Dark Witch (24 page)

Now Branna’s eyebrows drew together. “I wouldn’t say no. What happened? Did you have another encounter with Cabhan?”

“Not everything is about Cabhan and ancient fricking evil.” True to her word, she poured an enormous glass of wine, then a more sedate one for her cousin.

“Well now, here’s a mood that’s come on in under twenty minutes. Wasn’t your horse happy to see you then?”

“I never got to Alastar, which is just one more thing I can be pissed about. I never saw my horse, never got my ride.” She handed Branna the glass, tapped her own to it. “Bloody
sláinte
.”

When Iona flopped down at the table, Branna took a sip of wine, studied her cousin over the rim. Anger, yes, but hurt besides. Deliberately she kept her voice breezy.

“Not Cabhan or the horse, so what does that leave? Let me see, could it be Boyle?”

“Could be and is. I walked into the stables when he was ranting to Fin about how inconvenient it is for him to have me around all the time, in his space. In his way, in his bed. Wrapped around him like a vine in his words.”

“He’s an idiot, and I hope you gave him a solid boot for it. Men can be loathsome creatures, especially when they put their heads together.”

“Oh, there’s more, as if that wasn’t bad enough. He’s decided since I’ve managed to push my way into his life, his head, his bed, I’ve put a love spell on him.”

“Bollocks to that!” The sympathy Branna tried to keep mild erupted in stunned insult. “He must’ve been joking, just having it on with Fin who likely teased him a bit.”

“He wasn’t joking, Branna. He was furious, shouting. He didn’t even hear me come in. When I did he was saying—loudly—that he barely has any time to himself the way I’ve pushed myself on him, and I’d put a love spell on him. I’m new at all this, and testing the waters, and decided to test them on him with a love spell. He told Fin to break it.”

“What a pair of right gobdaws.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds insulting, so good. Except not Fin. He said bollocks to that, too.”

“I’m pleased to hear that at least. Now we won’t be turning him into a slug and drowning him in beer.”

Iona tried to laugh, but it kept catching. “It’s a good word
bollocks
, I’m going to start using it a lot. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.”

Her eyes filled, her throat burned. So she shook her head, gulped wine. “No, no, no. I am
not
going to cry. I have to stay mad so I won’t.”

“Did you speak to Boyle, or just turn his penis into a warty little stub?”

“I spoke with him.” Iona swiped at the single tear that got through. “I let him know I had too much respect for myself to use magick to get someone to want me. To love me. He tried to make excuses, but bollocks to that, right? I asked Fin to bring me back, and he did. He was kind.”

He could be, Branna thought, enormously kind. To some. “Then I’m glad he was there. I won’t make excuses for Boyle. What he said was a harsh and unwarranted insult to those like you and me. And more, it’s hurtful because you have such strong feelings for him. I’ll only say that while he’s got a black temper at times, and is in the way of being, well, gruff’s a simple word for it, at other times, I’ve never known him to hurt anyone like this. It’s my thinking he’s taken considerably aback by his feelings for you.”

“He doesn’t want them. I’m not going to cry over someone who doesn’t want feelings for me. I may get a little drunk, but I’m not going to cry about it.”

“A sensible attitude.” Branna’s phone jingled. “It’s Connor. Give me a moment. And where are you?” she said into the phone by way of greeting. “Right here, yes. No, we could do without you, you being a man for all that. That’s best, that’s fine. And when I want your fine advice, I’ll be asking for it. Go on, be jackasses together, and you can tell Boyle he can count his luck I don’t make that literal.”

She clicked off. “Fin went by the school for Connor. I’ve told him, as you gathered, to go on, as men can just jam things up. I’ve a mind to ring up Meara, unless you’d rather I didn’t. We can sit around, drink more wine, and say all the rude and truthful things about men without any of them around.”

“That’d be great. Really. But you’re working.”

“I’ll get back to it.”

“You feel sorry for me.”

“A poor sort I’d be if I didn’t. But I’m pissed right along with you, for you, myself, and every other self-respecting witch, and every self-respecting woman. Love spell, my arse.”

* * *

WHEN CONNOR AND FIN WALKED INTO FIN’S HOUSE, BOYLE
paced the living room.

“What took you so bloody long,” he began, then spotted Connor. “Ah, well. Before you jump up my arse I never knew she was there, and was just having a bit of a rant. I’m entitled to have a bit of a rant in my own stables.”

