Blood Magick (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #3)(38)

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IT TOOK A LITTLE MAGICK TO EXPAND THE TABLE TO FIT seven people and all the food, but she’d wanted a feast—and no more talk of Cabhan.

“We won’t be eating like this tomorrow at my sister’s,” Meara announced as she sampled Branna’s stuffing. “Between Maureen and my mother, we may be in a runoff for the worst cook in Ireland.”

“So we’ll fill up tonight, eat careful there, and be back here for leftovers.” Connor stabbed a bite of goose.

“It’s my first major holiday with Boyle’s family.” Happiness rolled off Iona as she looked around the table. “I’m taking bread pudding—and I won’t be in the runoff, as Nan walked me through it. We’re going to pick a holiday, Boyle, for us to host. Make a tradition. How’re things going on New Year’s, Fin?”

“They’re coming.”

“I could make bread pudding.”

He smiled, adoring her. “I’m having it catered.”

“Catered?”

He flicked a glance at Branna’s instant shock. “Catered,” he said firmly. “I look at a menu, say, this, and that, and some of these, hand over the money, and it’s done.”

“You’ll enjoy the party more without having to fuss,” Mary Kate said lightly.

“It’s for certain everyone will, as they’d enjoy it less if I’d tried my hand at making the food.”

“God’s truth,” Boyle said, with feeling. “He’s hired Tea and Biscuits for the music.”

“You hired a band?”

This time Fin shrugged at Branna. “People want music, and they’re a good band. If guests want to pick up a fiddle or pipe or break out in song, that’s fine as well.”

“It’ll be good craic,” Connor decreed.

“How many are coming?” Branna wondered.

“I don’t know, precisely. I just set the word out.”

“You could have half the county there!”

“I didn’t set word that far out, but if that’s the case, the caterer will be busy.”

“Patrick and I used to have parties that way,” Mary Kate remembered. “Oh, we couldn’t afford a caterer in those days, but we’d just set the word out with friends and neighbors. It’s friendly. A good céili.”

“Branna’s not happy with the idea altogether,” Connor put in. “She’d rather we didn’t have any sort of party until we’ve done with Cabhan.”

“We won’t bring him to the table tonight,” Branna said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Did I hear Kyra got a ring for Christmas, Connor?”

“You did, and you’ve ears to the ground, as she only got it last night, I’m told. She’s flashing what there is of it everywhere.” Thinking of their office manager, he wagged his fork at Fin. “Be sure you get into the school and make over it like it was the Hope Diamond. She gets her nose out of joint easy.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. My ear to the ground tells me that Riley—you remember Riley, Boyle, as his face ran into your fist some months back.”

“He earned it.”

“He did, and it seems he earned the same again from one Tim Waterly, who owns a horse farm in Sligo. I’ve had some dealings with Tim, and we’ve dealt together well. You’d think him a mild-mannered sort of man, but in this case, Riley’s face ran into Tim’s fist during a lively discussion on if trying to pass off moldy hay was good business practice.”

“He’s a fucker is Riley, right enough. I’m begging your pardon, Nan.”

“No need, for a man who’d try to sell moldy hay, or worse, mistreat a horse as he did your sweet mare Darling, is a fucker indeed. Would you pass me those potatoes, Meara? I think I’ve room for another bite of them.”

They ate their way through the feast, and some groaned their way through the cleanup, but somehow managed pie or trifle or some of both. There was Fin’s champagne, and gifts exchanged. Delighted hugs, and a pause as carolers wandered by.

And no sign of Cabhan, Branna thought as she checked out the windows yet again.

When she slipped out to the kitchen to check from there, Fin followed her.

“If you don’t want Cabhan brought up, stop looking for him.”

“I’m after another bottle of champagne.”

“You’re after worrying yourself to distraction. He’s burrowed in, Branna. I’ve my own way of looking.”

He got out the bottle himself, set it on the counter.

“I just want tonight to be . . . unspoiled.”

“And it is. I’ve something for you.”

He turned his hand, empty, turned it again, and held out a box wrapped in gold paper and topped with an elaborate silver bow.

“We’ve exchanged our gifts.”

“And one more yet. Open it, and I’ll open this.” He turned to the champagne.

Thrown off yet again, she unwrapped the box, opened it as Fin drew the cork with a muffled pop.

She knew the bottle was old—and beautiful. Its facets streamed with light, shimmering with it so it seemed to glow in her hand. It had held power once, she thought, long ago. Then traced a finger over the glass stopper. A dragon’s head.