Shadow Spell (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 2)

somewhere, an adventure. But I never wanted it as much as I wanted to stay.”

“Fighting a centuries-old sorcerer powered by evil would be an adventure for most.”

“But it’s no Grafton Street, is it now?” She laughed with him, turned the corner toward her flat. “Some part of me never thought it would happen. The sort of thing that happened in that clearing on the solstice. Then it did, all so fierce and fast and terrible, and there was no thinking at all.”

“You were magnificent.”

She laughed again, shook her head. “I can’t quite remember what I did. Light and fire and wind. Your hair flying. All the light. Around you, in you. I’d never seen you like that. With your magick like the sun, all but blinding.”

“It was all of us. We wouldn’t have beaten him back without all of us.”

“I know that. I felt that.” For a moment, she just looked out at the night, at the village that had been hers all of her life. “And still he lives.”

“He won’t win.” He walked her up the open stairs to her door.

“You can’t know, Connor.”

“I have to believe it. If we let the dark win, what are we? What’s the purpose of it all if we let the dark win? So we won’t.”

She stood for a moment beside a basket from which purple and red petunias spilled. “I wish you’d let Fin drive you home.”

“I have to walk off the fish and chips—and the pints.”

“You have a care, Connor. We can’t win without you. And besides all that, I’m used to you.”

“Then I’ll have a care.” He reached up, seemed to hesitate, then gave her braid a familiar tug. “You have one as well. Good night to you, Meara.”

“Good night.”

He waited until she went in, until the door closed and locked.

He’d nearly kissed her, he realized, and wasn’t entirely sure the kiss would’ve been . . . brotherly. Should’ve skipped the whiskey in his tea, he decided, if it so clouded his judgment.

She was his friend, as good a friend as he had. He’d do nothing to risk tipping the balance of that.

But now he felt edgy and unsatisfied. Perhaps he should’ve given Alice a whirl after all.

With so much happening, so much at stake, he couldn’t be easy leaving Branna alone at night—even if Iona stayed at the cottage. And he couldn’t quite feel easy bringing a woman home with him, especially given the circumstances.

All in all, he thought as he left the village behind and took that winding road on foot, it was inconvenient. And just one more reason to send Cabhan screaming into hell.

He liked women. Liked conversing with them, flirting with them. He liked a dance, a walk, a laugh. And, Jesus, he liked bedding them.

The soft and the heat, the scents and the sighs.

But such pleasures were on an inconvenient pause.

For how much longer, he wondered, as Cabhan had struck out again.

Even as he thought it Connor stopped. Stood still and quiet—body and mind—on the dark road he knew as well as the lines on his own hand. And he listened, with all of himself.

He’s there, he’s there. Not far, not far enough—not close enough to find, but not far enough for true safety.

He touched the amulet under his sweater, felt its shape, felt its warmth. Then he spread his arms wide, opened more.

The air whispered around him, a quiet song that danced through his hair, kissed along his skin as power rose. As his vision spread.

He could see trees, brush, hear the whisper of air through them, the beating hearts of the night creatures stirring, the faster pulses of the prey hunted. He caught the scent, the sound of water.