Talk about power. Talk about wonder.
The delight of it carried her out of the workshop and into the kitchen, where she threw her arms around Branna for a spin.
“Well then, I see groping with Boyle’s given you a fine burst of energy.”
“It was really good groping. He asked me out, in his Boyle way. ‘We’ll go have dinner sometime.’”
“Christ Jesus!” Eyes wide, hand flying to her heart, Branna goggled. “It’s all but a proposal of marriage.”
Too happy to be dampened, Iona laughed. “It’s a big step up from grunting at me. He thinks I’m a puzzle, can you imagine? I mean, seriously, who couldn’t figure me out? I’m as simple as they come.”
“Do you think so?”
“I sure don’t run deep. I’m going to have some tea. Do you want tea? God, I’m crazy about him.”
“It’s early days for crazy, isn’t it?”
“I don’t get that, never have.” Iona put the kettle on, contemplated Branna’s collection of homemade teas. “Don’t you know when you know? Five minutes, five years—how does that change what you know? I wanted to know with the man I was with before. I tried to know. I liked him, and I was comfortable with him. I told myself, give it more time. But time didn’t change anything. Not for either of us as it turned out.”
Branna thought of what Connor had said. “You want to give love, and to be given it.”
“It’s what I’ve always wanted most. I’m going for your lavender blend, not only because it smells wonderful, but it’s for relaxation.” She glanced back. “For a restful night’s sleep. I’m so up I need to come down some to get one. Right?”
“It’s a good choice, and yes, you’re learning. Which brings me to this. It’s a bit late, but I think we’ve both got another hour in us. We’ll work a spell. Something very, very simple,” she said as Iona’s face burst with joy. “A toe in the water.”
“I’m a jump-in-feet-first fan, but I’ll take the toe. Thanks, Branna.”
“Thank me in an hour, and if you’ve managed to master the spell. Here.”
“A broom. Am I going to fly on it?”
“You are not. You’ll learn a protection spell, and with this, you’ll learn to sweep away the negative energies, the films and dusts of dark forces and lay in the strong, the positive. Our home is always to be protected. It’s the first you should learn, and I should’ve taught you before this.”
Iona took the broom. “Teach me now.”
* * *
SHE SLEPT DEEP AND DREAMLESS, AND FACED THE DAY—RAIN, but slower and thinner—with enthusiasm. As she beat both her cousins to the kitchen, she put on the coffee and considered trying her hand at breakfast for three. Her talents there might be limited, but she thought she could handle scrambled eggs. And if she cooked ham and cheese in them, they’d be a sort of lazy-woman’s omelet.
Organization, she told herself. Line up ingredients and tools first. She got down a skillet, a mixing bowl and whisk, a grater for the cheese, a knife and board for the ham.
So far so good.
Eggs, ham, cheese from the fridge—oh, and butter for the skillet.
Break eggs in bowl, she instructed herself, then open the cupboard under the sink to toss the shells in the bin Branna used for compost waste. She noted then in the confusion of cleanup the night before they’d neglected to take out the trash.
Determined to be organized, she pulled out the filled liner, tied it, and hauled it to the door to take out to the big bin.
Inches beyond the little stoop lay a pile of dead rats. Black as midnight, coated with blood and gore, they lay in a circle of scorched earth.
The bag slipped out of her hand, hit the stoop with a hard splat. Revulsion urged her to step back in, close and bolt the door. Indeed her hand shook as she groped back for the knob to do just that.
Can’t run, she reminded herself. Can’t hide. There would be a shovel in the garden shed, she thought. She only had to get it, dig a hole, bury the ugliness. Sprinkle the ground with salt.
She started to step out, around the horrible circle.
“What’s it then, in or out?”
Connor’s sleepy voice behind her had Iona jumping back, barely muffling a scream.
“Didn’t mean to give you a start. Is this breakfast to be? Here, I’ll take that out when we leave for work, then—”
He stepped over, reached for the bag. Stopped when he saw the rats.
“So, he’s sent us a gift.” The sleepy cheer in his voice turned to flint on the words. “Here now.” And still his hand as he took Iona’s arm to draw her back held warmth, comfort. “I’ll deal with it.”
“I was going to. Get a shovel from the shed.”
“That’s what big, strong cousins are for.” He touched his lips to her forehead.
“And just what are they for other than waking a body up singing in the shower like he’s on the bleeding X Factor?” The annoyance Branna led with faded as she got a clear look at Iona’s face, then her brother’s. “What is it?”
“See for yourself.” He moved back to the door, opened it.
“He’s bold,” she said coldly, as she looked out. “Leaving such a thing on our doorstep.”
“I didn’t do the spell right. Last night, the protection spell. I—”
“Is that ugly mess in the house?” Branna demanded. “Are they living and scampering about in here?”
