Shadow Spell (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 2)

“Now I’m the gom? You would take his part, even knowing he was off with that sleveen.”

“Stop, will you all stop?” Iona put her hands over her ears.

“Best stay out of it,” Boyle advised.

“I can’t stay out of it. They’re my family, and I can’t take any more of this sniping and bickering. Give me those.” She snatched the candles from Connor, began to secure them in a circle on the rise. “How can we work together, do what we’ve all sworn to do, if we’re fighting?”

“Easy for you to say.” Meara slammed a hand on the hilt of her sword. “When you’ve Boyle acting the lap dog for you at every turn.”

“I’m no one’s dog, Meara, and mind yourself.”

“Didn’t I tell you tonight wasn’t the time?” Fin drew his athame out of its sheath, examined it in the light of the waning moon.

“If I said up, you’d say down,” Branna shot back. “For the spite of it.”

“And wasn’t it you who said it must be the solstice? And here we are, months later, at your bidding again.”

“And I wonder still how much you held back that night. If my bidding was done, you would never be here, you would never be with us.”

“Branna, that’s too much.” Connor laid a hand on her shoulder. He’s coming, he told her, told the others. Fast.

“Too much or not enough hardly matters now. We’re here.”

Branna swept her hand out, lighted

the candles. She set the bowl at the northmost point.

Behind her, Connor touched his fingers lightly to Meara’s.

She drew in a breath, and braced for it.

Fog dropped, a thick curtain, and with it came a bitter, bone-deep cold. A roaring ripped through it, shivered over the high grass.

Even as she drew her sword, Connor whipped her aside.

She felt something streak by her, grazing her arm, leaving a frigid burn of pain behind. She didn’t have to feign the fear and confusion. Both rose up in her like a flood.

Then Connor’s voice sounded in her head. I’m with you. I love you.

She spun, moving back-to-back with Boyle, readied to attack or defend.

The ground trembled under her feet as Fin called to earth.

“Danu, goddess and mother, by your power will this earth quake and shudder.”

Even protected by the ritual, Meara nearly pitched forward when the ground heaved.

“On Acionna, on Manannan mac Lir I call,” Branna shouted. “On Cabhan’s head your wrath will fall.”

Rain poured out of the sky, as if some deity had turned the course of a raging river.

Through the fog, the deluge, she saw glowing streaks of black winging like arrows. And to her shock, the fog hissed. It curled around her leg like a snake. Instinctively she sliced out at it, rent it. Black blood splattered from the mists.

Balls of fire catapulted out, burning the black arrows to cinder on Iona’s call. “Power of fire in Brighid’s name to scorch the dark with light and flame.”

She felt Boyle lurch, whirled to defend, and saw him hack at a thorny tendril of fog striking toward Fin.

She dove under, sliced and struck, then had to cling to the ground as it heaved up under her.