Blood Magick

by Roberts, Nora

  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.

  When he drew her into a dance, it was yesterday with all its innocent joy, with its simplicity and possibilities. But she pushed aside the pang it brought, told herself to let this one night be a time out of time.

  She looked up at him laughing. “Now you’ve done it.”

  “What’s that I’ve done?”

  “Hosted the party of the year and now will be expected to do the same next. And next.”

  Mildly horrified, he glanced around. “I thought to pass that torch to Iona and Boyle.”

  “Oh no, they’ll have their own. But I’m thinking you own New Year’s Eve now. I see your Sean wearing a party hat, over there kicking up the heels of clean and shiny boots, and Connor’s Kyra and her boyfriend—fiancé now—with him wearing a shirt that matches the color of her frock and a cardboard king’s crown on his head. And there’s my Eileen dancing with her husband as if they were but sixteen, and the years, the children with them yet to come. You built a house that can hold most of the village for a party, and now you’ve done it.”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “Sure it’s too late now. And there I see Alice giving you the seductive eye, as she’s resigned to Connor being lost to her. You should give her a dance.”

  “I’d rather dance with you.”

  “And you have. Do your duty, Finbar, give her a twirl. I’ve people I should talk with.”

  She stepped back from him, turned away. If she danced with him again, and too often, the people she should talk with would begin talking about them.

  “Isn’t it great?” Iona grabbed her, did a quick circle. She’d donned a pink tiara that announced 2014 in sparkles. “It’s such a good party. I just have to do my hourly bathroom sweep and I’ll be back.”

  “Bathroom sweep?”

  “Checking TP and guest towel supplies, and so on.”

  “I’m putting you in charge of every party I may have.”

  “You’re a natural with parties and gatherings,” Iona countered. “Fin’s new at it. So am I, but I think I have a knack.”

  “God help us,” Boyle said, and kissed the top of her head.

  Branna enjoyed the music, the bits of conversation. After she slipped back upstairs, she enjoyed some of the food, and some time with those who sought more quiet in Fin’s living room or the great room.

  It gave her time to see more of his house, to feel the flow of it. And the chance to check out the windows, to open herself enough to search for any sense of Cabhan.

  “He won’t come.”

  She turned from the tall French doors of his library toward Fin, who stepped through the doorway.

  “You’re so sure?”

  “Maybe there’s too much light, too many people, the voices, the thoughts, the sounds, but he won’t come here tonight. Maybe he’s just burrowed in, waiting for the year to pass, but he won’t come tonight. I wish you wouldn’t worry.”

  “Being vigilant isn’t the same as worrying.”

  “You worry. It shows.”

  Instinctively, she reached up to rub her fingers between her eyebrows where she knew a line could form. And made him smile.

  “You’re perfectly beautiful. That never changes. It’s in your eyes, the worry.”

  “If you say he won’t come tonight, I’ll stop worrying. I like this room especially.” She ran her hand over the back of a wide chair in chocolate leather. “It’s for the quiet, and a reward.”

  “A reward?”

  “When work’s done, it’s for settling down in a good chair like this with a book and the fire. With rain pattering down, or the wind blowing, or the moon rising up. A glass of whiskey, a cup of tea—what’s your pleasure—and a dog at your feet.”

  She did a turn, holding out a hand. “All these books to choose from. A good warm color for the walls—you did well there—with all the dark wood to set it off.”

  She angled her head when he gave her a half smile. “What?”

  “I built it with you in mind. You always used to say, when we were building our dream castle, how it had to have a library with a fire and big chairs, with windows the rain could drip down or the sun could creep through. It should have glass doors leading out to a garden so on a bright day you’d step out, and find a spot outside to read.”

  “I remember.” And saw it now. He’d made one of her imaginings come to life.

  “And there should be a room for music,” Fin added. “There would be music throughout the house, but a room just for it where we’d have a piano and all the rest. The children could take their lessons there.”

  He glanced back. “It’s just over there.”

  “Yes, I know. I saw it. It’s lovely.”

  “There was part of me thought if I built it, if I kept you in mind, you’d come. But you didn’t.”

