Нора Робертс - Blood Magick

“How do we know it worked?” Meara demanded.

The circling fire flashed up in spears to the ceiling. The air quivered with light and heat. A shining beam of it showered over Boyle, over Meara like a welcome.

“That,” Connor concluded, “would be an indicator.”

“What can we do? What should we do?”

“We give thanks, close the circle.” Branna smiled at her lifelong friend. “Then we’ll see.”

20

THEY PROVED NIMBLE STUDENTS AND WITHIN A WEEK could both spark a candlewick. Branna moved them on from that most basic skill to test them with other elements.

It didn’t surprise her that Meara showed more aptitude with air and Boyle with fire. That connection again, she concluded. Meara to Connor, Boyle to Iona.

They put in a great deal of time training, discovering, and the progress pleased Branna. Meara could create tough little cyclones and found her affinity with horses enhanced. When goaded, Boyle conjured golf-ball-sized fireballs.

Frustrated, he slumped into a chair at Fin’s. “What good does it all do? When he comes around, I’m bound by our agreement not to show our hand and left to give him nothing stronger than a hard look. And if I could give a taste of what I have now, he could smack it away like a tennis player returning a lob.”

“The player’s more likely to end up getting beaned,” Connor pointed out, “if the lob comes from an unexpected direction. You’ve done considerable, you and Meara, with the little you were given, and done considerable in a short time.”

“Time’s the trouble, isn’t it?” Boyle pointed out.

“It is, and that’s a hard fact.” Fin contemplated his beer. “We thought as he wouldn’t know we were looking, we’d find a way into the demon’s name. Now I wonder if Cabhan’s forgotten it, as the demon’s been part of him for so long.”

“That’s a troubling thought.” Connor considered it. “If it’s true we can’t end it without the demon’s name, and if there’s no longer a name to find, it may be it’s Cabhan’s name we have to speak as we poison them.”

“Are such matters ever that simple?” Fin asked.

“They haven’t proved to be. Still, maybe this will be. Only the name. The rest is complicated enough.”

“And only days left to us now,” Boyle put in. “Only a few weeks left till our wedding, and Iona isn’t able to think of it the way women do. Not with this between.”

“You might be grateful for that,” Connor commented. “In my experience, from mates who’ve been through it, some women can go right mad.”

“It’s outside,” Fin said quietly, and Connor came to attention.

“I don’t sense him.”

“He’s shadowed, but I can just feel him out there, trying to watch, trying to get into my thoughts. Biding time, that’s what he’s doing. The taunting and shadowing, but biding all the same. He has, as he’s proved, all the time in all the worlds.”

“He’s not looking for another fight.” Boyle leaned forward now. “Not that he wouldn’t take us all on, given the opportunity, but he’s waiting us out now. That makes sense to me. Wear down our spirits, wait for the moment when we’re careless. We’ve the wrong strategy, I think, on luring him back to Sorcha’s cabin, for then he’ll know we’re ready for the battle.”

“We have to get him there,” Connor pointed out. “Everything depends on it.”

“But he doesn’t have to know we want him to come. What if he thinks we’re hiding the fact that we’re going from him—but he’s so bloody smart and powerful, he got through the shields and sees us?”

“Why would we be going there if not for battle?” Connor argued.

“To pay our respects.” Seeing Boyle’s point, Fin nodded. “To honor Sorcha on the day of her death, to hold a ritual of respect—and perhaps try to appeal to her for help. Going under cover of our own fog so he won’t stop us from paying those respects or making that appeal.”

“And what we’re doing is taking the high ground for the battle,” Boyle finished, eager now that he could see the fight. “And instead of being taken by surprise, we give the surprise.”

“Oh, I’m liking this idea.” Connor took a long drink. “This is what comes of talking war with men. And if either of you should repeat that to any of the women, I’ll be shocked and amazed at what liars you are.”

“Since I want them fully behind this, they won’t hear that from me. We set the trap,” Fin said, “by letting him think he’s set it.”

• • •

BRANNA LISTENED TO THE NEW PLAN OVER PIZZA IN FIN’S living room. There had been some talk of an evening out, but no one understood priorities more than Branna O’Dwyer.

“It’s clever, sure it’s clever,” she agreed. “And it annoys me I never thought of it on my own. We don’t have much time to change from the plan we’ve settled on.”

“And that one has the benefit of being simple,” Meara added. “We transport ourselves there—or you transport the lot of us, along with horses, hawks, and hound, and we call him out. He’d come, as his pride wouldn’t allow otherwise. But . . . this is more devious, and I can’t help but like it.”

“He’d like that we’re trying to hide from him,” Iona agreed. “That would appeal to his arrogance. And if he thinks we’re trying to call on Sorcha, he’d have to come—on the slim chance we could reach her, bring her to us, open her to him again.”

“You’d be giving up your own shadow spell,” Branna said to Fin. “Something he doesn’t know you have. It won’t be as useful to you when he does come.”

“It will have served. It changes little of what we do once he’s there, only the approach.”

“We’ll gather flowers, wine, bread, honey.” Thinking it through, Branna made mental notes. “All the things we’d take to a visit of respect for the dead. We’re somber and unsettled, and about to attempt raising the spirit of the witch who cursed one of us. He’d see many advantages to a strike then.”

“Could we start the ritual for it?” Iona wondered. “But when it’s too late for him, call the first three?”

Boyle laughed, reached over to kiss her soundly. “Who said women can’t plan wars?”

Meara angled her head. “Who did?”

“Rhetorical,” Connor said with a careless wave. “Well then, let’s plan a war.”

• • •

ON THE DAY, BRANNA GATHERED ALL SHE NEEDED. WHITE roses, wine, honey, bread she made herself, the herbs, all the offerings. In another pouch she placed the poisons, each carefully wrapped.

And separate, to risk no contamination, the bottle of light the three had created.

She’d bathed and anointed herself, had woven charms in her hair, added them to Kathel’s collar. Made more for Aine’s mane.

Alone, she lit the candles, cast a circle, and knelt inside it to offer her acceptance to what the fates deemed. There was a certainty to her that tonight would end Cabhan or end the three. A sharper certainty that whatever the fates deemed, her life would not be as it had been.

But still her life, and still her choices. She was, and would always be a servant and a child of the light. But she was also a woman.

She rose, certain in purpose. She gathered her things and with her hound, flew to Fin’s.

She came to him in his workshop as he chose weapons from his case.

“You’re early.”

“I wanted time with you before the others, before we start. I’ve given myself to the fates, accept whatever comes. I’ll fight more fiercely for the acceptance.”

“I can only accept his end.”

“I hope that’s not true.” She crossed to him. “Will you accept me, Fin?”

“I do. Of course.”