Page 100 of Shadow Spell

“Jesus,” Meara whispered as the mists thinned enough for her to see the bats. Like a living, undulating wall, red eyes gleaming, spiked wings beating.

“Stay here.” Connor shouted against the din, then leaped up to join his sister. And with him, Iona and Fin moved to form a line.

“In our light you’ll twist and turn,” Connor began.

“In our flame you’ll scorch and burn,” Iona continued.

“Here merge the power of one and three,” Fin added.

“As we will, so mote it be,” Branna finished.

Meara, dragged back by Boyle, watched as the bats lit like torches. Hated herself for cringing as they screamed, as they burst, as smoking bodies twisted.

Ash fell like black rain, whipped in the terrible wind.

Then all went quiet.

“You’re not welcome here,” Branna murmured, then firmly shut the door.

“Are you hurt?” With the danger passed, Connor dropped to his knees beside Meara.

“No, no. God, did I let it in? Did I open us up to that?”

“Nothing got in.” But Connor gathered her up, pressed his lips to her hair. “You opened nothing but the door.”

“I had to. Felt I couldn’t breathe, and wanted—craved—the dark and quiet.” Shaken, she balled her hands, pressed them to her temple. “He used me again, tried to use me against all of us.”

“And failed,” Iona said crisply.

“He sees you as weak. Look at me now.” Fin crouched down to her. “He sees you as weak as you’re a woman, and no witch. But he’s wrong, as there’s nothing weak about or in you.”

“And still he used me.”

“He wanted you to go out, beyond the protections and charms.” Connor brushed her hair away from her face. “He tried to lure you out, away from us. Not to use you, darling, but to harm you. For he’s enraged by what we’re doing here. The music, the light, the simple joy of it all. He’d have hurt you, if he could, for only that.”

“You’re sure of it? The music, the lights?” Meara looked from Connor to Branna, and back. “Well then. We’ll play louder, and if you’d do me a favor considering, use what you will to make the lights brighter.”

Connor kissed her, helped her to her feet. “No, not a bit of weak in or about you.”

***

LATE INTO THE NIGHT WHEN THEY’D PLAYED THEMSELVESout, Connor held her close against him in his bed. He couldn’t seem to let her go. The image played in his mind—the dazed look on her face as she’d stepped from light to dark.

“It’s mind tricks he’s using, and he’s enough of them, enough in him to slither through the shields.” As he spoke, he traced a finger over the beads she wore. “We’ll work on something stronger.”

“He doesn’t go after Boyle the same way. Is Fin right? It’s because I’m not a man?”

“He preys on women more, doesn’t he? He killed Sorcha’s man to be sure, but he killed Daithi to torment her, to break her heart and spirit. And he tormented her again and again over that last winter. The history of it says he took girls from the castle and around.”

“Yet it’s the boy, Eamon, he’s tried to get to.”

“Take out the boy, and he’d see the girls as more vulnerable to him. He wants Brannaugh—both the one who was and our own. I feel it whenever I let him in.”

She shifted. “Let him in?”

“Into my head—a bit. Or when I’m able to slip through, as he does, and get into his. It’s cold, and it’s dark, and so full of hunger and rage it’s hard to understand any of it.”

“But letting him in, even for a moment, is dangerous. He could see your thoughts as well, couldn’t he—use them against us? Against you.”

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