* * *
SHE THOUGHT TO GO HOME, STARE AT THE WALLS UNTIL SHE felt less frazzled and guilty and generally o
ut of sorts. And ended up driving straight to Branna’s.
The minute she’d dashed into the workshop, she saw she’d made a mistake.
Branna and Fin stood together at the big work counter, their hands poised over a silver bowl. Whatever brew it contained glowed, a hard orange light that swirled up a thin column of smoke.
Branna held up a finger of her free hand, a signal to wait.
“Yours and yours and me and mine, life and death together twine. Blood and tears cast and shed mixed together thick and red. Fire and smoke will bubble true and seal your fate with this brew.”
It bubbled up, frothed over, a virulent orange.
“Damn it!” Branna stepped back, fisted her hands on her hips. “It’s still not right. It should go red, bloodred. Murderous red, and thick. We’re still missing something.”
“It’s damn well not my blood,” Fin said. “I’ve given you a liter already.”
“A few drops is all, don’t be such a baby.” Obviously frustrated, Branna shoved at the hair she’d bundled on top of her head. “I’ve taken mine and Connor’s and Iona’s as well, haven’t I?”
“And there’s three of you to my one.”
“Plus what we’ve used from the vial we have of his from the solstice, and what we’re using from the sword.”
“You can have mine if you need it,” Meara offered. “Otherwise it seems I’m just in the way.”
“You’re not. It might be we can use another eye, another brain on this. But we’re having a break so I can think on this,” Branna decided. “We’ll have some tea.”
“You’re upset,” Fin said to Meara as Branna mopped up the counter. “You saw your mother off to Galway today.”
“Just a bit ago, yes, and with much of the weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
“I’m sorry.” Immediately Branna came around the counter, rubbed Meara’s arm. “I was blocked off in my own frustrations and didn’t give a thought to yours. It was hard.”
“In some ways more and in others less than I expected. But altogether exhausting.”
“I’ve things I could do and leave the two of you to talk.”
“No, don’t go on my account. And this gives me the chance to talk to you about the rental.”
“It’s nothing you need worry over. As I told you, I can hold it until she’s decided what she wants to do. It’s been hers near to ten years now.”
“It’s good of you, Fin. I mean it.”
Saying nothing, Branna walked over to make the tea.
“I think she won’t be back—not to live,” Meara said. “I think the change will boost her. The grandchildren, particularly the grandchildren, as she’ll be living with some and closer to the rest. Added to it, Maureen’s Sean will make a fuss over her, as he’s always had a soft spot there. And the fact is, she’s not happy on her own. She needs someone not just for conversation but direction, and Maureen will give her both.”
“Then stop feeling guilty about it,” Fin advised.
“I’m wading in it for a bit.” Doing just that, Meara pressed her fingers to her eyes. “She cried so, and said things I didn’t know were in her mind or her heart. She’s grateful to you, Fin, for the cottage, for the ridiculously low rent you’ve charged all these years—and I never thought she had any idea about the money at all. But she did, she’s grateful, and so am I.”
“It’s nothing, Meara.”
“It is, to her, to me. I couldn’t have managed my own rent and hers if hers hadn’t been cheaper than dirt even with Donal kicking in, and then there’d have been murder for certain. So you kept her alive and me out of prison, so you’ll take the gratitude that’s given.”
“You’re welcome.” Then he went to her, drew her in, as she’d started to cry. “Enough now, darling.”