Blood Magick Page 22

  She only smiled, glided her foot along his leg under the frothy water.

  “It feels we could be in some chalet in Switzerland, which I like, but I wonder you didn’t put this in that room with all the windows, the way it’s situated so private and opening to the woods.”

  He drank some wine. “I had that room built with you in mind.”

  “Me?”

  “With the hope one day you’d marry me as we planned, live here with me. And make your workshop there.”

  “Oh, Fin.” His wish, and her own, twined together to squeeze her heart.

  “You like the open when you work, the glass so you can look out, the feel of being out, is what appeals to you. Snug enough inside, but with that open to bring the out in to you. So the glass room facing the woods gives you the private and the open at once.”

  She couldn’t speak for a moment, didn’t want her voice to shake when she did. “If I had the magicks to change what is, to transform them into what I’d wish them to be, it would be that, to live and to work here with you. But we have this.”

  She set her wineglass in the holder, flowed over to him, to press body to body. “We have today.”

  He skimmed a hand down her hair, down to where it dipped and floated over the water. “No tomorrows.”

  “Today.” She laid her cheek against his. “I’m with you, you’re with me. I never believed, or let myself believe, we could have this much. Today is the world for me, as you are. It may never be enough, and still.” She drew back, just a little. “It’s all.”

  She brushed his lips with hers, slid into the kiss with all the tenderness she owned.

  She would give him all she had to give him. And all was love. More than her body, but through her body her heart. It had always been his, would always be, so the gift of it was simple as breathing.

  “Believe,” she murmured. “Tonight.”

  Sweetly, for with her practical bent she could forget the sweet, she offered the kiss, to stir, to soothe.

  Her only love.

  He knew what she offered, and knew what she asked. He would take, and he would give. And setting aside the wish for more, he would believe tonight was everything.

  Here was magick in having her soft and yielding, her sigh warm against his cheek as they embraced. The heat rose through him, around him, with the snow a silent curtain to close out all the world but them.

  He took her breasts, gently, gently, as he could still see in his mind the violent marks what shared his blood had put on her. He swore as her heart beat against his hand, he would never harm her, would give his life to keep her from harm.

  Whatever came tomorrow, he’d never break the oath.

  Her hands glided over him, and her fingers brushed against the mark he carried. Her touch, even so light, brought on a bone-deep ache there. A price he’d pay without question.

  The water, a steady drumbeat in the hush of the night, swirled around them as their hands drifted under it to give pleasure.

  Her breath caught, shaking her heart with the meeting of emotion and sensation, the rise of need and wonder.

  How could tenderness cause such heat—a wire in the blood, a fire in the belly—and still have her wish to draw every moment into forever?

  So when she straddled him, took him deep, and deep and deep, she knew she would never take another. Whatever the needs of the body, no other could touch her heart, her soul. Combing her fingers through his hair, she held his face as she moved over him so he could see her, see into her, and know.

  On their slow climb, the swirling water glowed, a pool of light to bathe them and surround them. As they fell, holding tight, the light flowed out against the dark to illuminate the soft curtain of snow.

  Later, lax and sleepy in his bed, she curled against him. As tonight became tomorrow, she held fast to what she loved.

  • • •

  IT TOOK MORE PRECIOUS DAYS BEFORE BRANNA COULD acquire all the ingredients, in quantities to allow for experimenting, needed for the poison.

  Connor looked on as she sealed them in individual jars on her work counter.

  “Those are dangerous, Branna.”

  “As well they need be.”

  “You’ll take precautions.” His face only went stony when she shot him a withering glance. “So you always do, I know full well. But I also know you’ve never worked with such as this, or concocted such a lethal brew. I’ve a right to worry about my sister.”

  “You do, but you needn’t. I’ve spent the days waiting for all of this to arrive to study on them. Meara, take him off, would you? The pair of you should be off to work, not hovering around me.”

  “If we can’t use the stuff until near to April,” Meara argued, “can’t you wait to make it?”

  “As Connor’s so helpfully pointed out, I’ve never done this before. It may take some time to get it right, and I might even have to send out for more before we’re sure of it. It’s a delicate business.”

  “Iona and I should do this with you.”

  Patience, Branna ordered herself, and dug some out of her depleting stores.

  “And if the three are huddled in here, hours a day, maybe for days on end, Cabhan will know we’re brewing up something. It’s best we all continue our routines.” Struggling against annoyance, as his worry for her was from love, she turned to him. “Connor, we talked all this through.”

  “Talking and doing’s different.”

  “We could mix up the routines a bit,” Meara suggested, caught between them. “One of us can stay for an hour or two in the morning, another can come around midday, and another come round early from work.”

  “All right then.” Anything, Branna thought, to move them along. “But not this morning as you’re both on the schedule. I’m only going to be making powders, distilling. Preparing the ingredients. And I know what I’m about. Added to it, I expect Fin by midday, so there’s two of us at it already.”

  “That’s fair enough,” Meara said before Connor could argue, and grabbed his hand. “I’ve got to get on or Boyle will be down my throat and up my arse at the same time. Branna, you’ll let us know if you need any help.”

  “Be sure I will.”

