Blood Magick

the makings for colcannon.”

“As well. Dinner at Fin’s then. I’ll go over and start on that, but I think it best and fair we tell them what we’re thinking before a meal. They’ll need time to . . . digest it all, we’ll say.”

“Let’s say they go for it. When would we try it?”

Branna nodded at Iona, finally picked up her own tea. “Sooner’s better there as well. You know more than the rest of us, there’s a bit of a learning curve.”

• • •

SHE DID THE CHICKEN UP WITH GARLIC AND SAGE AND lemon, put the colcannon together, peeled carrots for baking in butter while the bird roasted. As she’d come up with the scheme, the others had decided she would broach it with Boyle and Meara.

As she worked she considered various ways of putting it all out to them, and finally concluded direct and frank the best possible route. It settled her down, until Meara came in.

“It smells a treat in here. And looks as though you’ve already done the work when I came soon as I could to give you some help with it.”

“No worries.”

“Well, I can set the table at least.”

“Don’t bother with it now.” She didn’t want plates and such cluttering up the table when they talked. “Just keep me company. Sure let’s break into Fin’s vast store of wine.”

“I’m for that. I tell you it’s scraping my nerves raw seeing Cabhan lurking about every time I take a guided through. It must be doing the same with Iona,” she added as she pulled a bottle of white from Fin’s kitchen cooler. “She was nervy today, at least toward the end of it. She and Boyle will be around soon.”

“So he shows himself to you, to Iona, even Connor now and then, but when Fin and I go out, he avoids us. We’ll keep at it,” Branna decided. “He won’t be able to resist trying to bully or taunt for long.”

“He doesn’t have long, and that’s my way of thinking.” Meara drew the cork. “It’s good we’re getting together, all of us, so regular like this. You never know when another idea might spark.”

Oh, I’ve an idea for you, Branna thought, but only smiled. “You’d be right. But let’s put that aside for now. Tell me how your mother’s doing.”

“Happier than I ever thought she could be. And don’t you know she’s started taking piano lessons from a woman at the church? All the time on her hands, she tells me, and she can put it to use with the lessons, as she’s always wanted to play. As if she didn’t have a world of time before she moved in with Maureen, and—”

Meara held up both hands as if calling herself to a halt. “No, I’ll say nothing negative about it. She’s there, not here, happy not unhappy and flustered, and Maureen herself tells me it’s lovely to have her.”

“Nothing but good news there then.”

“Well, she’s marking some of the world of time she now has by sending me a lorry-load of suggestions for the wedding. Photos of gowns that would make me look like a giant princess wearing a wedding cake, and require so much tulle and lace there’d be none left in the whole of Mayo. Here.” Meara reached in her pocket, pulled out her phone. “Have a look at her last vision for me.”

Branna studied once Meara had scrolled to the image, a dress with an enormous skirt fashioned of stacked layers of tulle, and that decked with lace and beads and ribbons.

“I’d say you’re a fortunate woman to be able to choose your own wedding dress.”

“I am, and she’ll be disappointed when she’s learned I’ve something more like this in mind.”

She scrolled to another picture of a fluid column, simple and unadorned.

“It’s lovely, just lovely, and couldn’t be more Meara Quinn. Worn with a little tiara, I’d see, as you’re not the flowers-in-the-hair as Iona is. Just that touch of fancy and sparkle. She won’t be disappointed when she sees you.”

“A tiara . . . that might suit me, and would give her a bit of the princess she wants.”

“You could find three—any of which you’d be happy to wear. Send her pictures, let her choose for you.”

Meara picked up her wine. “You’re a canny one.”

“Oh, that I am.”

As Boyle and Iona came in, Branna hoped Meara would think canny a compliment when she’d laid out the choice.

She waited while Meara passed out wine, while Fin and Connor came in, then asked everyone to sit around the table as there was something to discuss.

“Did something happen today?” Meara asked.

“Not today. You could say it happened a little while ago, and I’ve been working it out since.” Straight and direct, Branna reminded herself. “I’ve told you all the words I spoke on the day Fin and I completed the second poison,” she began.

And when she finished with, “It can be done, and the four of us are willing. But the choice of it is for you,” there was a long, stunned silence.

Boyle broke it. “You’re having us on.”

“We’re not.” Iona rubbed a hand over his. “We think we can do it, but it’s a big decision for you and for Meara.”

