Blood Magick (24 page)

Her eyes, which had gone black, rolled back white. Fin managed to catch her before she fell, simply folded like a puppet with its strings nipped.

Even as he swept her up, she pressed a hand to his shoulder.

“I’m all right. Just dizzy for a minute.”

“You’ll sit right here.” He laid her on the little sofa in front of the fire, then going to her stock, scanned until he found what he wanted.

He didn’t bother to put the kettle on, but made tea with a snap of his fingers, poured six drops of the tonic into it, then brought it to her.

“Drink and don’t argue,” he ordered. “It’s your own potion.”

“I was there, all the light and power rising up, and the brew stirring in the cauldron, thickening, bubbling. Then I was watching myself, and you, and hearing the words I spoke without speaking them. I’ve had flashes of what’s to come before—all of us have—but nothing so strong or overtaking as that. I’m all right now, I promise you.”

Or nearly, she thought and drank the laced tea.

“It’s only when it left me, it was like being emptied out entirely for just a moment.”

“Your eyes went black as the dark of the moon, and your voice echoed as if from a mountaintop.”

“I wasn’t myself.”

“You weren’t, no. What came in you, Branna?”

“I don’t know. But the strength and the light of it was consuming. And, Fin, it was beautiful beyond the telling. It’s all that we are, but so brilliantly magnified, a thousand suns all around and inside at once. It’s the only way I know to tell you.”

She drank more tea, felt herself begin to settle again. “I want to write it down, everything I said. It wouldn’t do to forget.”

“I won’t be forgetting it, not a word.”

She smiled. “Best to write it down in any case. A weapon forged—it must have worked then.”

“The poison’s black and thick as pitch.”

“We have to seal it, keep it in the dark, and charm the bottle to hold it.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No, no, we conjured it together, and there’s something to that, I think. So we should do the rest together as well. I’m altogether fine, Fin, I promise you.”

She set the tea aside, got to her feet to prove her words. “It should be done quickly. I wouldn’t want the poison to turn and have to go through the whole business again.”

He kept an eye on her until he was fully satisfied.

After they sealed the spell, she took two squat bottles, both opaque and black, from the cabinet under her work counter.

“Two?”

“We made enough, as I thought it wise to have a second. If something should happen to the first—before or during—we’ll have another.”

“Smart and, as always, practical.” When she started to get out a funnel, he shook his head. “I don’t think this is something we do that way. I understand, again, your practicality, but I think, for this, we stay with power.”

“You may be right. One for you, then, one for me. It should be quickly done, then stopped tight, again sealed.” She touched one of the bottles. “Yours.” Then the other. “Mine.” And walked back to stand with him by the cauldron. “Pot to bottle, leaving no trace on the air, no drop on the floor.”

She linked one hand with his, held the other out, as he did. Two thin streams of oily black rose out of the cauldron, arched toward the bottles, slid greasily in. When the stream ended, they floated the stoppers up, in.

“Out of light, sealed tight, open only for the right.”

Relieved, Branna flashed white fire into the cauldron to burn any trace left behind. “Better safe,” she said as she moved to take the bottles, store them deep in a cupboard where she kept the jars of ingredients used, and the poison already prepared for Cabhan. “Though I’ll destroy the cauldron. It shouldn’t be used again. A pity, as it’s served me well.” Then she charmed the door of the cupboard. “It will only open for one of our circle.”

She went to another cupboard, took out a pale green bottle basketed in silver filigree, then chose two wineglasses.

“And what’s this?”

“It’s a wine I made myself, and put by here for a special occasion—not knowing what that might be. It seems it’s this. We’ve done what we must, and I’ll tell you true, Fin, I wasn’t sure we would or could. Each time I thought I was certain of it, we’d fail. But today?”

She poured the pale gold wine in both glasses, offered him one. “Today we haven’t failed. So . . .”

Understanding, he touched his glass to hers. “We’ll drink to today.” He sipped, angled his head. “Well now, here’s yet another talent, for this is brilliant. Both light and bold at once. It tastes of stars.”