  So clear now that she let herself see, the house was what they’d dreamed of making together.

  “I’m here now.”

  “You’re here now. What does that mean for us?”

  God, her heart was too full of him, here in this room he’d conjured out of dreams.

  “I tell myself what it can’t be. That’s so clear, so rational. I can’t see what it can or might.”

  “Can you say what you want?”

  “What I want is what can’t be, and that’s harder than it was, as I’ve come to believe that’s through no fault of yours or my own. It was easier when I could blame you or myself. I could build a wall with the blame, and keep it shored up with the distance when you spent only a few days or few weeks here before you went off again.”

  “I want you. Everything else comes behind that.”

  “I know.” She let out a breath. “I know. We should go back. You shouldn’t be so long away from your guests.”

  But neither of them moved.

  She heard the shouting, the rise of voices, the countdown. Behind her, the mantel clock began to strike.

  “It’s going onto midnight.”

  Only seconds, she thought, between what was and what is. And from there what would be. She took a step toward him. Then took another.

  Would she have walked by him? she asked herself when he pulled her to him. No. No, not this time. At least this one time.

  Instead she linked her arms around his neck, looked into his eyes. And on the stroke of midnight met his lips with hers.

  Light snapped between them, an electric jolt that shocked the blood, slammed into the heart. Then shimmered into an endlessly longed-for warmth.

  Oh, to feel like this, to finally feel like this again. To finally have her body, her heart, her spirit united in that longing, that warmth, that singular wild joy.

  His lips on her lips, his breath with her breath, his heart on her heart. And all the sorrow blown away as if it never was.

  He’d thought once what he felt for her was all, was beyond what anyone could feel. But he’d been wrong. This, after all the years without her, was more.

  The scent of her filling him, the taste of her undoing him. She gave as she once had, everything in a simple kiss. Sweetness and strength, power and surrender, demand and generosity.

  He wanted to hold on to her, hold on to that moment until the end of his days.

  But she pulled back, stayed a moment, brushed a hand over his cheek, then stepped back from him.

  “It’s a new year.”

  “Stay with me, Branna.”

  Now she laid a hand on his heart. Before she could speak, Connor and Meara turned into the room.

  “We were just—”

 
“Going,” Meara finished Connor’s sentence. “Going back right now.”

  “Right. Sure, we weren’t even here.”

  “It’s all right.” Branna left her hand on Fin’s heart another moment, then let it fall away. “We’re coming back now. Fin’s been too long away from his own party. We’ll go toast the New Year. For luck. For light. For what may be.”

  “For what should be,” Fin said, and walked out ahead of them.

  “Go with him,” Meara suggested, and moved into Branna. “Are you all right then?”

  “I am. But it’s God’s truth I could do with a drink, and as much as it goes against my nature, a lot of noise and people.”

  “We’ll get all of that.”

  When she put an arm around Branna’s waist, Branna leaned into her a moment. “How could I love him more now than once I did? How could it be so much more in me for him when what was, was everything?”

  “Love can fade and die. I’ve seen it. It can grow and build as well. I think when it’s real and meant, it can only grow bigger and stronger.”

  “It’s not meant to be a misery.”

  “No. It’s what we do with it that’s the misery or the joy, I think, not the love.”

  Branna sighed, gave Meara a long look. “When did you get so bloody wise about it?”

  “Since I let myself love.”

  “Let’s go toast to that then. To you letting yourself love, to Iona’s party skills, to the New bloody Year, to the end of Cabhan. I feel I might want to get a wee bit snackered.”

  “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t get snackered right along with you? Let’s find some champagne.”

  11

  HE WAS MORE THAN DONE WITH PEOPLE. AT HALF-TWO in the morning, far too many of them lingered in his house, cozied up as if they’d stay till spring. He considered just going upstairs, shutting himself in, leaving them to it. He was brutally tired, and more, that moment—that incredible moment with Branna had cross-wired his emotions so he didn’t know what he felt.

  So it seemed easier all around to shut it all off and feel nothing at all.

  She seemed perfectly content to sit, sip champagne, chat with whoever remained. But that was Branna, wasn’t it? Strong as steel.