Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(60)

Inches beyond the little stoop lay a pile of dead rats. Black as midnight, coated with blood and gore, they lay in a circle of scorched earth.

The bag slipped out of her hand, hit the stoop with a hard splat. Revulsion urged her to step back in, close and bolt the door. Indeed her hand shook as she groped back for the knob to do just that.

Can’t run, she reminded herself. Can’t hide. There would be a shovel in the garden shed, she thought. She only had to get it, dig a hole, bury the ugliness. Sprinkle the ground with salt.

She started to step out, around the horrible circle.

“What’s it then, in or out?”

Connor’s sleepy voice behind her had Iona jumping back, barely muffling a scream.

“Didn’t mean to give you a start. Is this breakfast to be? Here, I’ll take that out when we leave for work, then—”

He stepped over, reached for the bag. Stopped when he saw the rats.

“So, he’s sent us a gift.” The sleepy cheer in his voice turned to flint on the words. “Here now.” And still his hand as he took Iona’s arm to draw her back held warmth, comfort. “I’ll deal with it.”

“I was going to. Get a shovel from the shed.”

“That’s what big, strong cousins are for.” He touched his lips to her forehead.

“And just what are they for other than waking a body up singing in the shower like he’s on the bleeding X Factor?” The annoyance Branna led with faded as she got a clear look at Iona’s face, then her brother’s. “What is it?”

“See for yourself.” He moved back to the door, opened it.

“He’s bold,” she said coldly, as she looked out. “Leaving such a thing on our doorstep.”

“I didn’t do the spell right. Last night, the protection spell. I—”

“Is that ugly mess in the house?” Branna demanded. “Are they living and scampering about in here?”

“No.”

“Then you did it fine and well. Do you think he wanted them dead, and outside if he could’ve had them in and swarming over us?”

The image had Iona shuddering. “No. Good point.” She let out a long breath as at least the guilt she felt fell away. “I was going to bury them.”

“No, it’s not burying we do with them, not at first. We burn them.” Branna turned to Iona. “All of us, but the first fire is yours. Strong, white, and hot.”

She took Iona’s hand, stepped outside, with Connor behind them.

“Say the words I say, then send the fire.

“White to dark, power I call. On evil’s stench my fire will fall. Destroy this threat to mine and me. As I will, so mote it be.

“Say it,” Branna demanded. “Feel it. Do it.”

Iona repeated the words, her voice growing stronger, her rage keener. And her power at the end of them full and white.

Flames snapped, shot to the center of the circle, spread.

“Again,” Branna told her, as she and Connor joined her on the words.

Fire, white as lightning, burned. When it banked, only black ash remained.

“We bury the ash?” Iona’s body tingled, as if from an electric shock. Even her blood felt hot.

“We do.”

“And salt the earth.”

“I’ve better than that, but that would do as well. Fetch the dustpan and broom,” she told Iona, “and Connor the shovel. I’ve the spot for this.”

She waited a moment as they moved off to obey. “Oh aye, just the spot for this.”

She led them around, to the far front corner of the workshop.

“Here?” Iona stared at her. “So close to the house, to where you work. I don’t—”

“She’s a plan, make no mistake.” And trusting it, Connor shoved the blade of the shovel into the rain-softened ground. “Just what I wanted to be about this morning. Digging a hole for rat ashes in the bleeding rain.”

“I can help with that.” Calling on her lesson from the day before, Iona slid the rain back so the three of them stood in the warm, the dry.

“Very well done.” Branna shook back her damp hair, laid her hands on her hips as Connor dug. “That’ll do well enough. Dump them in, Iona. We’ve all three taken part in this, and the work’s stronger for it.”

“Then you can shovel the dirt back over them,” Connor suggested when Iona dumped the black ashes into the hole.

“You’re doing such a fine job, and I’ve my own to do when you’re done with it.”

“He’s watching,” Connor said quietly as he tossed dirt back into the hole. “I can just feel it.”

“I thought he might be. So much the better. Now this is mine.”

In her flannel pants, bare feet, her hair wet from the rain, Branna lifted her hands, palms up.

“Fire of white to purify, power of light to beautify. From Cabhan’s dark grasp I set you free. As I will, so mote it be.”

From the freshly turned earth flowers burst, bloomed, spread. A deep rainbow of colors shimmered in the gloom of morning, pretty shapes dancing in the light wind.

“It’s beautiful. It’s brilliant.” Iona clasped her hands together as the defiant palette glowed. “You’re brilliant.”