  Connor strode over, gave Branna a quick, hard kiss. “Don’t poison yourself.”

  “I thought I would just for the experience, but since you ask so nicely . . .”

  She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them, then found Kathel sitting, staring at her.

  “Not you as well? When did I all at once become an idjit? If you want to help, go round on patrol.” She marched to the door, opened it. “I’m after cloaking the workshop and locking up besides. It wouldn’t do to have someone wander in for hand balm while I’m doing this work. Be helpful, Kathel,” she said in a more cajoling tone, “and you’ll tell me if you find Cabhan’s anywhere near.”

  Another sigh of relief when she’d shut the door behind him.

  She cloaked the glass so none but who she chose could see inside. She charmed the doors so none but who she chose could enter.

  And turning back to the counter, began—carefully—with wolfsbane.

  It was painstaking work, as one of the precautions involved psychically cleansing each ingredient.

  Some said those who practiced the dark arts sometimes imbued poisonous plants with the power to infect strange illnesses by only a touch or an inhale of scent.

  She didn’t have the time or inclination to fall ill.

  After cleansing, she rejarred the entire plant, or crushed petals or berries, or distilled.

  From outside, Fin watched her as if through a thin layer of gauze. She’d been wise to cloak her workplace, he thought, as even from here he recognized belladonna, and angel’s trumpet—though he could only assume the latter was Amazonian.

  She worked with mortar and pestle because the effort and the stone added to the power. Every now and then he caught a quick glimmer of light or a thin rise of dark from the bowl or from a jar.


  Both dogs flanked him. He wasn’t certain if Bugs had come along for himself or for Kathel, but the little stable mutt sat and waited as patiently as Branna’s big hound.

  Fin wondered if he’d ever watch Branna through the glass without worry. If that day ever came, it wouldn’t be today.

  He moved to the door, opened it.

  She’d put on music, which surprised him as she most often worked in silence, but now she worked to weeping violins.

  Whatever she told the dogs stopped their forward motion toward her so they sat again, waited again. Taking off his coat, so did he.

  Then she poured the powder she made through a funnel and into a jar, sealed it.

  “I wanted to get that closed up before the dogs began milling around, wagging tails. I wouldn’t want a speck of dust or a stray hair finding its way into the jars.”

  “I thought you’d have banished any speck of dust long before this.”

  She carried the funnel, mortar, pestle to a pot on the stove, carefully set them inside the water steadily boiling inside.

  “I tend to chase them away with rag or broom as it’s more satisfying. Is it midday?”

  “Nearly one in the afternoon. I was delayed. Have you worked straight through since Connor and Meara left this morning?”

  “And with considerable to show for it. No, don’t touch me yet.” She stepped to her little sink, scrubbed her hands, then coated them with lotion.

  “I’m keeping my word,” she told him, “and being overly cautious.”

  “There’s no overly with this. And now you’ll have a break from it, some food and some tea.”

  Before she could protest, he took her arm to steer her out and into her own kitchen.

  “If you’re hungry, you might have picked up some take-away while you were out. Here, you’ll have a sandwich and be thankful for it.”

  He only pulled out a chair, pointed. “Sit,” he said, and put the kettle on.

  “I thought you wanted food.”

  “I said you’d have food, and I wouldn’t mind some myself. I can make a bloody sandwich. I make a superior sandwich come to that, as it’s what I make most.”

  “You’re a man of some means,” she pointed out. “You might hire a cook.”

  “Why would I do that when I can get a meal here more than half the time?”

  When he opened the refrigerator, she started to tell him where he might find the various makings, then just sat back, decided to let him fend for himself.

  “Did Connor put a bug in your ear?”

  “He didn’t have to. It would be better if you worked with someone rather than alone. And better as well if you stopped to eat.”

  “It seems I’m doing just that.”

  She watched him build a couple of sandwiches with some rocket, thinly sliced ham, and Muenster, toss some crisps on the side. He dealt with the tea, then plopped it all down on the table without ceremony.

  Branna rose to get a knife as he’d neglected to cut hers in half.

  “Well, if you have to be dainty about it.”

  “I do. And thanks.” She took a bite, sighed. “I didn’t realize I was hungry. This part of it’s a bit tedious, but I got caught up all the same.”

  “What else is to be done?”

  “On this first stage, nothing. I have the powders, the tinctures and extracts, some of the berries and petals should be crushed fresh. I cleansed all, and that took time, as did boiling all the tools between each ingredient to avoid any contamination. I think it should rest, and I’ll start mixing tomorrow.”

  “We,” he corrected. “I’ve cleared my days as best I can, and unless I’m needed at the stables or school, I’m with you until this is done.”

  “I can’t say how long it will take to perfect it.”

  “Until it’s done, Branna.”

  She shrugged, continued to eat. “You seem a bit out of sorts. Did the meeting not go well?”

  “It went well enough.”

  She waited, then poked again. “Are you after buying more horses or hawks?”

  “I looked at a yearling, and sealed a deal there as I liked the look of him. With Iona, we’ve drawn more students for the jumping ring. I thought to have her train this one, as he comes from a good line. If she’s willing it may be we can expand that end of things, put her in charge of it.”