“You could say I added a few. It is good,” she agreed. “We’ve earned good this day. And as I recall, you’ve earned a biscuit.”

“Half a dozen was the offer,” he remembered, “but now I think we’ve both earned something more than biscuits.” He swung an arm around her waist. “You’d best hold on to your wine,” he warned, and took her flying.

•   •   •

IT MADE HER GIDDY, THE SURPRISE AND SPEED OF IT. MADE
her hunger as his mouth took hers on the flight. She let out a gasping laugh when she found herself sprawled under him on a huge bed draped with filmy white curtains.

“So this is what we’ve earned?”

“More than.”

“I’ve lost my wine.”

“Not at all.” He gestured so she looked over, saw a table holding the glasses. And saw both bed and table floated on a deep blue sea.

“Now who’s practical? But where are we? Ah, it’s so warm. It’s wonderful.”

“The South Seas, far away from all but us, and circled so not even the fish might see.”

“The South Seas, on a floating bed. There’s a bit of madness in you.”

“When it comes to you. An hour or two with you, Branna, in our own window into paradise. Where we’re warm and safe, and you’re naked.” And so she was in a fingersnap. Before she could laugh again, he slid his hands up and over her breasts. “By the gods, I love having you naked and under me. We’ve done what we must,” he reminded her. “Now we take what we want.”

His mouth came down on hers, hot and possessive, to send the need sizzling through her like a lit fuse. She answered, not with surrender, but equal fire and force.

The magicks merged still pulsed through them, bright and fierce, so each opened to it, and each other.

The crazed rush of his lips over her skin, brewed a storm of lust. The urgency of her seeking hands whipped the storm into a whirlwind. They tumbled over the bed as it rocked over the wide, rolling sea while inside them waves of need rose and broke only to rise again, an endless tide.

If this was his madness, she’d take it willingly, and flood him with her own. Love, beyond reason, simply swamped her. And here, in this window of alone he’d given them, she could ride on it. Here, where there was only the truest of magicks, she could offer it back to him.

Her body quaked, her heart trembled. So much to feel, so much to want. When a cry of pleasure broke from her, it carried across the blue into forever.

To have her, completely, where no one could touch them. To give her the fantasy she so rarely took for herself, and to know she reached for, took, accepted all he felt for her, would ever feel for her. That alone filled him with more than all the powers, all the magicks, all the mysteries.

No words needed. All she felt lived in her eyes, all he felt mirrored back to him from hers.

When he filled her, it was a torrent of pleasure and love and lust. When she closed tight, so tight around him, it was unity.

They drove each other hard and fast, in a world only theirs with the deep blue sea rocking beneath them. She lay with him, lulled by the quiet lap of water against the bed, the warmth of the sun, the scent of the sea. And the feel of him against her, hot, slick skin to skin.

“Why this place,” she asked him, “of all the places?”

“It seemed beyond all we have and know together. We have the green and the wet in us, and wouldn’t cast it out. But this? The warm and the blue? A bit of the fanciful for someone who rarely gifts herself with it. And all gods know, Branna, the winter’s been cold and hard.”

“It has. But at the end of it, we’ll have more than spring. We’ll have duty done, and the light and breath that comes from it. When it’s done . . .”

He lifted his head, looked into her eyes. “Ask.”

“Bring me back here again, for both of us, when what’s done is done. And before you go wherever you must. Bring me back.”

“I will. You’ll want to go home now.”

“No. No, let’s stay awhile.” She shifted, sat up, and reached for the glasses. “We’ll finish our wine and enjoy the sun and the water. Let’s take the fancy of this a little longer. For there’ll be little time or chance for it once we return.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, sipped the starry wine, and watched the sea that spread to the far horizon.

W
HEN
THE
SIX
OF
THEM
MANAGED
TO
COME
TOGETHER
,
Branna opted for a quietly celebrational meal of rack of lamb, roasted butternut squash, and peas with butter and mint.

