Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(30)

“Fin’s a witch, just as we are.”

“Right. It just sounds a little girly.”

“You’ve much to learn, cousin.” She handed Iona her tea.

“I should tell you something else first. I don’t break my word. It’s important. But today, walking back from the stables, I started to go through those vines. I didn’t mean to, but I thought I saw a light, and I heard my name, over and over. It was almost like the dream I had. I felt out of myself, pulled in. Like I needed to go through, to whatever waited. Kathel stopped me—again. I don’t break promises, Branna. I don’t lie.”

“Ever?” Branna sipped her own tea.

“Ever. I’m crap at it anyway, so why bother? But I’d have gone back there if Kathel hadn’t come. I couldn’t have stopped myself.”

“He’s testing you.”

“Who?”

“Cabhan, or what remains of him. You’ll have to be stronger, and smarter. Once you’re both, Connor and I will take you back, as we promised. Well then, let’s see what we have to work with.”

Too delighted to drink, Iona set the tea aside. “Are you going to teach me a spell?”

On another laugh, Branna shook her head. “Did you gallop the first time you sat a horse?”

“I wanted to.”

“Today you walk, and on a lead. Tell me what your granny said was the most important thing about your power, about the craft?”

“To harm no one.”

“Good. An it harm none. What you have is as much a part of you as the color of your eyes, the shape of your mouth. What you do with it is a choice. Choose well.”

“I made the choice to come here, to you.”

“And I’m hoping you won’t regret it. Now then, the elements are four.” She gestured to the worktable. “Earth, air, water, fire. We call on them, use them, with respect. It’s not our power over them, but the merging of our power with theirs. Fire, almost always the first learned.”

“And the last lost,” Iona put in. “Nan said.”

“True enough. Light the candle.”

Pleased to have something to show, Iona stepped forward. She schooled her breathing, focused her mind, imagined drawing up the power in her, then releasing it on a long, quiet breath.

The candlewick sparked, then burned.

“Very good. Water. We need it to live. It runs through our physical bodies, it dominates the world we live in.”

She gestured to the white bowl, filled with water. “Clear and calm now. Still. But it moves, like the sea, rises like a geyser, spills like a fountain. Its power, and mine.”

Iona watched the water stir, form little waves inside the bowl that lapped at the side. She let out a muffled gasp when it shot up to the ceiling, rippled, a liquid spear, then opened almost like a flower, and spilled back into the bowl without a drop lost.

“That was beautiful.”

“A pretty bit of magick, but an important skill. Stir the water, Iona. Feel it, see it, ask it.”

Like the candle flame, she thought. It would be focus, and that drawing up. She steadied her breath again, tried to do the same with her mind, her pulse. She stared at the water, tried to form an image of those little waves rocking its quiet surface.

And didn’t manage a ripple.

“I’m doing something wrong.”

“No. You lack patience.”

“It’s a problem. Okay, again.”

She stared at the water, pushed herself at it until her eyes ached.

“It takes longer for some. Where is your center of power. Where do you feel it rise?” Branna asked.

“Here.” Iona pressed a hand on her belly.

“For Connor it’s here.” Branna tapped her heart. “Pull it up, send it out. Use your hand for a guide. Up, out. Imagine, focus, ask.”

“Okay. Okay.” She loosened her shoulders, shoved at her hair, took a new stance. She wanted to move the damn water, she thought. She wanted to learn how to send it up like a spear. Maybe she’d been too timid. So . . .

She drew in a breath, pulled, drawing her hand up from her belly, flinging it out toward the bowl.

And barely choked back the scream when the water flew up toward the ceiling.

“Holy shit! I just—oops!”

It fell again, like a small flood. Stopped, went still just above the counter.

“I’d prefer to avoid the mess,” Branna said, and with a flick of her finger, had the water spilling back into the bowl.

“Oh, you did it. I thought I had.”

“You sent it up, lost your focus. I spared you the mopping.”

“I did that?” Thrilled, she did a quick dance in place. “Go me. Wow, it’s just so cool. Not respectful,” she said with a wince.

“No reason there can’t be joy and wonder. It’s magick after all. Do it again. But slow. Smooth. Control, always.”

“Like riding a horse,” Iona murmured.

She took it up, only inches this time, and imagining a small fountain, created it. Slowly, slowly, she turned the fountain so it circled just above the bowl. The dance of the water filled her with that joy and with that wonder.

“You have a lot sleeping inside you,” Branna told her.

Delighted, proud, dazzled at herself, Iona let the water slide back into the bowl. “Let’s wake it up.”