  Branna lifted her eyebrows. “She says she’s content with the guideds, but I think she’d be thrilled with this idea. If you’re thinking this, she must be a brilliant instructor.”

  “She’s a natural, and her students love her. She’s only three young girls regular as yet, but their parents praise her to the skies. And we’ve two of those students because she started with one, and the word spread around.”

  Branna nodded, continued to eat as Fin lapsed into silence.

  “Will you tell me what’s troubling you?” she asked him. “I can see it, hear it, under the rest. If it’s something between us—”

  “Between us we have today, as agreed.” He heard the edge in his own voice, waved the words away. “It’s nothing to do with that, with what’s between us. Cabhan’s coming into my dreams,” he told her. “Three nights running now.”

  “Why haven’t you told me?”

  “What’s to be done about it?” Fin countered. “He hasn’t pulled me in. I think he doesn’t want that battle and the energy it would cost him, so he slips and slithers into them, making his promises, distorting images. He showed me one of you last night.”

  “Of me.”

  “You were with a man with sandy hair and pale blue eyes, an American accent. Together, in a room I didn’t know, but a hotel room I’d say. And you laughing as you undressed each other.”

  She gripped her hands together under the table. “His name was David Watson. It would’ve been near to five years ago now when he was in Cong. A photographer from New York City. We enjoyed each other’s company and spent two nights together before he went back to America.

  “He’s not the only one Cabhan could show you. There aren’t many but more than David Watson. Have you taken no women to bed these past years, Finbar?”

  Darkly green, just a bit dangerous, his eyes met hers. “There have been women. I tried to hurt none of them, and still most knew they were solace or, worse, somehow, placeholders. I never thought or expected you’d not had . . . someone, Branna, but it was hard to have no choice than to watch you with another man.”

  “This is how he bleeds you. He doesn’t want you dead, as he hopes to merge what you have with what he has, to hold you up as son, when you’re nothing of the kind. So this is how he damages you without leaving a mark.”

  “I’m already marked, or neither of us would have been with others. I know his purpose, Branna, as well as you. It doesn’t make it go down easier.”

  “We can try to find what will block him out.”

  Fin shook his head. “We’ve enough to do already. I’ll deal with it. And there’s something else, I can’t quite see or hear, but only feel there’s something else trying to find a way in as well.”

  “Something?”

  “Or someone, and I wouldn’t block without knowing. It’s like something pushing against him, trying to find room. I can’t explain it. It’s a feeling when I wake that there’s a voice just out of my hearing. So I’ll listen for it, see what it says.”

  “You might do better with a good night’s sleep than listening for voices. I can’t change the last years, Fin.”

  He met her eyes. “Nor can I.”

  “Would it be easier on you if we weren’t together now? If we went back to working together only? If he couldn’t use me as a weapon against you, it—”

  “There’s nothing harder than being without you.”

  She rose, went around the table to curl in his lap. “Should I give you the names of those I’ve been with? I could add their descriptions as well, so you’ll know what to expect.”

  After a long moment, he gave her hair a hard tug. “That’s a c
ruel and callous suggestion.”

  She tipped her head back. “But it nearly made you smile. Let me help you sleep tonight, Fin.” She brushed her lips over his cheek. “You’ll do better work for it. Whatever’s trying to get in along with him can wait.”

  “There was a redhead name of Tilda in London. She had eyes like bluebells, a laugh like a siren. And dimples.”

  Eyes narrowed, Branna slid a hand up his throat, squeezed. “Balancing the scales, are we?”

  “As you’ve yet to witness Tilda’s impressive agility, I’d say the scales are far from balanced. But I should sleep better tonight for mentioning her.”

  He dropped his forehead to Branna’s. “I won’t let him damage me, or us.”

  Iona rushed in the back door, said, “Oops.”

  “We’re just having some lunch,” Branna told her.

  “So I see. You’d both better come take a look at this.” Without waiting, she hurried through and into the workshop.

  When Branna and Fin joined her, they stood looking out the window at the line of rats ranged just along the border of protection.

  Branna laid a hand on Kathel’s head when he growled.

  “He doesn’t like not being able to see in,” she said quietly.

  “I started to flame them up, but I thought you should see first. It’s why I came around the back.”

  “I’ll deal with it.” Fin started for the door.

  “Don’t burn them there where they are,” Branna told him. “They’ll leave ugly black ash along the snow, then we’ll have to deal with that—and it’s lovely just now.”

  Fin spared her a look, a shake of his head, then stepped out coatless.

  “The neighbors.” On a hiss of frustration, Branna threw up a block so no one could see Fin.

  And none too soon, she noted, as he pushed out power, sent the rats scrabbling while they set up that terrible high-pitched screaming. He drove them back, will against will, by millimeters.

  Branna went to the door, threw it open, intending to help, but saw she wasn’t needed.

  He called up a wind, sent them rolling and tumbling in ugly waves. Then he opened the earth like a trench, whirled them in. Then came the fire, and the screams tore the air.

  When they stopped he drew down the rain to quench the fire, soak the ash. Then simply pulled the earth back over them.