Blood Magick (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #3)(47)

She only smiled. “We’ll just want to be sure the servers understand they’ll need to cover your lower level with food and drink because you’re going to have a lot of people gathering down there to play games, dance, and hang out. You’ll have fires going, of course.”

“Well, of course.”

“I know everyone will have plenty to eat and drink. It’s not called The Night of the Big Portion or . . . wait.” She closed her eyes a moment. “Or Oiche ne Coda Moire, for nothing.”

Now he grinned at her. “You handled the Irish brilliantly.”

“I’ve been practicing. We don’t have to get into the New Year’s Eve tradition of cleaning the house—I read up on Irish traditions—because yours is already spotless. You’re as scary as Branna there, so I’m going to put these candles where they belong, and the guest towels, and oh—” She reached into another bag. “I picked up these pretty mints and these candied almonds. The colors are so pretty, and it’s a nice thing to have here and there in little bowls. Oh, and Boyle’s picking up the rolling rack I borrowed from Nan’s friend’s daughter.”

“A rolling rack?” For reasons he didn’t want to explore, he got the immediate image of a portable torture device.

“For hanging coats. You have to do something with people’s coats, so we’re borrowing the rack. It should work fine in the laundry room. One of us will take people’s coats as they come in, hang them up, get them when people want to leave. You can’t just toss them on the couch or on a bed.”

“I hadn’t given it a thought. I’m lucky to have you.”

“You are, and it’s also good practice. I’m already planning a blow-out party next summer when our house is finished and furnished, and we’re settled in.”

“I’m already looking forward to it.”

“We’ll have finished Cabhan by then. I believe it. We won’t be working every day as we are now on how and when. We’ll just be living. I know it’s been a hard week, on you and Branna especially.”

“It’s not meant to be easy.”

Carefully, Iona tidied the stacks of guest towels. “Have you seen her today?”

“Not today, no.”

“This morning she said she was going to try some calculations on finishing this a year from the day I arrived—the day I first went to the cottage to meet her.”

He considered. “There’s a thought.”

“And she looked as doubtful it’s right as you do, but it’s something to consider. So we will. But not tonight. Tonight is party time.”

“Hmm. What’s in this other bag here?”

“Ah, well . . . some people like silly party hats and noisemakers.”

He opened the bag, stared in at colorful paper hats, sparkly tiaras. “I’m going to tell you right out of the gate. Though I adore the very ground you walk on, I won’t be wearing one of these.”

“Completely optional. I thought we could put them in a couple big baskets for anyone who wants them. Anyway, I’m going to set all this up, then I’m going to work with Branna for an hour or two before I deck myself out in my party clothes. I’ll be here an hour early for finishing touches.”

She carted out candles, and he looked deeper into the bag full of paper hats. No, he wouldn’t be wearing one, but he’d put himself up as her second in command now, help her with her candles and fussing.

Then he’d take an hour himself for some calculations of his own.

? ? ?

LATER, WHEN THE CATERERS INVADED AND HE’D ANSWERED dozens of questions, made far too many decisions on details he hadn’t considered, he closed himself off in his room for a blessed half hour to dress in the quiet. He wondered what his odds were of staying closed in, considered Iona’s cheerful determination and calculated them at nil.

Where had he been this time last year? he wondered. The Italian Alps, near Lake Como. He’d spent three weeks or so there. He’d found it easier to spend holidays away from home, to celebrate them in his own way with strangers.

Now he’d see how he managed not only to be home, but to have those he knew in his home.

Maybe he dawdled a little longer than necessary, then dressed in black jeans and black sweater, started downstairs.

He heard voices, music, laughter. Glanced at his watch to see if he’d completely miscalculated the time. But no, he had forty minutes yet before guests were due.

Candles in red glass holders glowed on his mantel above a crackling fire. His tree shined. A bouncy reel played out of his speakers. The massive candlestand he’d bought in some faraway place stood in a corner, cleverly filled with votives that radiated more light.

Light and music, he thought, his circle’s weapon against the dark.

Iona had been right. She’d been perfectly right.

He started back, noted she’d set more candles in his library, still more in the space he’d fashioned into a music room.

She’d come up with flowers as well—little glass jars of roses tied with silver ribbons.

He found her and Meara, along with some of the catering staff, busy in the dining area.

Another fire, more candles, more roses, silver trays and crystal dishes filled with food, chafing dishes holding more.

And all the sweets displayed on his buffet—the cakes and biscuits and pastries. Offerings of cheeses under a clear dome.