“Are you saying you can make witches out of me and Boyle, if only we agree to it?”

“Not exactly that. I believe seeds of power are in us all,” Branna continued. “In some, they sprout more than in others. The instincts, the feelings, the sensation of having done something before, of having been somewhere before. What we’d give would feed those seeds.”

“Like manure?” Boyle said. “As it sounds like a barrow-load of it.”

“You’d be the same people.” Connor spread his hands. “The same people but with some traces of magicks that could be nurtured and honed.”

“If you think to add protection for us—”

“There’s the benefit of that.” Fin interrupted Boyle in calm tones. “But the purpose is as Branna said. The balance, the interpretation of the prophecy.”

“I need to walk around with this.” Boyle did just that, rising and pacing. “You want to give us something we lack.”

“To my mind, you lack nothing. Nothing,” Branna repeated. “And to my mind, this was always meant. Always meant, just not seen or known until now. I may be wrong, but even if right, we’ll find another way if it feels wrong for you.”

“It feels wrong you’d give up something you have, to add to what we have,” he said. “Sorcha left herself near to empty by doing the same.”

“This is a worry for me as well,” Meara put in. “Giving up power is part of what cost her life.”

“She was one giving all she had to three. We’re four, giving a small part of what we have to two.” Connor smiled at her. “It’s arithmetic.”

“There’s another choice, should you accept the first. It may be three into two,” Fin added. “What I would give has some of Cabhan in it, so it’s another piece to consider.”

“It’s all or it’s none,” Boyle snapped back. “Don’t insult us.”

“Agreed.” Meara took a long drink. “All or none.”

“Take whatever time you need to think on it.” Branna rose. “Ask whatever comes to mind, and we’ll try to answer. And know whatever your choice, we value you. We’ll eat, if that suits everyone, and put this aside unless you have those questions.”

“Eat.” Boyle muttered to himself, continued to pace as food was brought to the table. Then Iona simply walked over, put her arms around him.

He heaved a sigh, met Meara’s eyes over Iona’s head. Meara’s response was a simple lifting of shoulders.

“If we agree, how would it be done?” he wanted to know.

“In much the same way Sorcha did with her children,” Branna told him. “At the base of it in any case. With some adjustments, of course, to fit our own needs.”

“If we agreed,” Meara added, “when would it be done?”

“Tonight.” Connor waved off his sister’s protest. “The ifs they’re putting out are smoke. They’ve both of them decided to agree, because they see, as we do, it’s another answer. So it’s tonight, a clean, quick step, and giving them time to adjust to what’s new in them.” He took a heap of colcannon for his plate, before passing the dish to Meara. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re a cocky one, Connor, but not wrong. Let’s eat, Boyle, and eat hearty, for it’s our last meal as we are.”

“It doesn’t change who you are, even what you are.” Iona rubbed a hand on Boyle’s arm. “It’s . . . Think of it like gaining a new skill or talent.”

“Like piano lessons,” Meara said, and made Branna laugh and laugh.

So they ate, and talked, they cleared and talked more.

Then all six stood together in Fin’s workshop.

“Cabhan mustn’t see what we do here,” Branna told Fin.

“He won’t. I’ve cloaked my windows and doors to him long since, but another layer wouldn’t hurt. Add your own. I have what we’ll need. I read your notes,” he added. “I’ll lay out what’s needed, and we’ll leave it to you to use them.”

“He’ll feel something though, won’t he?” Iona glanced toward the windows. “Power feels power.”

“He may feel, but he won’t know.” Connor took Meara’s hand. “You are the love of my life, before and after.”

“That may be, but I’m hoping I get enough of whatever it is to give you a jolt whenever you might need one.”

“You give me that already.” He swept her back for a dramatic kiss.

“You’re easy with it all,” Boyle commented.

“I’m nervous as a cat in a dog kennel.” Meara pressed her hand to her stomach. “But let’s be honest, Boyle, we’ve seen our lives long what this is, what it means. We’ve four here who’ve shown us what this is must be respected and honored, so we will. And the more I think of it, the more I’m liking the idea of having a bit more to turn on Cabhan and his master.”

“There is that, for certain, and I can’t claim not to consider it. Even if I’d rather just use my fists.”

“You’re the man you are, so you don’t see it’s you who’s giving tonight, not us.” Iona took his face in her hands. “It’s you.” Then stepped back. “Is there something you need from us, Branna?”

