Blood Magick

  connected—her husband and Boyle are so alike. In temperament, his love of horses and the land.”

  “Boyle’s connected to the three through the man Teagan married? Yes, that could be.”

  “We didn’t talk of Cabhan, and isn’t that odd? We just drank tea and talked of her husband, the baby to come, Boyle, the wedding plans. At the end of the dream, she gave me a little charm, and said it was for Alastar.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “I put it on his bridle this morning before I came. I had a charm in my pocket, one I’d made for Alastar, so I gave it to her.”

  “We’ve exchanged tokens, each of us with each of them. I think it’s more than courtesy. Something of ours in their time, and something of theirs in ours. We’ll want all three gifts with us when we face Cabhan again.”

  “We’re still not sure when.”

  “It’s a frustration to me,” Branna admitted. “But it can’t be done until we have all we need to destroy the demon. I have to believe we’ll know when we must.”

  “Demons and visits in dreams with cousins from centuries ago. Battles and whirlwinds and weddings. My life is so different from what it was a year ago. I’ve been here nearly a year now, and it feels as if the life I led before was barely there. Is it silly—and unrealistic—for me to plan and cook a kind of anniversary dinner for Boyle? Surprise him with it—and I mean something he can actually eat without pretending it doesn’t suck.”

  Both amused and touched, Branna glanced over while Iona rearranged her towers. “Of course it’s not.”

  “I can still see him just the way it was when he first rode up on Alastar. The way both of them just shot straight into me. Now they’re mine. I want to mark the day.”

  “So you will.”

  Something brushed the edge of her thoughts. Branna paused, waited for it to come, and the door jangled open.

  One of her neighbors, a cheerful, grandmotherly type, stepped inside.

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Baker.”

  “And to you, Branna, and here’s Iona as well. I hope I’m not a bother to you.”

  “Not at all. Would you have some tea?” Branna offered.

  “I wouldn’t mind it, if it’s no trouble. It’s tea I’ve come for—if you’ve the blend you make for head colds. It would save me a trip to the village if you’ve some on hand I can buy from you.”

  “I do, of course. Here, take off your coat, and sit by the fire. Have you a cold coming on?”

  “Not me, but my husband has one full blown, and is driving me mad with his complaints. I swear a cup of tea by your fire here with women who know better than to think their life’s finished because they’ve got a cold in the head would save my sanity. Oh, and aren’t these soaps as pretty as candy in a jar.”

  “I can’t decide which is my favorite, but this one’s leading the charge.” Iona held up a bold red cake for Mrs. Baker to sniff.

  “That’s lovely. I’m going to treat myself to one of these as a reward for not knocking himself unconscious with a skillet.”

  “You deserve it.”

  “A bit of the sniffles and men are more work than a brood of babies. You’ll be finding that out for yourself soon enough, with the wedding coming.”

  “I’m hoping to get a good skillet as a wedding gift,” Iona said, and made Mrs. Baker laugh until she wheezed.

  Accepting the invitation, she took off her coat, her scarf, and settled herself by the fire. “And here’s your Kathel—it’s a fine thing, a dog, a fire, a cup of tea. I thought I saw him when I started over, prowling along the edge of the woods, even called out a greeting to him before I saw it wasn’t our Kathel at all. A big black dog for certain, and for a moment I thought: Well, God in heaven, that’s a wolf. Then it was gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Old eyes, I imagine, playing tricks.”

  After a quick glance at Iona, Branna brought over tea and biscuits. “A stray perhaps. Have you seen it before?”

  “I haven’t, no, and hope not to again. It gave me gooseflesh, I admit, when it turned its head toward me after I called out, thinking it was Kathel. I nearly turned round and went back inside—which should prove it gave me the shivers, as inside I’ve Mr. Baker’s whining.

  “Oh, Branna, what a treat! I couldn’t be more grateful.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’ve a tonic you could add to Mr. Baker’s tea. It’s good for what troubles him, and will help him sleep.”

  “Name your price.”

  They entertained Mrs. Baker, rang up the sale of tea and tonic, and gave the pretty soap as a gift. And Branna sent Kathel out with her, to be certain she got home safe.

  “Did he show himself to her,” Iona said the minute they were alone, “or is his . . . presence—would that be it—just more tangible?”

