Dark Witch (9 page)

“It did that.”

He said nothing as Alastar wandered over, oh so casually, and ignoring him, went all but nose to nose with Iona. The horse, Boyle thought, looked at the woman as if she knew every answer.

“We had a good day, didn’t we?” She stroked the smooth cheek, down the strong line of throat. “It’s a good place here. Just takes some getting used to.”

Then, the horse, who only that morning had left a welt the size of a man’s fist on his veteran groom’s biceps, seemed to sigh as well. And stepped in, all but laying his head on Iona’s shoulder so she could glide her hands over his long neck.

I’ll look out for you,
she told him.
And you’ll look out for me
.

“Sure, you’re one of them,” Boyle murmured. “An O’Dwyer, through and through.”

Caught up with the horse, Iona answered absently. “My grandmother, mother’s side.”

“It’s not a matter of sides, but blood and bone. I should’ve figured it the way you handled this one, first time up.”

He leaned back against the fence to give Iona a long, careful study. “You don’t have the look of them, of Branna or Connor, being a bright-haired little thing, but it’s blood and bone.”

Because she thought she understood him, nerves came back. “I hope they think so, since they’re giving me a place to live. And because Branna helped me land this job so I don’t have to scramble to find one I’d probably be terrible at. Anyway, I—”

“Legend has it the younger daughter of the first dark witch talked to horses, and they to her. And even as a babe could ride the fiercest of warhorses. And some nights, in the dark of the moon, when the mood was on her, she took one to flying over the trees and hills.”

“I . . . should probably study up on the local legends, for the guided rides.”

“Oh sure, I’m thinking you know that one well enough. The one of Cabhan, who lusted for and craved Sorcha, for her beauty and her power. And the three who came from her, and took the power she passed to them, and all the burdens with it. Blood and bone,” he said again.

It made her throat dry, the way he looked at her, as if he could see something in her she’d yet to fully comprehend. Sensing her distress, Alastar quivered, laid his ears back as he turned his head to Boyle.

Cautious, Iona slid her fingers under the bridle to calm him.

My own fault,
she told Alastar.
I don’t know what to say, how to react yet.

“My grandmother told me a lot of stories.” Evading, she knew, but until she knew
him
, that seemed best all around. “Anyway, unless you need me to do something else, I should go. I’m supposed to meet Branna, and I’m late. Meara said I should be clear for the day, and come in tomorrow at eight?”

“That’s fine then.”

“Thanks for the job.” She gave Alastar a last stroke before getting off the fence. “I’ll work hard.”

“Oh, I’ll see that you do, be sure of it.”

“Well.” Now her hands felt sweaty enough to rub against her jeans. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“My best to your cousins.”

“Okay.”

He watched her walk away, moving fast, as if getting clear of something boggy in the ground.

Pretty thing, he thought, though he’d be wise to ignore that. Pretty and sunny and a bloody faerie goddess astride a horse.

Ignore all that for certain. Harder, he figured, to ignore the fact that he’d just hired a witch.

“A dark one, the last of the three. All here together now, with hound and hawk, and by God horse.” He gave Alastar a scowl. “You’d be Fin’s doing then, no doubt of it. And what in hell’s name will that mean?”

He wondered, too, what Fin—friend, partner, next to brother—had in his mind, in his heart.

As if expressing his opinion on Fin, and Boyle for that matter, Alastar raised his tail and shat.

Boyle managed to jump aside before the opinion hit his boots. Then, after one fulminating stare, he threw back his head and laughed.

6

S
URE OF HER WAY, IONA HURRIED THROUGH THE WOODS
. She saw a young couple, strolling along, hand in hand, and thought hotel guests, maybe honeymooners. Tourists, taking advantage of a dry day and patchy sunlight.

She’d be a guest of the hotel for a few more days, but no longer qualified as a tourist. She was an expat.

It sounded strange and glamorous even if she smelled of horses, and maybe just a slight whiff of manure. But as she was already a little late, she didn’t want to take the time to go back to her room, shower, and change.

She’d have to work out some sort of loose schedule, she thought, which included that visit to the falconry school and a trip to Cong. Maybe she could work the visit into her break tomorrow, assuming she had one. If Connor was up for it, she’d buy him that pint in the village after her lesson with Branna, maybe have dinner.

And she could hardly wait to email Nan, tell her about the job, about her day, about whatever she learned from Branna. Her life, so scattered and unsatisfying only days before, now brimmed with possibilities.

This was her walk now, to work, to home. No more commuting in traffic to and from her tiny apartment. No more wishing for just a little adventure because now she was living one.

No more wondering what she lacked that made it so easy for people to walk away from her. This time she’d done the walking. No, she corrected, she’d done the arriving. That mattered so much more.

Now it was up to her to make it all matter.

As she came to the downed tree she felt that pull, that yearning, and heard the seductive whisper of her name. Pausing, she looked around, saw no one.

And yet, it came again, that soft, almost sweet whisper of her name.

She hesitated—was there a light, faint, and distant flickering through that wall of vines? Like a light in a window, a welcoming home?

Though she reminded herself she was late, that Branna had told her not to linger there, to explore there, she took a step closer.

