Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(90)

“I’m ready for magick.” She wiggled her fingers. “And to learn something new.”

“New, is it?”

“Astral projection. I’m doing it in dreams, either on my own or manipulated by Cabhan, I don’t know for sure. But I don’t control it. I want to.”

“It’s a good arrow for your quiver. And so . . . how did it all go with Boyle today?”

“Maybe a little awkward and tense here and there, but we got through it. It should be easier going forward.”

“He’s feeling a right shit about the whole business.”

She would not feel pleased (maybe just a little). She would not feel sorry, or she’d ignore the sorry.

“He feels what he feels, that’s why we’re here. He’s your friend.” She gave Connor’s arm a quick rub. “He feels bad he hurt me. You feel bad that he feels bad. We all just have to get past it and not lose sight of what we have to do.”

“And you can do that?”

“I’ve had a disappointed heart before.” She said it lightly, had to, as it went so deep. “I think some of us are just destined not to connect that way.”

“But you don’t.” He took her hand in his, gave it a bolstering squeeze. “You don’t think that at all.”

“I think,” she said more carefully, “there’s something about me that makes it difficult for others to forge an intimate connection to.”

“Bollocks,” he began, but she shook her head.

“My own parents couldn’t. Is that them, or is it me? Who knows, but if they can’t, and there’s been no one until Boyle I wanted, deep down, to make that connection to, I can’t blame him. If it’s me, I have to work on me. And I have been. I’m a classic work-in-progress.”

“You’re wrong, about the connection, or anything about it being you. You’re as easy to love as a summer morning. If we weren’t cousins, I’d marry you myself.”

She laughed at that, touched. Then sent him a sultry, sidelong stare. “We’re distant cousins.”

“Cousins all the same.” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “And it’s too odd and tangled for that.”

“Too bad, because you’re so pretty.”

“I’ll say the same right back to you.”

He opened the door to the workshop, gave his arm an exaggerated sweep to usher her in. Then sniffed the air.

“Ginger biscuits, and what a fine welcome home.”

“Have some and your tea, as we’ve work to make up.”

At the counter Branna poured white liquid wax into a clear jar, already weighted with a long white wick. Iona wondered how Connor scented the ginger over the summer fragrance of hydrangea.

“How did it all go then?” Branna asked as she tipped up the pan, moved down to the next jar.

“First day down, and not too bad.”

“She thinks she’s unlovable.” Connor spoke over a mouthful of cookie.

“Oh bollocks.”

“I didn’t say that, don’t think that. I meant—never mind.” She grabbed a cookie for herself. “Do you need help with those?”

“I’m about done, but you can help me with the labels and wick trimming later on. I’ve made dozens as we were running low, and the tourists come thicker in spring than in winter. Have your tea. We’ll work twice as much today for working not at all yesterday.”

“I’m ready.”

“She’s after astral projection,” Connor put in.

“Astral projection, is it?” Pursing her lips, Branna studied Iona. “It wasn’t what I had in mind, but well, why not? It’s a fine skill to have.”

With the last jar filled, she left them cooling on the rack, pulled off the white bib apron she’d worn to protect her poppy red sweater from drips and spills.

“It’s not the same as the active dreaming you’ve done, but not so very different. Have you been practicing your meditating?”

Iona winced. “Probably not as much as I should. My mind always wants to go somewhere.”

“Training your mind’s part of it. Training it, quieting it, and as I’ve said, focusing it. Here, bring your tea to the fire. You should be relaxed in body and mind and spirit.”

Iona obeyed, and Kathel stirred from his nap to lay a paw on her foot in hello.

“Just watch the fire, have your tea. You like the taste of it, and the biscuit. Quiet breathing. Inhale, pause, exhale, pause. You can smell the peat fire, and the candles just poured, the herbs hanging to dry.”

“Rosemary especially.”

“Sure it’s a favorite. You hear your breath go in and out, and Kathel’s tail swishing against the floor, the crackle of the fire, and the sound of my voice. It’s soothing, all soothing. The touch of my hand, and Kathel’s paw. Soothing all, so you can drift a bit, float a bit. Quiet and peaceful.”

“But I—”

“Trust me. I’ll be with you this first time, take you this first time. See where you want most to go, see it in the fire, see it in your mind.”

“Nan’s kitchen,” Iona realized all at once. “I miss her. She’s never done anything but love me, believe in me. She’s been the only one who has for so long. I’m what I am because of Nan.”