  “I’m wondering if he got careless, as that’s another possibility. Prowling around as she said, hoping to trouble us, and he didn’t shadow himself from others. As he doesn’t want the attention of others, I think it was carelessness.”

  “He’s impatient.”

  “It may be, but he’ll just have to wait until we’re ready. I’m going to finish this restorative, then we’ll take ourselves off. We’ll have that ride.”

  “You’re hoping he’ll take a run at us.”

  “I’m not hoping he won’t.” Branna lifted her chin in defiance. “I’d like to give him a taste of what two women of power can do.”

  • • •

  BRANNA WASN’T DISAPPOINTED FIN HAD BUSINESS ELSEWHERE. If he’d been at home or in the stables, he wouldn’t have cared for the idea of her and Iona going out at all, or would have insisted on going with them.

  She wore riding boots she hadn’t put on in years, and had to admit it felt good. And what felt even better was saddling Aine herself.

  “We don’t know each other well as yet, so I hope you’ll let Iona know if you’ve any problems with me.” She took a moment to come around the filly’s head, stroke her cheeks, look into her eyes.

  “He’d have wanted you for your beauty and grace alone, for you have both in full measure. But he sensed you were for me, and I for you. If that’s the way of it, I’ll do my best for you. That’s an oath. I made this for you today,” she added, and braided a charm into Aine’s mane with a bright red ribbon. “For protection, as mine or not, I’ll protect you.”

  “She thinks you’re nearly as pretty as she is,” Iona told Branna.

  With a laugh, Branna stepped over to adjust the stirrups to her liking. “Now then that’s a fine compliment.”

  “With you on her back, you’ll make a picture—which is something she’s happy to make for Alastar.”

  “Let’s make one then.” With Iona she led the horses out of the stables, vaulted into the saddle as if it had been only yesterday.

  “Do we have a plan?” Iona leaned over the saddle to pat Alastar’s neck.

  “Sometimes it’s best to take things as they come.”

  They walked to the road, with Kathel and Bugs prancing along with them.

  “I can’t call the hawk,” Iona said.

  “They’ll come if needed. Though that would’ve been a thought, wouldn’t it, to ride out with all the guides. What do you say to a canter?”

  “I say yay.”

  Graceful, Branna thought again when Aine responded and broke into a bright canter. And flirtatious, Branna added, as she didn’t need to have Iona’s gift to interpret the way Aine tossed her mane.

  She glanced back, saw that the faithful Kathel slowed his own pace to stay with Bugs, felt her lips curve at the happiness beaming from both of them.

  So she let herself just enjoy.

  The cool air, with a sharpness in it that told her more snow would come. The scent of the trees and horses, the steady beat of hooves.

  Maybe she had taken too little time for too long a time if a little canter down the road brought her such a lift in spirit.

  She felt in tune with the horse. Fin would be right, she admitted, as he
was never wrong on such matters. For whatever reason, Aine would be hers, and the partnership between them began now.

  They turned onto the path into the trees where the air was cooler yet. Small pools of snow lay in shadows where they’d formed in a previous fall, and a bird chattered on a bough.

  They slowed to an easy trot.

  “She’s hoping, and so’s Alastar, we’ll head to some open before it’s done for a gallop.”

  “I wouldn’t mind it. I haven’t gone this way in more than a year. I’d nearly forgotten how lovely it can be in winter, how hushed and alone.”

  “I’ll never get used to it,” Iona told her. “Could never take any of it for granted. I don’t know how many guideds I’ve done through here this last year, and still every one is a wonder.”

  “It doesn’t bore you, a horsewoman of your skills, just plodding along?”

  “You’d think it would, but it doesn’t. The people are usually interesting, and I’m getting paid for riding a horse. Then . . .” Iona wiggled her eyebrows. “I get to sleep with the boss. It’s a good deal all around.”

  “We could circle around on the way back, go by your house.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. They were supposed to—maybe—start putting up drywall today. Connor’s been a champ, making time to get over there and pitch in.”

  “Sure he loves the building, and he’s clever with it.”

  In unison they turned to walk the horses along the river.

  The air chilled, and Branna saw the first fingers of fog.

  “We’ve company,” she murmured to Iona.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Keep the horses calm, won’t you, and I’ll do the same with the hounds.”

  He came as a man, handsome and hard, dressed in black with silver trim. Branna noted he’d been vain enough to do a glamour as his face glowed with health and color.

  He swept them a deep bow.