“Sure I didn’t expect such a fuss,” Connor said as he took charge of carving the chops from the rack. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s the first time we’ve sat down, the six of us, in near to a week,” Branna pointed out. “We’ve all talked here and there, and we all know what’s been done and where we are. The brew’s curing well. I checked it only this afternoon.” She took a dollop of the squash for her plate, passed the bowl. “Connor and I made a second bottle of the poison needed for Cabhan, so like the demon’s brew, we’ll have that in case something goes amiss.”

“I’m not going to think of misses.” Meara handed off the peas to Boyle. “Near to a year now that evil bastard’s been dogging us—longer I know for the three, but in this year he’s taunted and attacked with barely a respite. Third time’s the charm, isn’t it? I’m believing in that—and thinking that every time I see him when I’m out on a guided.”

“Today?” Branna asked.

“Today, and every day now, lurking in the woods, even keeping pace for a time. A little closer to the track, it seems. Close enough that twice now, Roibeard’s flown in and taken a dive at him. It. Whatever the bloody hell.”

“He does it to rattle us,” Boyle pointed out. “It’s best not to rattle.”

“True enough.” With the chops severed, Connor took two for himself. “He’s getting stronger or bolder, or both. I’ve seen him skulking about when out on a hawk walk. But today, our Brian mentioned he’d seen a wolf cross the path.”

“As Mrs. Baker saw him,” Branna added.

“Indeed. Now with Brian, who tends to think an errant wind may be a sign of the apocalypse, it was easy enough to convince him he’d only caught sight of a stray dog. But it’s a concern he’s showing himself to others.”

“Would he hurt them?” Iona demanded. “We can’t let him hurt an innocent.”

“He would.” Fin kept his calm. “It’s more likely he’ll keep whatever he has for us, but he would and could hurt others. Someone else with power might tempt him, for that would be a kind of feeding.”

“Or a woman.” Boyle waited a beat, then nodded when no one spoke. “We all know he has needs in that area. So would he take a woman, and if we think he may, how can we stop it?”

“We can spread the protection farther than we have,” Branna began. “If he decided to slake that thirst it would be with the young and attractive. The vulnerable. We can do what we can.”

“It’s not how I’d go about it.” Fin sliced lamb from the bone very precisely. “He can shift his times, he can go when and where he likes. Why draw more attention to where he is, and what he plans here? In his place I’d go back, a hundred years or more, take what I wanted, do what I wished, and set no alarm around here.”

“So, we can’t do anything about it, can’t help whoever he’d hurt,” Iona said.

“We’ll destroy him,” Branna reminded her. “And that’s doing all there is to do.”

“But it’s a month before the anniversary of Sorcha’s death.”

“He’s had eight hundred years to do his worst.” Boyle laid a hand over Iona’s. “We can only deal with now.”

“I know it. I know, and still we can only do so much. There’s so much power here, but we’re helpless to stop him from doing harm.”

“I look through the crystal every morning,” Branna told her. “And every night. Often more than that. I’ve seen him working, and seen some of the spells he conjures. There’s blood, always, but I’ve yet to see him bring a mortal or witch into his cave. I’ve yet to see or hear anything that would help us.”

“It’s all we can do now.” Connor looked around the table. “Until we do more. It’s a month, and that feels long, but in fact, we’ve more things to gather before that time’s up. We need the brew and spell for the cauldron to destroy the stone. With light, as Branna prophesied.”

“I’ve a fine one for that,” Branna assured him. “And only need you and Iona to finish it with me. It’s for the three to do,” she explained to all.

“And so we will,” Connor responded. “But we don’t yet have the name, and without it, we can’t finish it off, no matter the poison, no matter the light.”

“Lure out the wolf,” Branna considered. “Long enough for me, or Fin come to that, to search its mind and find it.”

“We can’t know, in that form, if he’d have the name in his mind,” Fin pointed out. “Cabhan sleeps, at some point he must sleep.”

