Blood Magick (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #3)(80)

“And when I no longer had it with me, the need was more. Bigger. The pull more alluring, you could say. There was a cup on the altar, and in it blood. I wanted it. Coveted it. Innocent blood, that I could smell. The blood of an innocent, and if I only took it, drank it, I would become what I was meant to become. Why was I resisting that? Didn’t I want that—my own destiny, my own glory? So I stepped toward the altar, and went closer yet. All the chanting filled the cave, and those screams were almost like music to me. I reached for the cup. I held my hand out to take it. Finally just take it.”

He paused, knocked back the rest of the whiskey. “And through all the screaming, the chanting, the pulsing of that thick air, I heard you.” He looked down at Branna. “I heard you. ‘Come back to me,’ you’d said, and what was in me wanted that more than all the rest. Needed that more than the blood I could already taste in the back of my throat.

“So I backed away, and the air, it got colder yet, and was so thick now it was like wet rags in my lungs. I was dizzy and sick and shaky. I think I fell, but I said the words, and I was out, I was back.”

He set the glass aside. “You need to know the whole of it, the full of it. How close I came. No more than a fingerbrush away from turning, and once turned, I would have turned again on all of you.”

“But you didn’t take it,” Iona said. “You came back.”

“I wanted it. Something in me was near to desperate for it.”

“And still you didn’t take it,” Connor pointed out. “And here you sit, drinking whiskey by the fire.”

“I would’ve broken trust with you—”

“Bollocks,” Branna interrupted and surged to her feet. “Bollocks to that, Finbar. And don’t sit there saying you came back for me, for you didn’t come back for me alone, or for any of us alone. You came back as much for yourself. For the respect you have for who you are, for your gift, and for your abhorrence of all Cabhan is. So bollocks. I didn’t let myself trust you in the beginning of this, and you proved me wrong time and time again. I won’t have it, I’m telling you, I won’t have you sit here after all that and not trust yourself.

“I’m going to heat up the stew. We all need to eat after this.”

When she sailed out, Meara nodded, rose. “That says it all and plainly enough. Iona, let’s give Branna a hand in the kitchen.”

When they left, Boyle went for the whiskey, poured more in Fin’s glass. “If you’re going to feel sorry for yourself, you’d do better doing it a bit drunk.”

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself, for fuck’s sake. Did you hear what I said to you?”

“I heard it, we all heard it.” Connor stretched out his legs, slouched down in the chair with his own whiskey. “We heard you fought a battle, inward and outward, and won it. So cheers to you. And I’ll tell you something I know as easy as I know my own name. You’d slit your own throat before you’d do harm to Branna, or to any one of us. So drink up, brother, and stop acting the gom.”

“Acting the gom,” Fin muttered, and because it was there, drank the whiskey.

And because they knew him, his friends let him brood.

He waited until they were all in the kitchen, until everyone had taken a seat but himself.

“I’m grateful,” he began.

“Shut the feck up and sit down to eat,” Boyle suggested.

“You shut the feck up. I’m grateful and have a right to say as much.”

“So noted and acknowledged.” Branna ladled stew in his bowl. “Now shut the feck up and eat.”

He sampled some of the hearty beef and barley stew, felt it slide down to the cold still holding in his belly, and spread warmth again.

“What’s in it besides the beef and barley and potatoes?”

Branna shrugged. “There’s none of us here couldn’t do with a little tonic after this day.”

“It’s good.” Connor spooned some up. “More than good, so here’s another, Fin, advising you to shut the feck up.”

“Fine and well.” Fin reached for the bread on the dish. “Then I won’t tell you the rest of it, since you’re not interested.”

“What rest?” Iona demanded.

It was Fin’s turn to shrug. “I’ve shut the feck up, as advised.”

“I didn’t tell you to or so advise you.” Meara smiled sweetly. “I’m interested enough so you can talk to me.”

“All right then, to your interest, Meara, there were carvings on the walls in the cave. Old ones. Ogham script.”

“Ogham?” Connor frowned. “Are you sure of it?”

As it made him feel himself again, Fin ate more stew. “I’m speaking with Meara here.”

“Oh, give it over.” But Boyle laughed as he helped himself to the bread. “Ogham then? What did it say?”

Fin spared him a long, dry look. “My talents are many but don’t stretch far enough to read Ogham. But it tells us the cave’s been used, and as the script was high on the walls, and with magickal symbols here and there as well, very likely for dark purposes long before Cabhan’s time.”

“Some places are inherent for the dark, or for the light,” Branna speculated.