal of time on her hair, her makeup, the whole of her appearance. If she was to celebrate the end of one year, the beginning of another in his house, in his company, she’d bloody well look amazing doing it.

  She found the downstairs of his home, what she thought of as a play area, so very him. Good, rich colors mixed with neutrals, old refurbished furniture mixed with the new. Small pieces obviously bought on his rambles. And plenty of entertainment.

  The absurdly big wall TV, the snooker table, the old pinball machine and jukebox along with a gorgeous fireplace of Connemara marble topped by a thick, rough plank for a mantel.

  The musicians played lively tunes near a mahogany bar he told her he found in Dublin. Though the space was roomy, furniture had been pushed back to make more room yet for dancing.