Dark Witch (30 page)

“Oh God. God. Please.”

“What do you please?”

“Don’t stop.”

His mouth, on her breast, her belly, her thigh. Then his tongue, sliding over her, into her until she fell yet again, then mindlessly craved the next climb.

He hadn’t known he’d wanted her helpless, or what it would do to him to know he’d made her so. But to see her alight—she couldn’t know she glimmered like one of the candles—to feel her body rise up to take what he offered, to feel it fall again as she grasped that pleasure. It was more than he’d known, more than he’d imagined.

And the wanting of her filled every part of him—mind, body, spirit.

“Look at me now, Iona. Would you look at me now?”

She opened her eyes, saw his in the candle glow. Saw nothing else.

“I’m with you,” he said as he slipped into her. “I’m with you.”

They climbed again, eyes and bodies locked. Climbed until she swore the air thinned. And when her eyes gleamed with tears, they fell together.

21

T
ODAY, BOYLE THOUGHT AS HE DRANK BRUTALLY STRONG COFFEE AT HIS KITCHEN WINDOW.

He couldn’t stop it, or her. And in some part of himself he knew, even accepted that he, that she, that all of them had prepared for this day all of their lives.

Hard enough, it had always been hard enough to understand what his closest friends in the world might face one day—today—but with Iona it was only harder.

Whatever he could do he would to see her safely through it, to help her and the rest end it.

And then?

Once this day was done there would be a great deal more to do, if only he could figure out the hows of it all.

Sure how could he figure out anything when the day was to be filled with magick and violence, struggle and destinies? And very likely life and death.

His life, he thought, would’ve been easier by far if she’d never come into it.

Then he sensed her, turned, saw her standing outside his bedroom door, that short halo of hair still damp from her shower, her eyes deep and a bit sleepy yet before her coffee.

And he knew without a shadow, easier wasn’t what he wanted.

“Should we talk?” she asked him.

“Probably so, but it’s a strange day for all that.”

“It is, yeah. Later’s better.”

He nodded. “After, yes. There’s a lot to be said after this day.” Get busy, he told himself. Get moving. “You’ll have coffee, won’t you?”

“Absolutely.” But she didn’t move to pour it for herself as she’d done before.

He’d done that, he knew, made her feel a guest again. Words wanted to be said, but he held them back, and would until this long, strange day was done.

So he got down a mug, poured it for her.

“Thanks. I’m going to go down, spend some time with Alastar. Do you have any problem with me riding him home today, keeping him there until it’s time?”

“I don’t, no. He’s yours after all. I’ll ride with you.”

“Actually, I think Fin will. He and Branna need to refine any details of the magicks with Connor and me.”

“All right, but you don’t ride alone.” Carefully, he touched a hand to her shoulder. “Are you afraid?”

“No. Not afraid. I thought I’d be revved, pumped, with some good, healthy fear mixed in. I’m just not, and not sure why. I feel almost unreasonably calm. Today’s what I’ve been working for, training for, learning for. And that was ordained, I guess is the word for it, on the night Sorcha sacrificed herself.

“We finish what she started. And then . . .”

When he said nothing, she sipped at her coffee. “And then,” she continued, “we do good work, we lead good lives. That’s enough for anyone.”

“Your work and your life are here.”

“Yes.” On that, at least, she had no doubts. “My place is here.”

“I’ll fix us up some breakfast.”

“Thanks, but I feel like I ought to be a little hungry, and . . . light for now. I’ll be down with Alastar until it’s time to go back home.” She set her coffee, barely touched, aside. “I needed you last night, and you were there. I won’t forget it.” She walked quickly to the door. “I’ll see you, an hour before moonrise.”

She slipped out the door and left him wondering over her.

* * *

SHE GROOMED ALASTAR CAREFULLY, THOROUGHLY SO HIS COAT GLEAMED LIKE PEWTER
. Her calm remained as she brushed even the threat of tangles out of his mane, his tail.

Today he was a warhorse, and she believed that he, too, had prepared for this day all of his life.

“We won’t fail.” She circled around to his head, laid her hands on either side of his face and looked into his deep, dark eyes. “We won’t fail,” she repeated. “And we’ll keep each other safe as we do what we’re meant to do.”