“Three drops of blood from each who gives power. Three only. But first, we cast a circle, we light the fire to ring it. It’s your home, Fin. You begin.”

“Here and now the circle cast protecting all within, so inside its ring the ritual begin. Flames arise but not to burn, through the light our powers turn. Close the door and seal the locks. Turn away whatever knocks.”

Fire flashed to ring them, cool and white.

“We are connected,” Branna began. “Are now, have been, will be. If not by blood and bone, but heart and spirit. We seal that connection here with a gift, given and taken willingly.

“So say we all?” Branna asked.

“So say we all,” the others answered.

So she began.

“Wine and honey, sweet and dark.” She poured both into a bowl. “To help the light within you spark. Oil of herbs and joy-shed tears stirred within to ease your fears. From my heart a drop of blood times three.” She pricked her wrist at the pulse, added the three drops to the cup. “Sister, brother, unto me, I share my light with both of thee.”

She passed the bowl to Fin. “From heart, from spirit I shed for thee, a drop of blood times three. Sister, brother, unto me, I share my light with both of thee.”

When he finished, he handed the bowl to Connor. “And now on a new journey you embark, I give three drops from my heart. Lover, brother, unto me, I share my light with both of thee.”

And to Iona.

“You are my heart, you are my light, so that holds fast upon this night. From the beat of my heart, for sister, for love, one, two, and three. I share my light with both of thee.”

“Sealed with fire, pure and white, the gift we give upon this night.” Branna took the bowl, held it high as white fire flashed within. “Bless this gift and those who take what’s given, know by right all here are driven. From bowl to cup for one, for two, pour forth this consecrated brew.”

The liquid in the bowl fountained up, split into two with each arch spilling into a waiting cup.

Branna gestured to Connor, to Iona. “Those closest should make the final offering.”

“Okay.” Iona picked up a cup, turned to Boyle. She touched his cheek, then held out the cup. “In this place and in this hour, we offer you this taste of power. If your choice to take is free, say these words back to me. ‘This I take into my body, into my heart, into my spirit willingly. As we will, so mote it be.’”

He repeated the words, hesitated briefly, then looked into her eyes. And drank.

Connor turned to Meara, gave her his words, her own.

She grinned at him, couldn’t quite help it, and drank.

“Is that it?” she asked. “Did it work? I don’t feel any different.” She looked at Boyle.

“No, no different.”

“How do we know it worked?” Meara demanded.

The circling fire flashed up in spears to the ceiling. The air quivered with light and heat. A shining beam of it showered over Boyle, over Meara like a welcome.

“That,” Connor concluded, “would be an indicator.”

“What can we do? What should we do?”

“We give thanks, close the circle.” Branna smiled at her lifelong friend. “Then we’ll see.”





20




THEY PROVED NIMBLE STUDENTS AND WITHIN A WEEK could both spark a candlewick. Branna moved them on from that most basic skill to test them with other elements.

It didn’t surprise her that Meara showed more aptitude with air and Boyle with fire. That connection again, she concluded. Meara to Connor, Boyle to Iona.

They put in a great deal of time training, discovering, and the progress pleased Branna. Meara could create tough little cyclones and found her affinity with horses enhanced. When goaded, Boyle conjured golf-ball-sized fireballs.

Frustrated, he slumped into a chair at Fin’s. “What good does it all do? When he comes around, I’m bound by our agreement not to show our hand and left to give him nothing stronger than a hard look. And if I could give a taste of what I have now, he could smack it away like a tennis player returning a lob.”

“The player’s more likely to end up getting beaned,” Connor pointed out, “if the lob comes from an unexpected direction. You’ve done considerable, you and Meara, with the little you were given, and done considerable in a short time.”

“Time’s the trouble, isn’t it?” Boyle pointed out.

“It is, and that’s a hard fact.” Fin contemplated his beer. “We thought as he wouldn’t know we were looking, we’d find a way into the demon’s name. Now I wonder if Cabhan’s forgotten it, as the demon’s been part of him for so long.”

“That’s a troubling thought.” Connor considered it. “If it’s true we can’t end it without the demon’s name, and if there’s no longer a name to find, it may be it’s Cabhan’s name we have to speak as we poison them.”

“Are such matters ever that simple?” Fin asked.

“They haven’t proved to be. Still, maybe this will be. Only the name. The rest is complicated enough.”