It would only take a minute, just to look.

Another step, and it all became so dreamy. The light growing stronger, the whispers deeper, and a sleepy warmth, creeping out, creeping into her.

Home, she thought again. She’d wanted one for so long. And this . . .

As her fingers touched the vines, the air pulsed like a heartbeat; the light dimmed softly to twilight.

Behind her, the dog barked sharply, jolting her back.

She trembled, like a woman teetering on a cliff, and took several steps back until she stood with the dog, one hand braced on his handsome head.

Her own breath sounded so loudly in her ears she barely heard her thoughts through it.

“I was going through. It felt like I had to, and wanted it more than anything else. I almost broke my word, and I never do. What is this place?” She rubbed her chilled hands together, gave one last shudder. “I’m glad you came, and I bet it wasn’t just happenstance. We’ll go. I imagine she’s waiting for both of us.”

The wind lifted as they walked away. Before she came to the edge of the woods, rain pattered down, from a single cloud as far as Iona could tell, as the sun continued to send out pearly light.

She and Kathel quickened their pace. Though she’d aimed for the cottage door, she caught a glimpse of Branna in the workshop, and changed course.

As before, the workshop smelled glorious—smoke and herbs and candle wax. Branna stood, her hair bundled up, a sweater the color of plums skimming her hips. She set a white flowerpot on the work counter, arranging it with a white bowl, a fat white candle and a white feather.

“I’m late. I’m sorry, but—”

“You said you might be on the message you left on my phone. It’s not a matter.” She studied Iona as Kathel walked over to rub against her leg. “Congratulations to you. Your first day went well?”

“Amazing. Fabulous. Thank you. Thank you so much.” As she spoke, Iona rushed across the room to throw her arms around Branna in a hard hug.

“All right then.” Branna gave Iona a little pat on the back. “Still it’s Boyle who did the hiring.”

“You got my foot in the door.” After another squeeze Iona stepped back. “It’s everything I could want. It felt . . . right from the first second. Do you know what I mean? Everything just clicked. And Meara—you know Meara.”

“I do indeed.” In her smooth way, Branna turned to put the kettle on. “She’s a good friend to me, and one you can count on.”

“I liked her right away, another click, I guess. She showed me around before Boyle got there, and I met Mick—you probably know him, too.”

“I do, yes.”

“He’s so funny and full of stories. I already have a little crush on him.”

“He’s a wife and four children, with the first grandbaby on the way.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean . . . You’re teasing. Anyway, it was great, just so great. Even though Boyle was in a bad mood.”

“He’s known to have them.” Branna put cookies on a plate, chocolate ones today.

“He came riding in, like something out of a movie, him on that magnificent horse. Both of them so pissy and handsome and, well, tough. And he’s cursing the horse. I’m pretty sure the horse was cursing him right back. His partner—Fin, right?—bought him, and had him sent to Boyle. And he’s just spectacular.”

“The horse, you’re meaning.”

“Yeah. Well, Boyle’s not too shabby. In fact, I had a couple minutes of . . .” She drummed her hand against her heart. “Just looking at him. Too bad about the moods, because, really.” She grinned, rolled her eyes, fanned her hand. Then her eyes widened. “Oh God, you aren’t— You and Boyle aren’t a thing?”

“Romantically? No.” With an easy laugh Branna began to brew the tea. “He and Connor have been mates since boyhood, and for that matter, we’ve been friends longer than I can remember. He’s a fine man with a hot temper, but like Meara, one you can count on, thick and thin.”

“Good to know, and I guess he had reason for the mood today. Alastar was giving him a bad time, and he’d bitten one of the stable hands. Kicked one, too, I think, and—”

“Wait.” Branna gripped Iona’s arm to stop the flood of words. “You said Alastar? The horse is Alastar?”

“Yes. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“And Fin, he bought the horse, had it sent?”

“Yes. Meara said Fin was still traveling, but sent the horse ahead a couple days ago.”

“So.” She took a long breath, laid her hands on the counter for a moment. “He knows.”

“Who, and what? You’re freaking me out, Branna.”

“Fin. He knows you’re here. Or he knows the three are here, together. That it’s to begin. Alastar, it’s said, was the name of Teagan’s horse. He was her first guide.”

“Alastar. I didn’t know, but . . . it was like we recognized each other. There was something there, but I thought, I guess I thought it was just he needed me, needed someone who understood him. Alastar. Teagan’s horse. You don’t think it’s coincidence.”

“That you would come, and so would this horse? And Boyle all but bringing him to you this morning? I bloody well don’t, and add in Finbar Burke and there’s no mistaking it.”

“How would he know about me, or the name of Teagan’s horse?”

Branna set teacups down with a clatter. “He has power.”

“He’s like us? Fin?”

“He’s like no one but himself, but he comes from the blood, as we do. He springs from Cabhan, the black sorcerer.”

“Wait a minute. Wait.” She tried to take it in, even pressed her hands to the sides of her head as if to hold it all in. “The evil guy, the one that Sorcha killed—or mostly killed? This Fin is descended from him?”

