Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(51)

“Not that way. You’re not after changing it, though well done enough there. Move it.” Smoothly, effortlessly, Branna widened her sunny spot a few inches.

“Show-off,” Iona muttered.

“It’s in you as much as me. Slide the rain away from you.”

She liked the feel of the fire snapping through her, from her, but drew it back. And used the frustration and annoyance that helped her call it to nudge, to slide, to open.

An inch, then two—and she saw it, felt it. It was just water. Like the water in the bowl. Thrilled, she pushed, and pushed hard enough to have that streaming rain leap away, gather. And splat with some force against Branna’s borders.

“I didn’t mean to— I mean I wasn’t trying to splash you. Exactly.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt your feelings if you’d managed to,” Branna said easily. “So well done as well there. You’ll work on subtlety, and finesse—and absolute control—but you managed it, and that’s a start.”

Iona blinked, swiped at her wet face, and saw she’d opened a narrow but effective swath of dry. No pretty pale gold sunlight in her little corner, but no rain either.

“Woo to the hoo!”

“Don’t lose it. Don’t spread it. It’s only for you.”

“The rest of the county would probably appreciate some dry, but I get it. Stop rain here, maybe cause a flood there.”

“We can’t know, so we don’t risk it. Move with it,” Branna demonstrated, walking in a wide circle, always within the dry.

On her attempt, the edges of Iona’s circle turned soggy, but she kept control.

“Well done. As it’s Ireland, you’ll have no lack of rain to practice on as we go, but well done for today. We’ll go inside, have a go at a simple potion.”

As Branna headed back toward the workshop, Iona struggled to keep up—and maintain her dry area. “I could help on the bottling and packaging of your stock, for your shop. I’d like to help somewhere,” she continued. “You do almost all the cooking, and you’re spending a lot of your time—Connor, too—teaching me. I’m pretty good at following directions.”

“You are.”

Branna had always preferred the solitude of her workshop. It was one matter to hire clerks and such for the shop in Cong, to have them deal with customers, shipping, and so on. But her workshop was her quiet place. Usually.

And still, she thought, the lessons, and the need for them, did cut into her time.

“It would be a help,” she decided. “We’ll see about it.”

Branna stepped into the workshop, and Iona nipped in behind her dripping on the floor.

“I was about to leave you a note,” Meara said from behind the work counter. “The both of you.”

“Now you’ll have some tea, and a visit. I’ve missed seeing you. Iona, don’t track up the floor.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re dry, I’m soaked. I must look like a wet cat.”

“More a drowned one,” Meara commented.

Branna walked straight to the kettle. “Do a glamour.”

Saying nothing, Iona glanced at Meara.

“Meara knows all there’s to know, and likely more besides. Fix yourself up.”

“I’m no good at glamours. I told you I tried one once, and it was a disaster.”

“Sure it’s why it’s called practice. For usual, it’s my thinking glamours or drying your clothes instead of changing them is lazy and vain, but for now, it’s good practice. If you end up with warts or boils, I’ll fix it for you.” With a wicked smile, Branna glanced back. “Eventually.”

“You did one for me, do you remember, Branna, when we were fifteen, I think, and I desperately wanted to go blond, as Seamus Lattimer, my heart’s desire at that time, preferred them.”

At home, Meara took off her jacket, hung it on a peg, unwrapped her scarf to do the same, then her cap. “I was about to do the deed—had the hair product I’d saved two weeks to buy, and Branna came along, did the glamour, and changed it for me.”

Considering, Iona studied Meara. “I can’t picture you as a blonde, not with your coloring.”

“It was a rare disaster. I looked as if I’d developed the jaundice.”

“And you were too stubborn to admit it,” Branna reminded her.

“Oh, I was, so I lived with it near to a week before I begged her to turn it back. Do you remember what you said to me?”

“Something about changing for yourself was one matter, changing for a man was weak and foolish.”

“Wise, even so young,” Meara said with her bawdy laugh. “And Seamus spent his time snogging with Catherine Kelly, as blond as a daffodil. But I lived through the disappointment.”

“A lesson learned, of some sort,” Branna said. “But in this case, we’re considering it practice. Fix yourself up there, Iona, and we’ll have some tea.”

“Okay. Here goes.” She released a breath, sincerely hoping she didn’t set herself on fire as she concentrated on her jacket, sweater, and jeans first.

Steam puffed, but no flames snapped. She began to feel her toes thaw out, her skin warm, and, smiling, ran a hand over the dry sleeve of her jacket.