Shadow Spell (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy 2)

“And so I did.”

Fin went to his car, fetched out three bottles. “Come on then, Connor. We could all do with a drink after this day.”

“Yeah.” With some reluctance Connor released Meara’s hands, went inside with his friends.

“I’ve every right to be pissed,” Meara began, and found her hands taken again.

“You do, yes, you do, but not only with Connor. I need to tell you that when I ran outside, I knew at once what he’d done, and I was relieved. I’m sorry for it, but I can’t let him take full blame.”

Stunned, and wounded to the core, Meara stared at Branna. “Do you think because Boyle and I don’t have what you have, aren’t what you are, we can’t fight with you?”

“I think nothing of the kind, nor does Connor. Or Iona, and I imagine she’ll be making this same confession to Boyle.” When Branna let out a breath, the sound of it was regret.

“It was a moment, Meara, and the weakness was on our part, not yours. You fought with us on the solstice, and I don’t want to think what might have happened without you, without Boyle. But for a moment, in the rush of it, I only thought, ah, they’ll be safe. That was my weakness. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m still mad about it.”

“I don’t blame you a bit for that. But come inside, we’ll have some wine and talk about all of it.”

“There was nothing weak about the four of you,” Meara said, but she started inside with Branna. “The power of you together was blinding. And Connor alone, b

efore you came . . . I saw him on the solstice, but that was a blur of fear and action and violence all at once. I’ve never seen him as he was for that moment you speak of. Alone, with the hawk on his shoulder, and so full of what he is . . . radiant I suppose is the word, though it seems too soft and benign for it. I thought if I touched him now it would burn.”

“He’s slow to anger, our Connor, as you know. When he reaches it, it’s fierce—but never brutal.”

Before Branna shut the door she took a long last look at the woods, at the road, at the blaze of flowers along her cottage skirts. She went with Meara back to the kitchen where the wine was open, and the air smelled of the rich, silky sauce she’d spent a good chunk of her day preparing.

“It’s near to ready,” she announced and took the wine Fin poured her. “So the lot of you can make yourself useful getting the table set.”

“It smells amazing,” Iona commented.

“Because it is. We can talk about all of this while we feast. Connor, there’s bread wrapped in the cloth there.”

He got it, set it out, turned to Meara. “Am I to be forgiven?”

“I haven’t gotten there yet. But I’m moving in that general direction.”

“Then I’ll be grateful for that.”

Branna served the beef bourguignon on a long platter showcasing the herbed beef and vegetables in the dark sauce, surrounded by roasted new potatoes and garnished with sprigs of rosemary.

“It really is a feast,” Iona marveled. “It must have taken hours.”

“It did, so no one’s allowed to bolt it down.” Branna ladled it herself into her pretty shallow bowls before she sat. “And so, all of us have had a day or two.” She spread her napkin across her lap before spooning up the first sample. “Meara, you should begin.”

“Well, I suppose we all know where we were before this morning, but we’ve not been together to talk over today. I was guiding a group of four, and in fact, we rode by Connor, who had a group of his own. I took them around the longest route we use, even let them have a bit of a trot here and there, as they were all solid horsemen. It was when we’d circled back, and were coming through the woods, the narrow trail now. I saw the wolf in the trees, watching, keeping pace. But . . .”

She searched for the words. “He was like the shadows that play there, when the sun dapples through the leaves. More formed than that, but not formed. I felt I could almost see through him, though I couldn’t. The horses saw or sensed, I couldn’t say which, but the riders behind me, they didn’t. They kept on talking together, even laughing. It was no more than a minute, and Roibeard flew in. The wolf, it didn’t run away so much as fade away.”

“A projection,” Fin suggested.

“Not in the usual way.” As he ate, Connor shook his head. “As I saw it as well. A shadow’s close. My sense was of something not quite here, not quite there. Not as he was outside here, not a thing with weight and full form, but with power nonetheless.”

“Something new then,” Fin considered. “Balancing between two planes, or shifting between them, as he can shift time at Sorcha’s cabin.”

“It pulls from him though. If you watch the stone, his power source, it ebbs and flows.” Meara glanced at Connor for confirmation.

“That’s true enough, but as with any skill, the power of it grows as you hone it.”