“One question, before we go any further on the matter.” Connor held up a single finger. “Are you saying Iona used magick to trap you—a love spell?”

“I said it, as you bloody well know, but I’m not saying it. I was blowing off, is all. Or mostly all.”

“Do you think she used magick on you?”

“No, not when I—”

“No’s enough for now,” Connor told him. “No means I’m not obliged to plant my fist in your face, the result of which would be you kicking the living shit out of me, and I’d rather have a beer. Bugger it, Boyle, you know what we’re about, and what’s over a line for us. You should know the same of Iona.”

“I do. But it’s . . . Well, fuck it, have a swing. I won’t hit back as I earned it.”

“There’s no satisfaction in punching under those conditions.”

“I’ll do it,” Fin volunteered.

“You’re not her cousin,” Boyle shot back, then threw up his hands. Jutted out his chin. “Go on then, have a go.”

Fin only smiled. “I’ll save that offer, and have that go when you least expect it.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Connor shrugged out of his jacket. “I want the beer, then you can tell me how you plan to fix this up with Iona.”

“If she’d just be reasonable—”

“That’s not the way, mate.” Connor dropped down on the big leather couch. “Any crisps to go with the beer?”

“I’ll take care of it. There’s steaks, and Boyle can do the cooking in a bit,” Fin decided. “To practice being humble and apologetic.”

“Look here.” Boyle sat down, leaned forward. “You asked if I meant it, right? I said I didn’t, and that’s that. Reasonable.”

“And you expect her to be the same?”

“I was blowing off,” Boyle insisted. “When she’s calmed herself I’ll tell her I was just, what do you call it, venting, and didn’t mean anything by it. That’s all.”

Connor said nothing for a moment, then glanced over as Fin came back with bottles of Smithwick’s and a bag of potato chips.

“I know he’s been around and with women before,” Connor said conversationally. “I’ve seen that for myself, and met some of them as well. But if I didn’t know better I’d swear an oath the man had just crawled out of a cave full grown without having any female contact whatsoever.”

“Ah, feck off.”

“Groveling.” Fin tossed the beers, one to Connor, one to Boyle, dropped down on the sofa, propped his feet on the oversized coffee table he’d found on his travels.

“I’m not doing that.”

“
Mo dearthair
, I wager you will before it’s done. I’ve a hundred I’ll put on it. He’s mad for her,” he said to Connor.

“Sure that’s one more reason he’ll make a complete bags of it.”

“I should go talk to her now, get it done and finished.”

“I wouldn’t advise it.” Connor grabbed a handful of chips. “She’s with Branna, and my sister isn’t too pleased with you at the moment. I reckon she’ll pull Meara in, so that’ll be all the three of them sending hard thoughts, at the least of it, your way.”

“Well, Jesus, I can’t go about fixing anything if she won’t talk to me, and she’s being guarded by a witch and a woman with a tongue as sharp as a razor.”

“Resign yourself to stewing in it tonight, and maybe a day or two more,” Fin advised. “After that . . . I’m thinking flowers won’t do the trick here.”

Connor washed down the chips with beer. “She’s a romantic soul, our Iona, but flowers are paltry considering the insult.”

“I didn’t insult her,” Boyle began, then swore bitterly before gulping down beer. “All right then, I did. I admit it. Admitting a wrong and apologizing ought to be enough.”

Fin slid down to a slouch. “I’m forced to agree with you, Connor, though it pains me, about the cave. She’s not a man, brother, and you don’t handle her as one with a sorry, mate. I’ll stand you a round. Flowers, as she’s romantic, and something with some shine to it to show you understand the depth of your mistake.”

Astonished, Boyle shot straight up in his chair. “Now I’m buying her jewelry just for blowing off when she wasn’t even meant to be there? I’ll not do it.” A man had his pride, and his spine, didn’t he? “It’s nothing but a bribe.”

“Think of it more as an investment,” Fin suggested. “Christ Jesus, man, have you never put your foot in it with a woman and had to find the way to pull it out again?”

Boyle set his jaw. “If I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong. If that’s not enough, well, that’s that. I’ve never gone around with a woman who matters, so . . .”

“And she does. Matter,” Connor finished.

“It should be apparent enough.” He brooded into his beer. “I’m not going around buying flowers and baubles to put a patch on it. I’ll apologize, for I couldn’t be sorrier to have put that look on her face. The mad, that’s fine. You shout it out and it’s finished. But I hurt her, and I’m sorry for it.”