“You think to go into his dreams?” Connor shook his head. “There’s too deep a risk, Fin. And more for you than any of us.”

“If Branna watches the crystal, and we know when he sleeps, I might join with him with the rest of you ready to pull me out.”

“I won’t be a part of it. I won’t,” Branna said when Fin turned to her. “We can’t, and I won’t, risk you, and risk all, and for this last piece we’ve weeks yet to find on our own, another way. You barely pulled yourself away the last time.”

“It’s not the same as that.”

“I’m with Branna on this,” Boyle put in. “He’d twist you more than any of the rest of us. If it comes down to it, and we have only that way, it must be someone else. Any one of us here.”

“Because you don’t trust me.”

“Don’t play the donkey’s arse,” Boyle said coolly. “There’s not a one at this table who doesn’t trust you with their lives, and the lives of those they love.”

“You’re valued.” Scowling, Meara leaned toward Fin. “And that’s the why of it. And it’s too late not to play the donkey’s arse, as you just did.”

“Apologies, but it’s fact what you see as risk is also advantage, as I could get into his dreams, and out again, quicker than any of us.”

“It’s off the table.” Connor deliberately continued to eat. “And shoving it on again only spoils a fine meal. In any case, I’ve a thought on all this, if anyone wants to hear it.”

“He has thoughts.” Smiling now, Meara gave him an elbow nudge. “I’ve been a witness to the occasion.”

“And my thought is, we might try Kathel. We might have Kathel go along with me, or with Meara or Iona during the walks or guideds. It may be Kathel can find what’s going on in the mind of the wolf, and then Branna could find it from Kathel.”

“That’s not as foolish as it sounds,” Branna considered.

“Thanks for that.” Connor helped himself to another chop.

“I can give him leave to go, then we can see. I’ve been wondering about the vision I had, the words I spoke that weren’t my own when we finished the brew. Three and three and three.”

“Well, the three here, the three in their own time,” Connor said, “and Fin with Boyle and Meara. It seems clear.”

“It felt more. It’s hard to say, but it felt more. And even if it’s so simple, we’ve got to bring Sorcha’s three together with us, at the time, in that place. It’s our time, that
was
clear. Not theirs, but ours, so we have to keep Cabhan closed in to that.”

“Bell, book, candle.” Iona pushed peas around her plate. “Basic tools. And the need for our guides to be there.”

“Blood and death follow.” Meara picked up the wine, topped off her glass, then Iona’s. “We’ve known that all along. Witch, demon, or mortal blood and death doesn’t change it.”

“You’re valued.” Branna looked from Meara to Boyle. “Sister and brother, for the choice you’ve made for love and loyalty, for right, and for light. We’ve always known your worth, but it’s clear now so the fates do as well.”

A thought wound through her head. Branna drew it back as Connor leaned over to kiss Meara and make her laugh. She kept it there, twirling it like a ribbon as her circle finished the meal.

•   •   •

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS SHE STUDIED AND TWIRLED THAT
ribbon over and over. She saw how it could be done, but had to be certain it should be done. And in the end, whatever her own decision, it had to be a choice for all.

She slipped out of bed, on impulse taking her violin with her. Leaving Fin sleeping, she went down to her workshop where she kept her ball of crystal on a stand. After carrying it to the table, she lit the fire, and three candles. Then she sat, quietly playing while she watched Cabhan sleep in a sumptuous bed of gold in a dark chamber of his cave.

His own fire burned low and red, and she wondered what images he saw in the flames. Blood and death, as had been foretold? Or did he see only his own desires?

She could have sent her music to him, disturbed his sleep as thoughts of him too often disturbed hers. But she wanted to leave no trace for him to follow back to what she loved.

So she played for her own comfort and pleasure as she kept vigil.

She sensed him before he spoke, looked over as Fin came to sit beside her.

“You don’t sleep enough, or rest well enough when you do.”

