“Sex will relax you in the aftermath. We’ve an understanding, Fin and I. We’re both content with it.”
“If you are, I am.” Iona sat, started to read.
Branna tested the soup, considered, then added more rosemary.
At the table, Iona said, “A portal! It makes so much sense. It’s an evil stone, created from human sacrifice—through patricide, matricide—what better way for a demon to transport into Cabhan? It all makes sense. Sorcha burned him to ash. We had him on the ropes—we had him bleeding under the damn ropes, but we didn’t deal with the demon. How do we?”
“Read on,” Branna suggested. She considered having her soup in her pajamas. Maybe even on a tray in her room while she read a book that had nothing to do with magicks, evil, or demons.
“A second poison,” Iona muttered, “a kind of one-two punch. And a spell that closes the portal. How do we close a portal opened through human sacrifice? That’s going to be tricky. And . . . Call the demon by his name.” She looked up and over at Branna. “You know its name?”
“I don’t, not yet. But it was the advice given me by Brannaugh of the first three. She came to me today. And I’ve written all that down as well, but the most important part to my thinking is it was the same day for her as it is for us. For her today was the first day of the year. I think if we can somehow stay balanced that way, we’ll draw more from each other.”
“Do we know any demonologists?”
“Not offhand, but . . . I suspect we could find one should we need one. I think it might be more simple and basic than that.”
“What’s simple and basic about finding out a demon’s name?”
“Asking it.”
Iona flopped back in the chair, gave a half laugh. “That would be simple. We could all come here, or all meet in the pu
b if you want to go over this tonight.”
“I think you can pass it all on well enough.”
“Then I will. When’s Fin coming by? I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Oh . . .” Branna went back to the soup. “We didn’t set any specific time. It’s best if we keep it more casual-like.”
“Gotcha. I’m going to go up, grab a shower, and change. I’ll just ask Boyle to swing by and get me. The four of us can put our heads together on it, and talk it to death with you and Fin later.”
“That would suit me very well.”
Evasive, Branna thought when alone again. She preferred evasive to deceptive. She hadn’t absolutely said she expected Fin. And it would give her brain a rest not to have to talk it all through, to give it all a day or two to stir around in her head first.
Maybe she’d rest her brain with the telly instead of a book. Watch something fun and frivolous. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d done only that.
“I’m heading out!” Iona called back. “Text me if you need me.”
“Have a good time.”
Branna waited until she heard the door close, then, smiling to herself, got out a container to freeze all but a bowl of the soup.
A bowl of soup, a glass of wine, followed by a bit of the apple crumble she’d baked earlier. A quiet house, old pajamas, and something happy on the telly.
Even as she thought what a lovely idea it all was, the door opened.
Fin, with Bugs on his heel, came in with a ridiculously enormous bouquet of lilacs. The scent of them filled the air with spring and promise. She wondered where he’d traveled for them, and arched her eyebrows.
“And I’m supposing you’re thinking a forest of flowers buys your way into dinner and sex?”
“You always favored lilacs. And both Boyle and Connor did mention going off tonight to give us the cottage to ourselves. Who am I to disappoint my mates?”
She got out her largest vase, began to fill it while Bugs and Kathel had a cheerful bout of wrestling. “I’m after a bowl of soup in front of the telly.”
“I’d be more than happy with that.”