Page 88 of Shadow Spell

“We’ve failed twice with this today,” Branna told them, “so we’ll hope it’s true third time’s the charm. Plus we’ve had Meara’s hand in it this time, and that’s for luck.”

“An apprentice witch are you?” Connor nipped her in for a kiss.

“Hardly, but I can grind and measure.”

“Did you see your mother on her way?”

“I did, and mopped her up after she cried her buckets. Then came here where Fin mopped me up in turn.”

“Be happy.” This time Connor kissed her forehead. “For she will be.”

“I’m closer to believing it as Donal texted me not an hour ago to say Maureen’s family gave her a queen’s welcome, with streamers and flowers, cake and even champagne. I can be a little shamed for not thinking Maureen had it in her to make the fuss, but I’ll get past that the first time she pisses me off. Donal says she’s giddy as a girl—Ma, not Maureen, so that’s a cloud gone from over my head.”

“We’ll go up and take her out to dinner once we can get away easy.”

A good heart, her mother had said. And a kind nature.

“You’d be taking a chance as you’re having sex with her daughter outside Holy Matrimony.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later. I think Branna wants your blood.”

“From all,” Branna countered. “As we took from all for the spell before the solstice.”

“It didn’t finish it.” Boyle frowned at the bowl as Branna carefully added ingredients. “Why should this?”

“We have his blood—from the ground, from the blade,” Fin said. “That adds his power to it, it adds the dark, and the dark we’ll use against him.”

“Cloak the workshop, Connor.” Branna measured salt into the bowl. “Iona, the candles if you will. This time we’ll do it all together as we’re all here, and within a circle.

“Within and without,” she began, “without and within, and here the devil’s end we’ll spin.” Taking up a length of copper, she twisted it into the shape of a man. “In shadows he hides, in shadows we’ll bide and trap his true form inside. There to flame and burn to ash in the spell we cast.”

She set the copper figure on the silver tray with vials, a long crystal sphere, and her oldest athame.

“We cast the circle.”

Meara had seen the ritual dozens of times, but it always brought a tingle to her skin. The way a wave of the hand would set the wide ring of white candles to flame, and how the air seemed to hush and still within their ring.

Then stir.

The three and Fin stood at the four points of the compass, and each called on the elements, the god and goddesses, their guides.

And the fire Iona conjured burned white, a foot off the floor with the silver bowl suspended over it.

Herbs and crystals, blessed water poured from Branna’s hand—stirred by the air Connor called. Black earth squeezed from Fin’s fist dampened by tears shed by a witch.

And blood.

“From a heart brave and true.” With her ritual knife Iona scored Boyle’s palm. “To mix with mine as one from two.”

And scored her own, pressed her hand to his.

“Life and light, burning bright,” she said as she let the mixed blood slide into the bowl.

Connor took Meara’s hand, kissed her palm. “From a heart loyal and strong.” He scored her palm, his. “Join with mine to right the wrong. Life and light, burning bright.”

Branna turned to Fin, started to take his hand, but he drew it back, and pulled down the shoulder of his shirt.

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