Blood Magick (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #3)(57)

With dusk she shifted her books to the kitchen so she could continue to work as she monitored her soup. She’d just rewarded herself with a glass of wine when Iona came in.

“Boy, I could use one of those. I took Nan back, got weepy—sad she had to go home, so happy she’s coming back. And I thought I was done for the day.” She poured the wine. “But Boyle texted me they’d had a group of twelve who’d celebrated New Year’s at Ashford, decided they’d finished feeling hungover and wanted guided rides. So it was back to work.”

She took her first sip. “And I’m babbling about all that—can babble about more if necessary—to keep from asking about you and Fin if you don’t want to be asked.”

“You may have gleaned we had sex.”

“I think we all gleaned that was a strong probability. Are you happy, Branna?”

Branna went to stir the soup. “I can say, without question, I’ve had a long-nagging itch thoroughly scratched, and I’m not sad about it. I’m happy,” she said when Iona just waited. “Today, I’m happy and that’s enough.”

“Then I’m happy.” She stepped closer, gave Branna a hug. “What can I do to help? In any area.”

“I’ve dinner under control. You could sit there, read over my notes, see what you think of it all.”

“Okay. Boyle and I were going to eat out, and stay at his place—and Connor and Meara the same. We thought you’d have plans with Fin and wanted to give you room. But you’ve got that vat of soup going, so . . .”

“Don’t change plans on my account. I’d already thought of freezing the bulk of it. I was in the mood to make soup, and give my head time to think that way.” She didn’t mention she’d made no plans with Fin—and wouldn’t mind a night alone.

“You’re planning to keep seeing him—being with him, I mean.”

“A day at a time, Iona. I won’t think on it further than that.”

“All right, but I may as well tell you Fin was by to talk through some business with Boyle and he looked . . . happy. Relaxed.”

“Sex will relax you in the aftermath. We’ve an understanding, Fin and I. We’re both content with it.”

“If you are, I am.” Iona sat, started to read.

Branna tested the soup, considered, then added more rosemary.

At the table, Iona said, “A portal! It makes so much sense. It’s an evil stone, created from human sacrifice—through patricide, matricide—what better way for a demon to transport into Cabhan? It all makes sense. Sorcha burned him to ash. We had him on the ropes—we had him bleeding under the damn ropes, but we didn’t deal with the demon. How do we?”

“Read on,” Branna suggested. She considered having her soup in her pajamas. Maybe even on a tray in her room while she read a book that had nothing to do with magicks, evil, or demons.

“A second poison,” Iona muttered, “a kind of one-two punch. And a spell that closes the portal. How do we close a portal opened through human sacrifice? That’s going to be tricky. And . . . Call the demon by his name.” She looked up and over at Branna. “You know its name?”

“I don’t, not yet. But it was the advice given me by Brannaugh of the first three. She came to me today. And I’ve written all that down as well, but the most important part to my thinking is it was the same day for her as it is for us. For her today was the first day of the year. I think if we can somehow stay balanced that way, we’ll draw more from each other.”

“Do we know any demonologists?”

“Not offhand, but . . . I suspect we could find one should we need one. I think it might be more simple and basic than that.”

“What’s simple and basic about finding out a demon’s name?”

“Asking it.”

Iona flopped back in the chair, gave a half laugh. “That would be simple. We could all come here, or all meet in the pub if you want to go over this tonight.”

“I think you can pass it all on well enough.”

“Then I will. When’s Fin coming by? I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Oh . . .” Branna went back to the soup. “We didn’t set any specific time. It’s best if we keep it more casual-like.”

“Gotcha. I’m going to go up, grab a shower, and change. I’ll just ask Boyle to swing by and get me. The four of us can put our heads together on it, and talk it to death with you and Fin later.”

“That would suit me very well.”

Evasive, Branna thought when alone again. She preferred evasive to deceptive. She hadn’t absolutely said she expected Fin. And it would give her brain a rest not to have to talk it all through, to give it all a day or two to stir around in her head first.

Maybe she’d rest her brain with the telly instead of a book. Watch something fun and frivolous. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d done only that.

“I’m heading out!” Iona called back. “Text me if you need me.”

“Have a good time.”

Branna waited until she heard the door close, then, smiling to herself, got out a container to freeze all but a bowl of the soup.

A bowl of soup, a glass of wine, followed by a bit of the apple crumble she’d baked earlier. A quiet house, old pajamas, and something happy on the telly.