He pushed up. “I’ll see about the steaks.”

“Mad for her,” Fin said when Boyle left the room.

“And panicked with it, which would be good fun if this hadn’t happened. She’ll forgive him, for she’s tenderhearted and just as mad for him. But she won’t shine again until he gives her back what she’s so willing to give him.”

“What would that be?”

“Love, given freely and without conditions. The flowers, the bauble will make her smile, when she’s ready. But he’ll have to give over himself before she shines again.”

“It’s what makes us all shine,” Fin observed.

* * *

IN THE LIVING ROOM OF THE COTTAGE WITH THE FIRE SIMMERING
and candles lit, Iona snuggled into the corner of the couch. Meara had not only come, but with provisions of pizza and ice cream.

“Pizza, cookie dough ice cream, wine, and girls.” Iona lifted her glass in toast. “The best there is.”

“I keep the pizza and ice cream in the freezer for just such emergencies.”

“It’s perfect. We should all be lesbians.”

“You’ll have to speak for yourself there.” Amused, Meara took a second slice.

“I think the Amazons were probably lesbians. Or some of them anyway. That’s what I thought of you when I first saw you.”

Choking on her bite of pizza, Meara downed some wine. “You took a look at me and thought: Why, there’s a lesbian?”

“Amazon. I hadn’t thought about your sexual orientation, then I saw you and Boyle together and figured you were together, but that was wrong. Amazon,” Iona repeated. “Tall and gorgeous and built. I’m a little bit drunk.” She smiled at Branna. “Thanks.”

“Oh, anytime a’tall.”

“We can all be Amazons.”

“You’re a bit short for it,” Meara pointed out.

“There had to be some runts in the litter.”

“Word is she’s small but mighty,” Branna added.

“Damn right! See what I can do?” She popped a jittery ball of flame into her hand.

“Best not to play with fire, or magick, when you’re a little bit drunk,” Branna advised.

“Right.” She winked it out. “But I can do it, that’s the point. I can take care of myself. I’m going to buy a car, then when I want to drive around, I’ll drive my own damn self. I’ve got power and purpose. I don’t need a man.”

“If we’re to be Amazons, we’ll just use them for sex or whatever else comes to mind, then cast them out or kill them.”

Iona nodded at Meara. “Let’s do that. Not the killing, it’s a little extreme. But the sex and whatever. I really like sex.”

“Here’s to it.” Meara lifted her glass, drank, then glanced at Branna.

“Aren’t you drinking to sex?”

“I’ll drink to it, as that’s the closest I’ve come to it in some time.”

Iona sighed, a little bit drunkenly. “You could have sex with anybody. You’re so gorgeous.”

“Thanks very much, but anybody doesn’t appeal to me at this time.”

“She’s particular about the matter,” Meara added.

“Me, too, or I have been. I think I’ll stop doing that. Sex with Boyle was spectacular.”

“Do tell,” Meara commented. “And I mean do. I’ve all the time in the world.”

With a laugh, Iona sipped more wine. “Hot and wild and sweaty. Like the world was going to end any minute and you
had
to have each other first.”

“Ah well, I haven’t come close to that particular brand in some time myself.”

“Done now.” Iona swiped a hand through the air. “It’s time for a good dose of cynicism because love sucks. Who needs it when you’ve got pizza and ice cream and girls, and lots of wine?”

“I’ve always figured it was the frosting.”

Now Iona stabbed a finger toward Meara. “Frosting’s fattening and gives you cavities.”

“There’s the risk of that to be sure, but . . . Well, you’ve got to bake the cake, don’t you? Bake it well so it satisfies yourself. And maybe you decide to add frosting, maybe you don’t.”

“Love as a choice?” No, Iona thought. No. Love just picked you up and tossed you in. “But how do you choose? You’ve baked your cake, and there it is, and you’re thinking that’s a pretty good cake, that’s good enough for me. Then you blink and all this wonderful frosting just plops down on it out of nowhere.”

Meara shrugged. “You could scrape it off.”

“You can,” Branna agreed. “But it takes some of the cake with it, and you never get all the frosting gone.”

“That’s sad. It sounds true,” Iona murmured, “and sad. We can’t be sad. I refuse it. We need music,” she decided. “Would you play, Branna? I love to hear you play.”

“Why not?” Branna stood. “I’m in the mood to play. I’ll get my fiddle, and Meara, you tune up your pipes.”