  “Ladies. What a grand sight you make on a winter’s day.”

  “Do you have so little to occupy yourself,” Branna began, “that you spend all your time sniffing about where you’re not welcome.”

  “But you see I’ve been rewarded, as here are the two blooms of the three. You think to wed a mortal,” he said to Iona. “To waste your power on one who can never return it. I have so much more for you.”

  “You have nothing for me, and you’re so much less than him.”

  “He builds you a house of stone and stick when I would give you a palace.” He spread his arms, and over the cold, dark water of the river swam a palace shining with silver and gold. “A true home for such as you, who has never had her own. Always craved her own. This I would give you.”

  Iona dug deep, turned the image to black. “Keep it.”

  “I will take your power, then you will live in the ashes of what might have been. And you.” He turned to Branna. “You lay with my son.”

  “He isn’t your son.”

  “His blood is my blood, and this you can never deny. Take him, be taken, it only weakens you. You will bear my seed one way or the other. Choose me, choose now, while I still grant you a choice. Or when I come for you, I will give you pain not pleasure. Choose him, and his blood, the blood of all you profess to love, will be on your hands.”

  She leaned forward in the saddle. “I choose myself. I choose my gift and my birthright. I choose the light, whatever the price. Where Sorcha failed, we will not. You’ll burn, Cabhan.”

  Now she swept an arm out, and over that cold, dark river a tower of fire rose, and through the flame and smoke the image of Cabhan screamed.

  “That is my gift to you.”

  He rose a foot off the ground, and still Iona held the horses steady. “I will take the greatest pleasure in you. I will have you watch while I gut your brother, while I rip your cousin’s man in quarters. You’ll watch me slit the throat of the one you think of as sister, watch while I rape your cousin. And only then when their blood soaks the ground will I end you.”

  “I am the Dark Witch of Mayo,” she said simply. “And I am your doom.”

  “Watch for me,” he warned her. “But you will not see.”

  He vanished with the fog.

  “Those kind of threats—” Iona broke off, gestured toward the flaming towers, the screams. “Would you mind?”

  “Hmm. I rather like it, but . . .” Branna whisked it away. “They’re not threats, not in his mind, but promises. We’ll see he breaks them. I’d hoped he’d take wolf form, at least for a few moments. I want the name of what made him.”

  “Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub?”

  Branna smiled a little. “I think not. A lesser demon, and one who needs Cabhan as Cabhan needs it. The pair of them left a stink in the air. Let’s have that gallop now, and go by and see your house.”

  “The sticks and stones?”

  “Are solid and strong. And real.”

  Iona nodded. “Branna, what if . . . if while you’re with Fin you got pregnant?”

  “I won’t. I’ve taken precautions.” With that she urged Aine into a gallop.

  • • •

  SHE GAVE AINE A CARROT AND A RUBDOWN, SO WHEN FIN came into the stables he found both her and Iona.

  “I’m told you went for a ride.”

  “We did, and it reminded me how I enjoy it.” She leaned her cheek to Aine’s. “You did say she and I should get acquainted.”

  “I didn’t have in mind you going off alone.”

  “I wasn’t alone. I was with Iona and she with me, with Aine and Alastar and the dogs altogether. Oh, don’t try to slither out because he’s glowering,” she said to Iona. “You’re tougher than that. We had a conversation with Cabhan—no more really than a volley of harsh words all around. We’ll tell you and the others the whole of it.”

  “Bloody right you will.” He started to grab Branna’s arm, and Aine butted him in the shoulder with her head.

  “Taking her side now?”

  “She’s mine, after all. And knows as well as I do we had no trouble, and took no more risks than any of us do when taking a step out of the house. I suppose you’ll want a meal with the telling.”

  “I could eat,” Iona said.

  “We’ll have it all here,” Fin told them.

  “With what?”

  He took Branna’s arm now, but casually. “You’ve given me lists every time I turn around. There’s enough in the kitchen to put together a week of meals.”

  “As it should be. All right then. Iona, would you mind telling the others while I see what I can put together in Finbar’s famous kitchen?”

  “You went out looking for him,” Fin accused.

  “I didn’t, no, but I didn’t go out not expecting to find him.”

  “You knew he’d come at you.”

  “He didn’t come at us, not in any way as you mean. Only words. A kind of testing ground on his part, I’m thinking. I’d hoped he’d come as the wolf, so I could try to get the name, but he was only a man.”

