Blood Magick (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #3)(99)

“You’d think you’d have said something to the rest of us.” Meara grabbed Branna’s hand in turn as Iona swung around to wrap around Fin. “This shows right’s meant to win. Right here.” She pressed her cheek to Branna’s, swayed. “It shows it.”

“Far past time.” Boyle gave Fin a light punch in the chest. “But well done.”

Connor waited until Fin met his eyes. “So, you finally listened to me, and all my wisdom.”

“I listened to your sister.”

“As now you’ll have no choice but to do for the rest of your life. And you owe me a hundred.”

“What? Ah,” Fin said as he remembered the wager. “So I do.”

Connor gave Fin a full-on hug, then turned to take Branna’s face, to kiss her cheeks. “Now the scales are truly balanced. Love feeds the light.”

Branna closed her hands around Connor’s wrists, kissed his cheeks in turn. “Well then, let’s go burn the bastard.”

“Are we ready then?” Fin waited for assents, and for the circle to form.

“Our place, our time as the hour strikes three,” Branna said and drew a breath. “This dawn brings our destiny.”

“With fist and light we bring the fight,” Boyle continued.

“To end demon-witch on this night,” Meara finished.

“Three by three by three we’ll ride.” Connor took Meara’s hand, looked to Iona.

“With horse and hawk and hound our guides,” Iona said.

“And while these mists flow from me, Cabhan sees only what we will him see.”

Fin spread his arms, circled them, spread them. Branna felt the mists wrap around her—warm and soft. No, she thought, this wasn’t Cabhan’s cold, bitter cloak.

They went down and out, and into the stables. While Branna braided charms into Aine’s mane, Iona stepped over. “She’s coming into season.”

“Aine?”

“Another day or two. She’ll be ready for Alastar if it’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“She isn’t afraid; none of the horses are afraid, but they know they’ll fly tonight, and why.”

“As does the hound. They’re ready.” Branna looked to Connor.

“And the hawks as well.”

“Mind your thoughts and words now,” Fin told them, “for I have to let him in, let him see enough to make him believe we go to honor Sorcha and try to raise her.”

With a nod Branna crouched to press her head to Kathel’s, then she mounted. And with the others, she flew through the dark heart of the night.

“Can we be sure we’re cloaked?” she called to Fin.

“I’ve never done so wide a mist, but it’s covered all, hasn’t it? And what would Cabhan be doing watching us at this time of the night?”

Though Fin opened, blood calling to blood. As they flew through the trees, with the whisk of the wind rending small gaps in that cloak, he felt the stirring.

And told Branna with no more than a glance.

“It has to hold, give us time to block him out of the clearing, give us the time to pay our respects to Sorcha and work the spell to bring her spirit to us.”

“I’d rather fight than try to converse with ghosts,” Boyle muttered.

“She nearly defeated him,” Iona pointed out. “She must know something that will help. We’ve tried everything. We have to try this. If it works . . .”

“It has to work,” Meara put in. “It’s driving me next to mad having him stalking us day by day.”

“She’s ours,” Connor told her. “We’ll reach her, and tonight, on the anniversary of her death, her sacrifice, her curse is our best hope for it.”

“We can’t wait another year.” Branna brought Aine down as they flew through the vines, into the clearing. “We won’t.”

As agreed, Fin and the three went to the edges of the clearing, each taking a point of the compass. She would begin, with hopes that rather than holding Cabhan out, the ritual would give him time to slip through—and be closed in.

She lifted her arms, called to the north, poured the salt. Iona took the west. It was Connor, at the east, who whispered softly in Branna’s head.

He’s coming. Nearly here.

As her brother called on the east Branna’s heart tripped.

The first step, luring him, had worked.

Fin called on the south, then all four walked the wide circle, salting the ground while Boyle and Meara set out the tools for the next part of the plan.

She felt the change, the lightest of chills as Cabhan’s fog mixed with Fin’s.

As they closed the barrier that would keep all out, keep all in, she prayed he wouldn’t use the swirls and shadows to attack before they were ready.

Struggling not to rush, she lifted the roses, offered the bouquet to each so they could take a bloom. Fin hesitated.

“I can’t see she’d want tribute from me, or accept it.”

“You’ll show her respect, and give her the tribute. She must understand you’ve fought and bled with us, and we can’t defeat Cabhan without you. We have to try, Fin. Can you offer forgiveness to her for the mark you carry, with the tribute?”

“I have to try,” was all he said.