For the next half hour he took her through the paces, bringing her back to the glove, letting her go again.
The chilly, damp air opened for a thin drizzle of rain, but none of them minded it. Here was freedom for all in a kind of game.
He mapped out the route in his head, thought it would make a fine loop for the package, showing off how the hawks could dance through the trees, and return time and time to the glove without breaking the horse’s easy pace.
Close enough here to hear the river murmur, far enough there to feel as though you rode hawking into another time. And he could smell snow coming. By nightfall, he thought, and it would grace the greens and browns, lie still and quiet for a time.
And come spring, the blackthorn would bloom, and the wildflowers Branna gathered for pleasure and for magicks.
Come spring, he thought—he hoped—he could walk through the woods with her, in peace.
And thinking of her, he changed direction. The hawks and horse could settle down outside her cottage awhile while he worked with her.
When he moved onto a clear path, he let Caesar canter again, then laughed as he saw Bugs running, tongue lolling.
“Now with the hound I’ve all three. We’ll just go by, stop in Branna’s. She might have something for all of you. Then we’ll take a look at Boyle’s new house before going on home.”
Apparently fine with that plan, Bugs raced along beside the horse.
Fin slowed again as they approached the big downed tree, and the thick vines that barred most from the ruins of Sorcha’s cabin.
Bugs let out a low growl.
“Oh aye, he’s coming around now. I feel him as well.”
Fin ordered Sassy to stay in the air, called Merlin to the glove.
Fog snaked through the vines. Fin held out his free hand, levitated the dog up to sit in front of him in the saddle.
He felt the pull, the almost cheerful invitation to come through, to bask in all that could be, all the dark gifts offered.
“If that’s the best you have . . .” With a shrug, Fin started to turn the horse.
The wolf burst out of the vines, gleaming black, red stone pulsing. Caesar shied, reared, but Fin managed to keep his seat, and snatched the dog before Bugs lost his.
To Fin’s surprise, Sassy went into a stoop, swooped over the wolf, then up again where she perched in a tree, staring down at it.
Clever girl, he thought. Fierce and clever girl.
“I’ll say again, if that’s the best you have . . .”
Fin took Caesar into a charge, and shot down a hand to split the earth open under the wolf. As the horse leaped over it, the wolf vanished.
Fin heard the laughter behind him, turned the horse.
Cabhan floated above the open earth on a blanket of fog.
“Far from the best, boy. You’ve yet to taste my best. Spare yourself, for in the end you’ll come to me. I know your blood.”
Fin fought the urge to charge again, but he’d been in business long enough to know a turned back could pack a harder punch.
So he simply turned Caesar, walked away without hurry.
“Spare yourself.” It came as a whisper, not a shout. “And when I’ve finished with you, I will bind the dark witch you lust for to you for eternity.”
The urge to turn and charge grew with fury.
Without looking back, Fin healed the earth, and moved forward and out of the woods.
Fin tethered the horse outside the cottage and, dismounting, pressed his cheek to Caesar’s. “You earned your name today, as you never hesitated to charge when I asked it of you.” Like a magician, he held out his hand, showed it empty, then turned his wrist and produced an apple.
While Caesar crunched his treat, Fin called Sassy to glove. “And you, so brave for one so young. You’ll hunt.” He signaled to Merlin. “You’ll hunt together in Branna’s field, and you can stay awhile in Roibeard’s lean-to. And you.” He bent to rub Bugs. “I’ll wager there’s a biscuit inside for the likes of you.”
With the dog, Fin walked to the workshop and in.
“There’s my reward,” he said as Branna took a tray of biscuits out of the little workshop oven.
“You timed that exceedingly well.” She laid the tray on the top of the stove, turned. “Something happened,” she said immediately.
“Not of great import, but here’s a hound who’s earned a biscuit if you have one.”
“Of course.” She got two from the jar, as Kathel had already stirred himself from his nap by the fire to greet his small friend.
“I’d rather this sort,” Fin said and plucked up one of the human variety she already had cooled on a rack. “I had business to see to at home, then at the school and around to the stables. We’re doing the hawk-and-horse package come spring.”
“That’s all well and good, but what happened?”
