Нора Робертс - Blood Magick

“A rolling rack?” For reasons he didn’t want to explore, he got the immediate image of a portable torture device.

“For hanging coats. You have to do something with people’s coats, so we’re borrowing the rack. It should work fine in the laundry room. One of us will take people’s coats as they come in, hang them up, get them when people want to leave. You can’t just toss them on the couch or on a bed.”

“I hadn’t given it a thought. I’m lucky to have you.”

“You are, and it’s also good practice. I’m already planning a blow-out party next summer when our house is finished and furnished, and we’re settled in.”

“I’m already looking forward to it.”

“We’ll have finished Cabhan by then. I believe it. We won’t be working every day as we are now on how and when. We’ll just be living. I know it’s been a hard week, on you and Branna especially.”

“It’s not meant to be easy.”

Carefully, Iona tidied the stacks of guest towels. “Have you seen her today?”

“Not today, no.”

“This morning she said she was going to try some calculations on finishing this a year from the day I arrived—the day I first went to the cottage to meet her.”

He considered. “There’s a thought.”

“And she looked as doubtful it’s right as you do, but it’s something to consider. So we will. But not tonight. Tonight is party time.”

“Hmm. What’s in this other bag here?”

“Ah, well . . . some people like silly party hats and noisemakers.”

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?”