“And only days left to us now,” Boyle put in. “Only a few weeks left till our wedding, and Iona isn’t able to think of it the way women do. Not with this between.”

“You might be grateful for that,” Connor commented. “In my experience, from mates who’ve been through it, some women can go right mad.”

“It’s outside,” Fin said quietly, and Connor came to attention.

“I don’t sense him.”

“He’s shadowed, but I can just feel him out there, trying to watch, trying to get into my thoughts. Biding time, that’s what he’s doing. The taunting and shadowing, but biding all the same. He has, as he’s proved, all the time in all the worlds.”

“He’s not looking for another fight.” Boyle leaned forward now. “Not that he wouldn’t take us all on, given the opportunity, but he’s waiting us out now. That makes sense to me. Wear down our spirits, wait for the moment when we’re careless. We’ve the wrong strategy, I think, on luring him back to Sorcha’s cabin, for then he’ll know we’re ready for the battle.”

“We have to get him there,” Connor pointed out. “Everything depends on it.”

“But he doesn’t have to know we want him to come. What if he thinks we’re hiding the fact that we’re going from him—but he’s so bloody smart and powerful, he got through the shields and sees us?”

“Why would we be going there if not for battle?” Connor argued.

“To pay our respects.” Seeing Boyle’s point, Fin nodded. “To honor Sorcha on the day of her death, to hold a ritual of respect—and perhaps try to appeal to her for help. Going under cover of our own fog so he won’t stop us from paying those respects or making that appeal.”

“And what we’re doing is taking the high ground for the battle,” Boyle finished, eager now that he could see the fight. “And instead of being taken by surprise, we give the surprise.”

“Oh, I’m liking this idea.” Connor took a long drink. “This is what comes of talking war with men. And if either of you should repeat that to any of the women, I’ll be shocked and amazed at what liars you are.”

“Since I want them fully behind this, they won’t hear that from me. We set the trap,” Fin said, “by letting him think he’s set it.”

• • •

BRANNA LISTENED TO THE NEW PLAN OVER PIZZA IN FIN’S living room. There had been some talk of an evening out, but no one understood priorities more than Branna O’Dwyer.

“It’s clever, sure it’s clever,” she agreed. “And it annoys me I never thought of it on my own. We don’t have much time to change from the plan we’ve settled on.”

“And that one has the benefit of being simple,” Meara added. “We transport ourselves there—or you transport the lot of us, along with horses, hawks, and hound, and we call him out. He’d come, as his pride wouldn’t allow otherwise. But . . . this is more devious, and I can’t help but like it.”

“He’d like that we’re trying to hide from him,” Iona agreed. “That would appeal to his arrogance. And if he thinks we’re trying to call on Sorcha, he’d have to come—on the slim chance we could reach her, bring her to us, open her to him again.”

“You’d be giving up your own shadow spell,” Branna said to Fin. “Something he doesn’t know you have. It won’t be as useful to you when he does come.”

“It will have served. It changes little of what we do once he’s there, only the approach.”

“We’ll gather flowers, wine, bread, honey.” Thinking it through, Branna made mental notes. “All the things we’d take to a visit of respect for the dead. We’re somber and unsettled, and about to attempt raising the spirit of the witch who cursed one of us. He’d see many advantages to a strike then.”

“Could we start the ritual for it?” Iona wondered. “But when it’s too late for him, call the first three?”

Boyle laughed, reached over to kiss her soundly. “Who said women can’t plan wars?”

Meara angled her head. “Who did?”

“Rhetorical,” Connor said with a careless wave. “Well then, let’s plan a war.”

• • •

ON THE DAY, BRANNA GATHERED ALL SHE NEEDED. WHITE roses, wine, honey, bread she made herself, the herbs, all the offerings. In another pouch she placed the poisons, each carefully wrapped.

And separate, to risk no contamination, the bottle of light the three had created.

She’d bathed and anointed herself, had woven charms in her hair, added them to Kathel’s collar. Made more for Aine’s mane.

Alone, she lit the candles, cast a circle, and knelt inside it to offer her acceptance to what the fates deemed. There was a certainty to her that tonight would end Cabhan or end the three. A sharper certainty that whatever the fates deemed, her life would not be as it had been.

But still her life, and still her choices. She was, and would always be a servant and a child of the light. But she was also a woman.