“I took hawk and horse out myself. Caesar and Merlin and a pretty female name of Sassy who will mate with Merlin when she’s ready for it.”
“And how does she feel about that?” Branna put the kettle on as Fin already grabbed a second biscuit.
“She likes the look of him, and he of her. I was after mapping out a couple of routes that might suit the package, and Bugs joined in as we passed near the big stables. With them I turned this way, thinking to work with you for an hour or two, and passed by the entrance to Sorcha’s cabin.”
“You could’ve avoided that spot.”
“True enough. I didn’t want to avoid it. And because I didn’t, I learned the hawk I chose for Merlin will be his match.”
He told her, accepted the tea, and actively considered trying for a third biscuit.
“He grows more arrogant,” Branna said.
“Enough to taunt, which is all this business was. He wanted me to come at him again, and it occurred to me that denying him that was more of an insult.”
“He wants us to know none of us can take a simple walk in the woods without risk. Taunting,” Branna agreed, “in hopes to destroy our morale, close us in.”
“He’s more confident than he was, or so it strikes me.”
“We’ve bloodied him twice, more than twice, and the last time nearly destroyed him.”
“But we didn’t,” Fin pointed out. “And he heals, and knows he’s only to reach his lair again to heal. Knows he can battle us time and time again, and come back time and time again. If you’re a gambling man, the odds would be at some point we’ll lose the day. It’s time again, Branna, and he has that in his pocket.”
“He doesn’t believe he can be destroyed—or he doesn’t believe what’s in him can. But I’m working on that.”
She walked over, tapped her finger on her notebook. “I called on my father, and he called on others, and I’ve put together ingredients and the mixing of them I think will take the demon. I’ve been working on the words of the spell along with it. We need the name. I don’t believe this will work without calling the demon by name, and those who consulted with my father confirm that.”
Fin palmed the third biscuit, then stepped closer to read over her shoulder.
“Dried wing of bat—best from Romania?”
“I’m told.”
“Tail hairs from a pregnant yak.” Fin arched a brow. “No eye of newt or tongue of dog. Apologies,” he said to both Kathel and Bugs.
“You may joke about the English bard’s witches three, but I’ve formulated this from the best sources I can find.”
“Wolfsbane, Atropa belladonna berries—crushed—tincture of Amazonian angel’s trumpet, conium petals from Armenia, sap from the manchineel tree. I know some of these.”
“All poisons. All of them natural poisons. We have some of this in what we’ve devised for Cabhan, but there are a number of ingredients here that are more exotic than I’ve worked with before. I’ll have to send for some, obviously. It requires water blessed by a priest, which is easy enough. Blood remains the binding agent. It’s yours we’ll need. Your blood, some of your hair,
and nail clippings.”
He only grunted.
“I’d started on the amounts, and the orders. My sources conflict somewhat on both, but we’ll find the right mix. And the words need to be right. The potion will be black and dense when we have it right. It will hold no light, reflect no light.”
He reached up, massaged her shoulders. “You’re knotted up. You should be pleased, not tense. This is brilliant progress, Branna.”
“None of it will have a hope of working unless we choose the right time, and there I’ve made no progress at all.”
“I’ve thought on it. Ostara? The equinox. We tried the summer solstice, for light. Ostara is light as well, the balance of it tipping to the light.”
“I come back to it, again and again.” She pushed her hands through her hair to secure loosened pins. “But it won’t hold for me as the other tries did. It should be right; maybe it is and I just can’t see it through the other elements.”
He turned her, still rubbing her shoulders. “We might try devising the spell, and the potion with Ostara as the time, and see if it holds then. Providing we find a pregnant yak.”
She smiled as he’d hoped. “My father tells me he knows a man who can acquire anything, for a price.”
“Then we’ll pay the price, and we’ll begin. I’ve still got an hour or so, and I’ll help with the spell. But tonight, I think you could use a distraction, having your mind off all this.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I think you should come out to dinner with me. I’ve a place in mind you’ll like, very much.”
“Out to dinner? And what sort of place would this be?”
“A very fancy place. Romantic and elegant, and where the food is a god.” He twined some of her loosened hair around his finger. “You could wear the dress you wore New Year’s Eve.”