She chose a saddle blanket—red for battle, for blood, then retrieved the saddle Boyle had given her.

She felt Alastar’s pleasure, his pride when she put the saddle on him. And she felt his courage, drew some of it for herself.

“There’s magick in a gift, and this was given to both of us. He thought of us when he had it made, so there’s more magick there. And last, it bears our names.”

She’d braid charms into his mane, she decided. When they got home she would choose ones for strength, for courage, for protection. And she would carry the same with her, under the sweater her grandmother had made. Another gift.

“Time to go.”

She allowed herself one moment to wonder if she’d ever be back in this stall, then set any doubt aside and led her horse out.

She found Fin waiting outside, and the sleek black he called Baru saddled.

“I’ve kept you waiting.”

“Not at all. There’s time enough. Odds are Branna’s just getting her wits about her by now in any case. I see Boyle gave you the saddle.”

“It’s wonderful. You knew?”

“When you live and work so close with another, secrets are hard to keep.” Fin linked his hands into a basket to help her mount.

“You look a picture, the pair of you,” he said when she sat the horse.

“We’re ready for what’s coming.”

“It shows.” He mounted Baru, turned so they could walk down the narrow road together.

* * *

IN THE WORKSHOP, CLOSED, LOCKED, SHIELDED FOR THE DAY,
Iona listened to the plan—its step-by-step progression—to the spell she was charged to make, the words to be said, the actions to take.

“You’re quiet,” Fin commented. “Have you no questions?”

“The answers are on Sorcha’s ground. I’m ready to go there, and to do what I’m meant to do.”

“It’s a complicated spell,” Branna began. “Each piece has to fit.”

“I can handle it. And as you’ve said, I won’t be alone. You’ll be there, and so will Boyle and Meara. If I pull this off, on my own, he won’t know that, won’t see that. Advantage us. Then you come in from here, here, here,” she said, tapping the map Branna had drawn. “That distracts him, throws him off balance, and takes the heat off me. All non-witches inside the circle, and Fin, too. They’ll need you to keep the protective circle strong,” Iona said as temper flashed into Fin’s eyes. “So will we. We’ll need that time when he tries to get to you for the three of us to finish it. Finish him.”

“You’re bloody calm about it,” Connor muttered.

“I know. It’s odd. Why worry when it’s meant, right? And still I should be jumping out of my skin, but I just feel . . . right. Maybe I’m saving the jumping for when it’s done. Then I’ll probably babble like an idiot until you want to knock me unconscious. But right now, I’m ready.”

“If you’re so ready, tell me all the steps, from the beginning,” Branna ordered.

“All right. We gather here, an hour before moonrise.”

Iona walked her way through it as she spoke, envisioned it, every step, every motion, every word.

“And when Cabhan is ash,” she concluded, “we perform the final ritual and consecrate the ground. Then comes the happy dance and drinks on the house.”

Gauging her cousin’s expression, Iona reached for Branna’s hand. “I’m taking it very seriously. I know what I have to do. I’m focused. I trust you, all of you. Now you have to trust me.”

“I’d wish for more time, that’s all.”

“Time’s up.” To demonstrate, Iona rose. “I want to change, and get everything I need from my room. I’ll be ready.”

When she walked away, Connor rose as well. “I’d take some of her calm just now, but I’ll have to make do with too much energy. I’m going to check on the hawks, yours and mine, Fin, and the horses as well.”

As the door closed behind him, Branna got up to put the kettle back on. Though she doubted a vat of tea would drown the anxiety.

“You think we’re asking too much of her?” Fin asked.

“I can’t know, and that’s the worry.” One that ate at her, night and day. “If I try to see, and he catches even a glimmer, all could be lost. So I don’t look. I don’t like putting the beginnings of it all in her hands, even knowing it’s the right choice.”

“She asked for trust. We’ll give her that.”

“You don’t think it’s too much for her?”

“I can’t know,” he said in an echo of her words, “and that’s the worry.”

She busied herself making tea for both of them. “You care for her a great deal.”

“I do, yes. For herself, as she’s charming and full of light, and such . . . clarity of heart. And again, as my friend loves her, even if he buggered it up.”

“He did that. And still she went to him last night.”

