Нора Робертс - Blood Magick

“A witch’s dying curse may be regretted now, but its power holds. It may be one of the places I haven’t been holds the key to breaking it. I won’t stop looking.”

“Then when this is done, we’ll all of us look. Think of all the free time on our hands once we dispatch Cabhan.”

Fin smiled, but thought there were lives to be lived. “Let’s keep our minds on dispatching him. And tell me, what sort of house are you thinking of building for yourself and your bride. Something such as . . .”

With a twirl of his finger, Fin floated an image of a glittery faerie palace over a silver lake.

With a laugh, Connor twirled his own. “To start, perhaps more this.” And turned the palace into a thatched-roof cottage in a field of green.

“Likely suits you better. And what does Meara have to say about it?”

“That she doesn’t want to think about it until Iona and Boyle are wed, and their house finished. At that time, as she’s giving up her flat on the first of the month in any case, we thought it might be with Boyle and Iona tucked in their new place, we might give Branna her quiet and tuck ourselves into the flat over your garage.”

“You could, indeed. As long as you like, but I think your fingers will be itching to make your own.”

“Well, it may be I’ve drawn up a few ideas on it. I think—”

He broke off as his phone signaled a text.

“It’s Branna. No, no, nothing’s wrong,” he said as Fin lunged to his feet. “She’d like us to come back is all, has something she wants to talk to us and Iona about. Hmm.” Connor sent back a quick response. “Witches only, it seems, and I wonder what that’s about.”

“She’s been brewing on something—in her head,” Fin added. “She may be finished on the brewing of it.”

And with Connor, he called the hawks.

Branna continued to work as she waited. She had indeed finished brewing on it, and felt the time had come to ask if the others were willing or thought the idea had merit.

She’d studied the means to do it, had gone over the ritual needed more times than she cared to count—as it was a great deal to ask, of all.

Was it another answer? she wondered. Another step needed for what they all hoped was the end?

Not an impulse, she assured herself as she filled the last bottles with fragrant oils for the shop. She’d given it far too much thought, considered it from every side and angle for it to be deemed an impulse.

No, it was a decision, a choice, and must be fully agreed to by all.

She washed her hands, wiped her counter, then went over to look into her crystal.

The cave was empty, but for the red glow of the fire, the dark smoke rising from the cauldron. So Cabhan wandered where he willed. And if he watched, would see nothing that offered him aid or insight. She’d seen to that.

She rose as Iona came in, and did what she always did. Put the kettle on.

“You said no worries, but—”

“There aren’t,” Branna assured her. “It’s just a matter I need to talk over with you and Connor and Fin.”

“But not Boyle or Meara.”

“Not as yet. It’s nothing we would do without them, I promise, only it needs to be discussed among us first. So, have you settled it all then on the wedding flowers?”

“Yes.” Iona hung up her jacket and scarf, tried to shift topics as Branna wanted. “You were right about the florist, she’s wonderful. We’ve nailed that all down, and I’m nearly done—I tell myself—changing the menu for the reception. And I’m glad I’ve left the music in your hands and Meara’s or I’d drive myself crazy.”

“We’re happy to help, and Meara’s making notes on what you’re doing she might want to turn a bit for herself. Though she claims she’s barely thinking of it all yet, she thinks of it quite a bit.”

Branna started the tea. “And here come Fin and Connor now. Let’s use the little table so we’re all settled in one place.”

“It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“That’s for each to decide. Would you get the cups?”

Branna brought the teapot to the table, the sugar, the cream, the biscuits her brother particularly would expect.

And Connor’s eyebrows lifted as he came in. “A tea party, is it?”

“A party, no, but there’s tea. If we could all sit, I’m more than ready to say what’s on my mind.”

“And been on your mind for some time.” Fin came over, sat.

“I had to be sure of my own thoughts and feelings on it before I asked for yours.”

“But not the full circle,” Connor pointed out.

“Not yet, you’ll see why it’s for us first.”

“Okay.” Iona blew out a breath. “You’re killing me now. Spill it.”

“I thought of what came through me the day Fin and I made the poison for the demon. What I said, all the words, at the moment all the work we’d done there came to fruition. We have the means to destroy Cabhan, and what’s in him, or will when we have the name. And the means to destroy the stone, and close the portal.”

“I love that one,” Iona commented. “All the light and heat of it.”

“It’ll take all to close the dark. But there was more that came through me than poisons, than weapons. It’s all risk, all duty, and the blood and death may be ours, any of us. And still, even fully myself again, one thing continued to echo in me. Three and three and three.”

“And so we are,” Connor agreed. “If you’ve found a way to connect us again with Sorcha’s three, I’d like to hear it, for I feel, and all through me feel, they must be a part of it. They must be there.”

“And I believe they will, as the shadows of them came on Samhain. To bring them full, it may be another thing. Three and three and three,” Branna repeated. “But there are two armed with only courage and sword or fist. They have no magicks. Sorcha’s three, we three, and Fin—part of us, part of Cabhan. Then Boyle and Meara. It doesn’t truly balance.”

“You said we wouldn’t leave them out,” Iona began.

“And I gave my word I’d never lock her or Boyle away, whatever my wish to protect them.” Connor ignored the biscuits, frowned at his sister. “If you think to appeal to others of our blood, to our father or—”

“No. We are a circle, and nothing changes that. We go, three by three by three, as is meant. But that balance can be met, if we’re willing. And in turn if Boyle and Meara are willing.”

“You’d give them power.” Fin sat back as he began to understand. “You would give them, as Sorcha did her children, what we have.”

“I would—not near to all as she did, never that. We need what we are, and I would never burden two we loved with so much. But some, from all of us, to them. It can be done. I’ve studied how Sorcha did it, I’ve worked on how to pass—gently as we can—some of what we are. It’s a risk if I’ve got any of it wrong, and it must be a choice for all.”

“Sorcha’s children already had power, through her,” Iona pointed out, “through the blood. I’m newer at this than all of you, but I’ve never heard of transferring magicks into, well, let’s say laypeople.”

“They’re connected. Not just to us, but also through their bloodline. With or without power, that connection is real. And it’s that connection that would allow this to work, if it’s meant to work.”

“They’d have more protection,” Connor considered.

“They would, though as much as I love them, my purpose here is balance. It’s the fulfillment of what prophecy came through me. But it must be our purpose. Ours and theirs. And we can’t know, not for certain, what the powers would be for them.”

“But in having them,” Fin began, “they, with me, become truly another three.”