“I’ll be doing both when this is finished. See how well he sleeps. Is that a saying? The guilty lose little sleep? Something of the kind, I think.”

“But he dreams, I know it.”

“Put it away, Finbar. There are five who stand against you there, so the one must bend to the five. I know the wish of it. I thought, well, I could give him a troubled night, by only sending my music into his dreams. But why? What we do, what we send, it can be turned back on us. And we know what we will do, when March winds down.”

“What will we do? There’s something in here.” He tapped her temple. “Something you’re not saying to the rest of us. One not bending to five, Branna?”

“Not that at all. I haven’t worked it all through yet. I promise you I’ll tell you, and all—however I find I stand on it at the end. I only want to be sure where that is first.”

“Then come back to bed. He’ll give you no name tonight, and cause no harm. He sleeps, and so should you.”

“All right.” She laid her violin carefully in its case, took Fin’s hand. “Kathel goes out again tomorrow. He’s been out with Connor, with Meara, Iona, Boyle, and with you as well. You’ve all seen the wolf. I see it through Kathel. But all he—or I find—in the mind is a rage and a . . . caginess,” she added as they moved through the kitchen, toward the stairs. “That’s a different thing than active thought, that caginess, that rage. But it knows its name, as creatures do.”

“I’ll join Connor tomorrow, with the hawks, and with Kathel. It may be having me with your hound, and Connor to add more power, we’ll find what we need.”

“It should be you and I,” she realized. “He confuses me with Sorcha from time to time, and covets her still—covets you. The two of us, with Kathel. And the two of us who can join with the hound. I should’ve thought of it.”

“You think enough. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” He drew her into bed, wrapped around her. “You’ll sleep now.”

Before she could understand and block, he kissed her forehead, and sent her into slumber.

For a time he lay beside her in a stream of pale moonlight, then he, too, began to drift into sleep.

And from sleep into dreams.

Baru’s hooves rang against the hard dirt of the road not yet thawed. He didn’t know this land, Fin thought, yet he did. Ireland. He could smell Ireland, but not his home. Not his own place in it.

The dark night, with a few pricks of stars and the wavering light of a moon that flowed in and out of clouds all closed around him.

And the moon showed a haze of red like blood. Like death.

He could smell smoke on the wind, and in the distance thought he saw the flicker of a fire. Campfire.

He wore a cloak. He could hear it snapping in the wind as they galloped—a dead run—along the ringing ground. The urgency consumed him; though he didn’t know where he rode, he knew he must ride.

Blood and death follow.
The words echoed in his head so he urged more speed out of the horse, took Baru up, into flight under the red-hazed moon.

The wind rushed through his hair, whipped at his cape so the song of it filled his ears. And still, beneath it, came the bright ring of hoofbeats.

He looked down, saw the rider—bright hair streaming—covering the ground swiftly, and well ahead of those who raced behind him.

And he saw the fog swirl and rise and blanket that rider, closing him off from the rest.

Without hesitation, Fin dived down, taking his horse straight into the dirty blanket of fog. It all but choked him, so thick it spread, closing off the wind, the air. The light from the scatter of stars and swimming bloody moon extinguished like candlewicks under the squeeze of fingers.

He heard the shout, the scream of a horse—sensed the horse’s fear and panic and pain. Throwing up his hand, Fin caught the sword he brought to him, and set it to flame.

He charged forward, striking, slicing at the fog, cutting through its bitter cold, slashing a path with his flame and his will.

He saw the rider, for a moment saw him, the bright hair, the dark cape, the faintest glint from a copper brooch, from the sword he wielded at the attacking wolf.

Then the fog closed again.

Rushing forward blindly, Fin hacked at the fog, called out in hopes of drawing the wolf off the man and to him. He brought the wind, a torrent of it to tear and tatter the thick and filthy blanket that closed him in. Through the frayed ribbons of it, he saw the horse stumble, the wolf again gather to leap, and threw out power to block the attack as he charged into the battle.