“Then why did you say no?”
“Emotions are magick of their own, aren’t they? Love and hate the strongest and most powerful. It’s my philosophy that you don’t tamper with feelings, don’t push them in one direction or the other, not with power. The risk is great. What if the love is already there, about to bloom? You push it along, maybe it opens to obsession. Or the one who paid for the spell has a change of mind or heart. Or there’s another who loves and would be loved and is now shunted aside by magickal means. So many ors and ifs there. I don’t play with love spells or their kin. You’ll make up your own mind where you stand on it, but it’s, to me, an unethical and risky line to cross.”
“Unethical, yes. And even more it just wouldn’t be fair.” For Iona, that was even more important. “And yeah, I get what you’re saying. A lot of magick isn’t fair. But love should be, I don’t know, sacred. People have to be able to love who they love.”
“And not love when they don’t. So I said no, and always will.”
“What did you sell her instead?”
“Truth. She’ll decide if she makes use of it. If she does, they’ll both be able to say what they feel, and want and expect. If not, she can go along enjoying what is for as long as it lasts. I think she won’t use it. She has a fear of magick, and she’s not ready for truth.”
“If she loved him, she’d want the truth.”
Branna smiled, slipped the next bottle into the box. “Ah, and there you have it. She’s a bit besotted and wildly in lust, but not anywhere near the borders of love. She only wishes to be. Love doesn’t break under the truth, even when you want it to.”
The door opened. Kathel trotted in, and Fin followed.
“Ladies.” He pushed back his wind-tossed hair. “I heard we had a bit of trouble. You’re all right, darling?” he said to Iona.
“Yes. Fine.”
“I’m glad of it. And still, I’d like the details of it all, and what’s being planned in the certainty there’ll be another attack.”
“Boyle didn’t come with you?”
“He’s dealing with the farrier, and Connor’s out on a hawk walk, so it’s left to the two of you to deal with me on this.”
“Boyle was there as well.” Branna carried the box to a shelf in the back. “He’ll have as many details as Iona.”
“He sees it from his eyes. I want hers.”
“We’ve work, Fin. She needs more knowledge, more practice.”
“Then I’ll help you with it.” As if it was already accepted, he shrugged out of his coat.
“We have different . . . techniques, you and I.”
“So we do, and Iona would only benefit from seeing, and trying the differences.”
“This habit of talking about me in the third person when I’m right here is getting really old,” Iona decided.
“And rude,” Fin said with a nod. “You’re right. I’d like to help, and once we’re done with the work, I’d very much like if you’d tell me exactly what happened, and how you left it—from your eyes, Iona. If you will.”
“I . . . I’m supposed to meet Meara later. But . . .” Iona glanced back at Branna, watched her cousin sigh, shrug. “We could ask her to come here, and Boyle, too. It would be smart, I think, to have us all here, go through it once and for all, and talk about what comes next.”
“All right then. I can have dinner brought in. You’ve no need to cook for a horde again, Branna.”
“I’ve sauce I put on an hour ago for pasta. It’ll stretch easily enough.”
“I’ll ring up the others then.” He drew out his phone. “Then we’ll get started.”
14
IT FELT GOOD, AND IT FELT RIGHT TO HAVE EVERYONE TOGETHER AGAIN. Everyone tucked into the roomy kitchen with good cooking smells, voices carrying over voices, the dog sprawled at the hearth.
It made the normal, to Iona’s mind, despite the dark and light of the paranormal.
She tossed a big salad, kind of her specialty. She did pretty well in the kitchen as long as it didn’t involve actually cooking.