“She forgives, easier than others.” Fin rose to walk toward her, to stand near her. “There are things for us, Branna. Words to be said. Will you forgive me, at last, when this is done?”

“I can’t think about that now. I’m doing what I have to do. Do you think it’s easy for me, being with you, working beside you, seeing you day after day?”

“It could be. All those things used to make you happy.”

“We used to be children.”

“What we had, what we’ve been to each other wasn’t childish.”

“You ask for too much.” Made her remember, far too clearly, the simple joy of love. “Ask for more than I can give.”

“I won’t ask. I’m done with asking. You don’t reach for happiness, or even look for it.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“What then?”

“Fulfillment. I think fulfillment contents me.”

“You wanted more than contentment once. You ran toward happiness.”

She had, she knew. Recklessly. “And the wanting, the running hurt me more than I can bear, even now. Put it away, Finbar, for it only brings more hurt to both of us. We’ve important work to do tonight. There’s nothing else but that.”

“You’ll never be all you are if you believe that. And it’s a sorrow to me.”

He walked away, walked out. And that, Branna told herself, was what she needed.

He was wrong, she told herself. She’d never be all she was, never really be free, as long as she loved him.

And that was her sorrow.

* * *

AT AN HOUR BEFORE MOONRISE THEY GATHERED.
Branna lit the ritual candles, tossed ground crystals into the fire so its smoke rose pale and pure blue.

She took up a silver cup that had come down to her, stepped into the circle they formed.

“This we drink, one cup for six, from hand to hand and mouth to mouth to fix with wine our unity. Six hearts, six minds as one tonight as we prepare to wage this fight. Sip one, sip all, and show each one here answers the call.”

The cup passed hand to hand three times before Branna placed it in the center of the circle.

“Power of light, strong and bright, bless us this night, shield us from sight.”

Light erupted in the cup, burned like white flame.

“Now his eyes be blind until this magick I unwind. Not heart nor mind nor form will he see. As we will, so mote it be.”

She lowered the arms she’d lifted. “While it burns we’re the shadows. Only you, Iona, when you break this vial. Wait,” she added as she pressed it into Iona’s hand. “Wait until you’re on Sorcha’s ground.”

“I will. Don’t worry.” She slid the vial into her pocket. “Find him,” she said to Fin.

“So I will. Find, seek, lure.”

He took a crystal, round as a ball, clear as water, from his own pocket, cupped it in the palm of his hand.

As he spoke in Irish, the ball began to glow, to lift an inch above his hand. And to revolve, slower, then faster, faster until it blurred with speed.

“He seeks, blood to blood, mark to mark,” Branna told Iona quietly. “He uses what he is, what they share, to see, to stir. He . . .”

Fin’s eyes began to gleam, to glow, as unearthly a light as the crystal.

“Not so deep! He can’t—”

Connor caught Branna’s arm before she lurched forward. “He knows what he’s about.”

But for a moment, something dark lived behind the light in Fin’s eyes. Then it was gone.

“I have him.” His face a mask, Fin closed his fingers over the crystal. “He’ll come.”

“Where is he?” Boyle demanded.

“Not far. I gave him your scent,” he told Iona. “He’ll follow it, and you.”

“Then I’ll take him where we want him.”

“We’re behind you.” Meara grasped Iona’s arms. “Every one of us.”

“I know.” She breathed slow, kept her calm. “I believe.”

She touched her fingers to the hilt of the sword at her side, looked from one to the other, and thought what a wonder it was to have them all, to have what was inside her, to have such a purpose.

“I won’t let you down,” she said and started for the door.

“Bloody hell.” In two strides Boyle caught her, whirled her around, crushed his mouth to hers with everything that lived inside him.

“Take that with you,” he demanded, and set her aside.

“I will.” And she smiled before she walked out into the soft light of the longest day.

Alastar waited, pawed the ground at her approach.

Yeah, she thought, we’re ready, you and I.

She gripped his mane, hurled herself into the saddle. She closed a hand briefly around her amulet, felt heat pulse from it.

Ready, she thought again, and let Alastar have his head.

Faster was better. The others would come as quickly as they could, but the faster she reached her ground, the less time Cabhan could plot, plan, question.

Wind rushed by her ears. The ground thundered. And they flew.