  Inside, she took off her coat, handed it to Fin. “And we did have a lovely ride around it, coming back so I could see the progress on Iona’s house. It’s going to be lovely, just lovely. An open kind of space, and still a few snug little places for the cozy. Coming back here that way, I had a different perspective on this house. That room with all the windows that juts toward the woods. It must be a lovely place to sit and look out, all year long. Private enough, and steps from the trees.”

  She rummaged in the refrigerator, freezer, cupboards as she spoke.

  “I’ve a recipe for these chicken breasts Connor’s fond of. It gives them a bite.” Head angled, she sent him a challenging look. “Can you take a bite, Fin?”

  “Can you?” He pulled her to him, nipped her bottom lip.

  “I give good as I get. And you might get more yet if you pour me some wine.”

  He turned, found a bottle, studied the label. “Do you understand what it would have done to me if he’d hurt you?”

  �
�None of us can think like that. We can’t. What we feel for each other, all of us for each other, is strong and true and deep. And we can’t think that way.”

  “It’s not thinking, Branna. It’s feeling.”

  She laid her hands on his chest. “Then we can’t feel that way. He weakens us if he holds us back from taking the risks we have to take.”

  “He weakens us all the more if we stop feeling.”

  “You’re both right.” Iona came in. “We have to feel it. I’m afraid for Boyle all the time, but we still do what we have to do. We feel it, and we keep going.”

  “You’ve a good point. You feel, but you don’t stop,” she said to Fin. “Neither can I. I can promise you I’ll protect myself as best I can. And I’m very good at it.”

  “You are that. I’m going to open this wine, Iona. Would you have some?”

  “Twist my arm.”

  “After you’ve done the wine, Fin, you can scrub up the potatoes.”

  “Iona,” Fin said smooth as butter, “you wouldn’t mind scrubbing the potatoes, would you, darling?”

  Before Branna could speak, Iona pulled off her coat. “I’ll take KP. In fact, whatever you’re making, Branna, you could walk me through it. Maybe it’ll be the anniversary dinner for Boyle.”

  “This is a little rough and ready for that,” Branna began, “but . . . Well, that’s it! For the love of . . . Why didn’t I think of it before?”

  “Think of what?” Iona asked.

  “The time. The day we end Cabhan. Right in front of my face. I need my book. I need my star charts. I need to be sure. I’ll take the table here for it—it shouldn’t take long.”

  She grabbed the wine Fin had just poured, and walking toward the dining area, flicked fingers in the air until her spell books, her laptop, her notepad sat neatly on one side. “Iona, you’ll need to quarter those potatoes once scrubbed, lay them in a large baking dish. Get the oven preheated now, to three hundred and seventy-five.”

  “I can do that, but—”

  “I need twenty minutes here. Maybe a half hour. Ah . . . then you’ll pour four tablespoons, more or less, of olive oil over the potatoes, toss them in it to coat. Sprinkle on pepper and crushed rosemary. Use your eye for it, you’ve got one. In the oven for thirty minutes, then I’ll tell you what to do with them next. I’ll be finished by then. Quiet!” she snapped, dropping down to sit before Iona could ask another question.

  “I hate when she says more or less or use your eye,” Iona complained to Fin.

  “I’ve an eye as well, but I promise it’s worse than your own.”

  “Maybe between us, we’ll make one good one.”

  She did her best—scrubbed, quartered, poured, tossed, sprinkled. And wished Boyle would get there to tell her if it looked right. On Fin’s shrug, she stuck it in the oven. Set the timer.

  Then she drank wine and hoped while she and Fin studied Branna.

  She’d pulled one of her clips from somewhere and scooped up her hair. The sweater she’d rolled to her elbows as she worked from book to computer and back again, as she scribbled notes, made calculations.

  “What if she’s not done when the timer goes off?” Iona wondered.

  “We’re on our own, as she’d skin us if we interrupted her now.”

  “That’s it!” Branna slapped a hand on her notebook. “By all the goddesses, that’s it. It’s so fecking simple, it’s so bloody obvious. I looked right through it.”

  She rose, strode back, poured a second glass of wine. “Anniversary. Of course. When else could it be?”

  “Anniversary?” Iona’s eyes went wide. “Mine? The day I came, met you? But you said that hadn’t worked. The day I met Boyle? That anniversary?”