“I’ve more than one dress, and would consider going skyclad to be served food fit for gods that I don’t make myself.”
“If you insist, but I’d rather see to getting you skyclad myself after dessert.”
“Are we having a date, Finbar?”
“We are. Dinner at eight, though I’ll pick you up at seven so you’ll have some time to enjoy the city before we eat.”
“The city? What city?”
“Paris,” he said, and kissed her.
“You want us flying off to Paris for a meal?”
“A brilliant meal—in the City of Light.”
“Paris,” she repeated, and tried to tell herself it was frivolous and foolish, but just couldn’t. “Paris,” she said again, and kissed him back.
14
WHAT WAS IT LIKE? PARIS,” IONA ADDED. “WE HAVEN’T had a chance to talk about it without the guys around since you went.”
“It was lovely. A bit breathtaking really. The lights, the voices, the food and wine, of course. For a few hours, another world altogether.”
“Romantic?” Iona tied pretty raffia bows around softly colored soaps, and boldly colored ones.
“It was.”
“I wonder why that part of it worries you.”
“I’m not after romance. It’s the sort of thing that weakens resolve and clouds sense.” Branna measured out ground herbs. “It’s not something I can risk now.”
“You love each other.”
“Love isn’t always the answer.” While Iona helped with store stock, Branna focused on more magickal supplies. Another battle would come, other attacks were likely. She wanted a full store of medicinals on hand, for any contingency.
“It is for you, and I’m glad of it.” She added precisely six drops of extract of nasturtium to the small cauldron. “It adds to what you are, strengthens your purpose.”
“You think it weakens yours.”
“I think it can, and now more than ever that can’t be allowed. Both Fin and I know we can live without each other. We have done so, and well enough. We know what we have now may only be for now. Whatever the rest, with or without, waits until Cabhan is finished.”
“You’re happier with him,” Iona pointed out.
“And what woman isn’t happier when she can count on a good shag with some regularity?” After Iona’s snort, she held up a finger for silence, then holding her hands over the cauldron, brought the brew to a fast boil. Murmuring now, drawing light down with one hand, a thin shower of blue rain with the other. For an instant a rainbow formed, then it, too, slid into the pot.
Branna took the brew down to the slowest of simmers.
Satisfied, she turned, found Iona studying her.
“Watching you work,” Iona explained. “It’s all so pretty, so graceful, with power just flowing all around.”
“We’ll want this restorative on hand, as well as the balms and salves I’ve been stocking up.” Branna tapped the door to a cupboard she thought of as her war chest.
“Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.”
“A good policy.”
“It’s what you’re doing with Fin?”
“Being with him—and not just for the sex—lets me remember all the reasons I fell in love with him. He has such kindness—and I wanted to forget that of him. His humor, his focus, his loyalty. I want to remember all that now, for the comfort of it, and for the unity. Remembering who he is means I can give him all my trust in this. All of it. And I’m not sure, no matter how I tried, I did before. Because I can and do, there’ll always be some best to hold on to.”
“Is he coming today?”
“I told him no need. We’re still shy some of the ingredients so we can’t begin to make the poison as yet. He has his work as I have mine. And I appreciate you giving me so much of your off day.”
“I like playing with your store stock—and the more I can do, the more time you have for demon poisons. I want to take Alastar out later, and was hoping you’d want to go for a ride with us.”
“A ride?”
“I’ve seen you ride, and Meara mentioned you don’t take much time for it, the way you once did.”
She hadn’t, Branna thought, as it reminded her of Fin. But now . . . He’d brought Aine for her, and she hadn’t given herself the pleasure of testing the bond with the horse.
“If what needs doing is done, I would. And if the pair of us rode out for pleasure, it’s a nose-thumbing in Cabhan’s direction.”
“We’re seeing him every day now.” Idly, Iona stacked the pretty soaps into colorful towers. “Skulking around.”
“I know it. I see him as well. He tests my borders often now.”
“I dreamed of Teagan last night. We talked.”
“And you’re just telling me of it?”
“It was like a little visit. Sitting in front of the fire, drinking tea. She’s showing, and she let me feel the baby kick. She told me about her husband, and I talked about Boyle. And it struck me—what you’d said about all of us being 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. M
y 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.
Blood Magick Page 20