“No.”
“Then you did it fine and well. Do you think he wanted them dead, and outside if he could’ve had them in and swarming over us?”
The image had Iona shuddering. “No. Good point.” She let out a long breath as at least the guilt she felt fell away. “I was going to bury them.”
“No, it’s not burying we do with them, not at first. We burn them.” Branna turned to Iona. “All of us, but the first fire is yours. Strong, white, and hot.”
She took Iona’s hand, stepped outside, with Connor behind them.
“Say the words I say, then send the fire.
“White to dark, power I call. On evil’s stench my fire will fall. Destroy this threat to mine and me. As I will, so mote it be.
“Say it,” Branna demanded. “Feel it. Do it.”
Iona repeated the words, her voice growing stronger, her rage keener. And her power at the end of them full and white.
Flames snapped, shot to the center of the circle, spread.
“Again,” Branna told her, as she and Connor joined her on the words.
Fire, white as lightning, burned. When it banked, only black ash remained.
“We bury the ash?” Iona’s body tingled, as if from an electric shock. Even her blood felt hot.
“We do.”
“And salt the earth.”
“I’ve better than that, but that would do as well. Fetch the dustpan and broom,” she told Iona, “and Connor the shovel. I’ve the spot for this.”
She waited a moment as they moved off to obey. “Oh aye, just the spot for this.”
She led them around, to the far front corner of the workshop.
“Here?” Iona stared at her. “So close to the house, to where you work. I don’t—”
“She’s a plan, make no mistake.” And trusting it, Connor shoved the blade of the shovel into the rain-softened ground. “Just what I wanted to be about this morning. Digging a hole for rat ashes in the bleeding rain.”
“I can help with that.” Calling on her lesson from the day before, Iona slid the rain back so the three of them stood in the warm, the dry.
“Very well done.” Branna shook back her damp hair, laid her hands on her h*ps as Connor dug. “That’ll do well enough. Dump them in, Iona. We’ve all three taken part in this, and the work’s stronger for it.”
“Then you can shovel the dirt back over them,” Connor suggested when Iona dumped the black ashes into the hole.
“You’re doing such a fine job, and I’ve my own to do when you’re done with it.”
“He’s watching,” Connor said quietly as he tossed dirt back into the hole. “I can just feel it.”
“I thought he might be. So much the better. Now this is mine.”
In her flannel pants, bare feet, her hair wet from the rain, Branna lifted her hands, palms up.
“Fire of white to purify, power of light to beautify. From Cabhan’s dark grasp I set you free. As I will, so mote it be.”
From the freshly turned earth flowers burst, bloomed, spread. A deep rainbow of colors shimmered in the gloom of morning, pretty shapes dancing in the light wind.
“It’s beautiful. It’s brilliant.” Iona clasped her hands together as the defiant palette glowed. “You’re brilliant.”
With a satisfied nod, Branna tucked her hair back. “I can’t say I disagree.”
“And there’s a fragrant stick up the arse for him.” Connor set the shovel on his shoulder. “I’m hungry.”
Beaming happy, Iona hooked arms with her cousins. “I’m cooking breakfast.”
“God help us, but I’m hungry enough myself I’ll risk it.”
Branna walked back with them, glancing back once. Right up the arse, she thought.
12
SHE ENJOYED THE NEW ROUTINE, WALKING WITH CONNOR IN THE MORNINGS, riding Alastar on the guideds, juggling in a few students, then having Boyle walk or drive her home again.
Late afternoons meant work and practice, and an additional hour at night for refining her skills.
The sun came out again, so the river sparkled with it. The loughs went to gleaming mirrors, and the green of the fields and hills only deepened under its shine through the puffs and layers of clouds streaming across the sky.
She could forget—almost—all that lay on the line, all yet to be faced. After all, she was having a romance.
Not one that included poetry and flowers, and her romantic sensibilities would have relished just that. But when your heart aimed toward a man like Boyle, you had to learn to find poetry in brief words and long silences, and flowers in an unexpected mug of tea pushed into your hands or a quick nod of approval.
And who needed flowers when the man could kiss the breath out of her? Which he did in the green shadows of the woods, or in the disordered cab of his lorry.
Romance, a home, a steady paycheck, a magnificent horse she could call her own, and the new and brilliant understanding of her craft. If she just eliminated the threat of ancient evil, her life struck the top of the bell.
She finished her lesson with Sarah, both of them pleased with the progress.
“Your form’s really improving. We’re going to work more on changing leads, smoothing that out.”
“But when can we add another bar? I’m ready, Iona, I know it.”
“We’ll see how it goes next lesson.” Looking up into Sarah’s pleading eyes, Iona patted her mount’s neck. And remembered herself at that age. “I’ll tell you what. One bar up, one jump before you take Winnie in and tend to her.”