“Oh, sure they do, however much that surprised the pair of them. And with Boyle and Iona before them, we’ll have spring and summer weddings, new beginnings, and the gods willing, the rest far behind us.”
She got out the herbs she wanted, already dried and sealed, water she’d gathered from rain on the full moon, extract distilled from valerian.
Fin rose, got down a mortar and pestle. “I’ll do this,” he said, measuring herbs.
For a time they worked in easy silence.
“You never play music in here,” he commented.
“It distracts me, but you can bring in the iPod from the kitchen if you’re wanting some.”
“No, it’s fine. You played last night. Late in the night.”
Startled, she looked up from her work. “I did. How do you know?”
“I hear you. You often play at night, late in the night. Often sad and lovely songs. Not sad last night, but strong. And lovely all the same.”
“It shouldn’t carry to you.”
His gaze lifted, held hers. “Some bonds you can’t break, no matter how you might wish it, no matter how you might try. No matter how far I traveled, there were times I’d hear you play as if you stood beside me.”
It tugged and tore at her heart. “You never said.”
He merely shrugged. “Your music brought me home more than once. Maybe it was meant to. Bowl or cauldron?” he asked.
“What?”
“The herbs I’ve crushed. For the bowl or the cauldron?”
“Bowl. What brought you home this last time?”
“I saw Alastar, and knew he was needed. I bargained and bought him, arranged for him to
be sent. But it wasn’t time for me. Then I saw Aine, and knew she was for Alastar, and . . . more. Her beauty, her spirit, called to me, and I thought, she must come home, but it wasn’t time for me. Then Iona came to Ireland, came to Mayo, walked by Sorcha’s clearing through the woods to you. In the rain, she walked in a pink coat, so full of excitement and hope and magicks yet untapped.”
Stunned, Branna stopped her work. “You saw her.”
“I saw she came home, and came to you, and knew so must I. He would see, and he would know. And he would come, and with the three I might finally end him.”
“How did you see Iona—even to her pink coat?” Flummoxed, Branna pushed her hands at her hair, loosened pins she had to fix in again. “She’s not your blood. Do you ask yourself how?”
“I ask myself many things, but don’t always answer.” He shrugged again. “Cabhan knew her for of the three, so it may be through him I saw, and I knew.”
“It should remind you, when you doubt, the blood you share makes our circle stronger.” She lit the candles, then the fire under the little cauldron. “Slow heat builds to a steady boil. We’ll let that simmer while we write the spell.”
When Connor came in he kept his silence, as magicks swam through the air. Branna and Fin stood, hands outstretched over the cauldron while smoke rose pale blue.
“Sleep to dream, dream to fly, fly to seek, seek to know.” She spoke the words three times, and Fin followed.
“Dream as one, as one to see, see the truth, truth to know.”
Stars flickered through the smoke.
“Starlight guide us through the night and safe return us to the light.” Branna lifted a hand, and with the other gestured toward a slim, clear bottle.
Liquid rose from the cauldron, blue as the smoke, shining with stars, and in one graceful flow, poured into the bottle. Fin capped it.
“That’s done it. We’ve done it.” She let out a breath.