“He is.” Eyes flashing, face grim, Branna shoved impatiently at a loosened pin in her hair. “He bears the mark, and it was Teagan who marked Cabhan. He has power, and the blood.”

“He’s evil?”

In an impatient gesture, Branna waved a hand in the air, then poured the tea. “Sure there’s no simple answer to a question like that. He’s harmed no one, and I would know. But he’s of Cabhan, and the time’s coming ’round. He sent the horse so we’d know.”

“But isn’t having Alastar an advantage, for me? For us? For our side of this?”

“We’ll see what we see.”

“I don’t understand.” Because they were there, Iona took a cookie, gestured with it. “He’s Boyle’s partner, and his friend, I got that. I don’t see how he could be dangerous if—”

“An easier question to answer. Dangerous Fin is, and always has been.”

“But if Boyle’s such a stand-up guy, how can they be friends?”

“Life’s a puzzle.”

“One thing, it explains how Boyle knew I was . . . you know.”

On a sigh, Branna lifted her teacup. “
Witch
isn’t a bad word, Iona. It’s who and what you are.”

“It hasn’t exactly been cocktail-party conversation in my life. I’m getting used to it, a little. I should’ve told you before, right away. He knew. I didn’t tell him—why would I?—but he knew. He didn’t seem very weirded out by it, but since he’s friends with a sorcerer—”

“Fin’s a witch, just as we are.”

“Right. It just sounds a little girly.”

“You’ve much to learn, cousin.” She handed Iona her tea.

“I should tell you something else first. I don’t break my word. It’s important. But today, walking back from the stables, I started to go through those vines. I didn’t mean to, but I thought I saw a light, and I heard my name, over and over. It was almost like the dream I had. I felt out of myself, pulled in. Like I needed to go through, to whatever waited. Kathel stopped me—again. I don’t break promises, Branna. I don’t lie.”

“Ever?” Branna sipped her own tea.

“Ever. I’m crap at it anyway, so why bother? But I’d have gone back there if Kathel hadn’t come. I couldn’t have stopped myself.”

“He’s testing you.”

“Who?”

“Cabhan, or what remains of him. You’ll have to be stronger, and smarter. Once you’re both, Connor and I will take you back, as we promised. Well then, let’s see what we have to work with.”

Too delighted to drink, Iona set the tea aside. “Are you going to teach me a spell?”

On another laugh, Branna shook her head. “Did you gallop the first time you sat a horse?”

“I wanted to.”

“Today you walk, and on a lead. Tell me what your granny said was the most important thing about your power, about the craft?”

“To harm no one.”

“Good. An it harm none. What you have is as much a part of you as the color of your eyes, the shape of your mouth. What you do with it is a choice. Choose well.”

“I made the choice to come here, to you.”

“And I’m hoping you won’t regret it. Now then, the elements are four.” She gestured to the worktable. “Earth, air, water, fire. We call on them, use them, with respect. It’s not our power over them, but the merging of our power with theirs. Fire, almost always the first learned.”

“And the last lost,” Iona put in. “Nan said.”

“True enough. Light the candle.”

Pleased to have something to show, Iona stepped forward. She schooled her breathing, focused her mind, imagined drawing up the power in her, then releasing it on a long, quiet breath.

The candlewick sparked, then burned.

“Very good. Water. We need it to live. It runs through our physical bodies, it dominates the world we live in.”

She gestured to the white bowl, filled with water. “Clear and calm now. Still. But it moves, like the sea, rises like a geyser, spills like a fountain. Its power, and mine.”

Iona watched the water stir, form little waves inside the bowl that lapped at the side. She let out a muffled gasp when it shot up to the ceiling, rippled, a liquid spear, then opened almost like a flower, and spilled back into the bowl without a drop lost.

“That was beautiful.”

“A pretty bit of magick, but an important skill. Stir the water, Iona. Feel it, see it, ask it.”

Like the candle flame, she thought. It would be focus, and that drawing up. She steadied her breath again, tried to do the same with her mind, her pulse. She stared at the water, tried to form an image of those little waves rocking its quiet surface.

And didn’t manage a ripple.

“I’m doing something wrong.”

“No. You lack patience.”

“It’s a problem. Okay, again.”

She stared at the water, pushed herself at it until her eyes ached.

“It takes longer for some. Where is your center of power. Where do you feel it rise?” Branna asked.

“Here.” Iona pressed a hand on her belly.

“For Connor it’s here.” Branna tapped her heart. “Pull it up, send it out. Use your hand for a guide. Up, out. Imagine, focus, ask.”

“Okay. Okay.” She loosened her shoulders, shoved at her hair, took a new stance. She wanted to move the damn water, she thought. She wanted to learn how to send it up like a spear. Maybe she’d been too timid. So . . .

She drew in a breath, pulled, drawing her hand up from her belly, flinging it out toward the bowl.

And barely choked back the scream when the water flew up toward the ceiling.

“Holy shit! I just—oops!”

It fell again, like a small flood. Stopped, went still just above the counter.

“I’d prefer to avoid the mess,” Branna said, and with a flick of her finger, had the water spilling back into the bowl.