Shadow Spell

18

MEARA WOKE IN CONNOR’S BED. ALONE. THREE WHITE candles glowed in clear glass domes on his dresser. Some magickal health thing, she supposed—as the scent of lavender—sprigs of it under the pillow along with more crystals—was likely meant for health and restful sleep.
The last she remembered, as she scanned back, she’d stretched out on the sofa downstairs, tucked in by Fin, waiting for the others to come in for their tea.
She wondered if they had.
It annoyed her she’d dropped off again like a sick child. And annoyed her more to find herself alone in bed.
When she eased out of bed, she found her legs a little wobbly, which added a third annoyance. She’d felt so strong after drinking the broth, found it lowering to realize she wasn’t fully recovered.
Someone had changed her into her nightwear, and that was lowering as well.
She walked, a bit drunkenly, into the bath, peered at herself in the mirror over the sink. Well, it was God’s holy truth she’d looked better, but she’d looked worse.
She frowned as she saw her toothbrush, the creams she used, other toiletries tucked neatly into a basket on the narrow counter.
They’d moved her in, hadn’t they, while she slept. Just packed her up, settled her in without so much as a by-your-leave.
Then she remembered why, and sighed.
She deserved it, and had no ground to stand on. She’d put herself and everyone else at risk, given them hours of worry. No, she wouldn’t question the decision; she wouldn’t complain.
But she would damn well find Connor.
She cracked open the door leading to Iona’s room. If Boyle and Iona had gone to Boyle’s, as they did most nights now, Connor would be using this room. Though he should be using his own, with her.
Rain pattered, and without even a hint of moonlight she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark before she tiptoed into the room. She heard breathing, moved closer. She had a mind to just crawl right in with Connor, and they’d see what he had to say about it.
Then as she leaned over the bed for a closer look, she clearly saw Iona, tucked up with Boyle, her head on his shoulder.
A sweet picture, she thought—and a private one. But before she could back away, Iona whispered, “Are you feeling sick?”
“Oh, no, no, I’m sorry.” Meara hissed it out. “So sorry. I woke, and I came in looking for Connor. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s all right. He’s on the sofa downstairs. Do you need anything? I can make you some tea to help you sleep again.”
“I feel like I’ve slept a week.”
“And some of us haven’t slept through one bloody night,” Boyle muttered. “Go away, Meara.”
“I’m going. I’m sorry.”
She went out through the hall door, heard the rumble of Boyle’s voice, the murmur of Iona’s laugh before she shut it behind her.
Fine for them, she thought, all curled up warm together, and here she was sneaking around in the middle of the night trying to find her man.
She was halfway down the steps before it struck her.
Her man? When had she started thinking of Connor as “her man”? She was fuddled up, that was all, just fuddled up from magicks dark and light. She wasn’t thinking any way at all, not clearly, and should probably go straight back up to bed.
Sleep it all off.
But she wanted him, that was the hell of it. She wanted her head resting on his shoulder as Iona’s was on Boyle’s.
She made her way down.
He’d wrapped himself up in the throw on the sofa that was too short for him so his feet ended up propped on the arm of it, and his face half smashed into the pillow angled on the other arm.
The only way a man could be near to comfortable under the circumstances would be by drinking himself unconscious first. She shook her head, set her hands on her hips, and wondered how he managed to look so fecking adorable, considering.
They’d banked the fire so it burned low with simmering coals red as a beating heart. The light flickered over him, adding a bit of the devil to the adorable.
Regardless, she had some words to say to him, and he was about to hear them.
She started forward, eyes on his face, and tripped over the boots he’d tossed aside.
She landed on him, hard and full, getting an elbow in the belly for her trouble. So the first word she said to him was oof.
And his response was a muttered, “What the f*ck!” as he levered up, grabbed her shoulders as if prepared to give her a good toss. Then he said, “Meara?” and pushed the hair out of her face.
“I tripped over your gigantic boots and into your bony elbow.”
“You may have collapsed one of my lungs. Here.” He shifted her, managed to sit with her half sprawled over his lap.
It was far from the way she’d intended things to go.
“Are you feeling sick then?”
Even as he lifted a hand to her brow as if to check for fever, she batted it aside. “Why is everyone thinking I’m sick? I’m not sick. I woke, that’s all there is to it. I woke as I’ve slept most of a day and half a night away.”
“You needed to,” he said, altogether reasonable. “Do you want some tea?”
“I can see to my own tea if I’m in the mood for bloody tea.”
“Sure you’re in some mood or the other.”
Tears wanted to fight their way through the annoyance, and she wouldn’t have it. “You said you’d forgiven me.”
“I did. I have. Here now, you’re cold.”
She batted again as he started to wrap the throw around her. “Leave off, will you leave off fussing over me.” Those insistent tears kept pushing up, shocking, shaming, stupefying her. “Just leave off.”
She tried to push away, roll up and off, but he wrapped his arms around her, held her in, held her tight. “Just calm yourself down, Meara Quinn. Be still a moment. Be quiet a moment.”
The effort of trying to pull away exhausted her, left her out of breath and ever closer to tears. “All right, I’m calm.”
“Not yet, but in a moment. Take a breath or two.” He rocked her gently, looked toward the fire, boosted the flames.
“Don’t tend to me, Connor. It makes me want to blubber.”
“Blubber away then. It’s all reaction, Meara, all natural from what was done to you, and what needed to be done to counter it.”
“When will it stop?”
“It’s less than it was, isn’t it now? And will be even less in the morning with more calm, more rest. Have a bit of patience.”
“I hate patience.”
He laughed, brushed his lips over her hair. “That I know, but you have it. I’ve seen it myself.”
But she had to dig and dig deep for it, Meara thought. Connor simply owned it, like the color of his eyes, the timbre of his voice.
“I don’t hate your patience,” she murmured.
“That’s good to know as it would be a hard thing to rid myself of it to please you. Tell me now, did something wake you, or did you wake natural?”
“I just waked, and you weren’t there.” She heard it, the petulance in her voice. She could only hope that was part of the reaction as well, or else she’d learn to hate herself before much longer.
“If you forgive me, why are you sleeping down here with your feet hanging over the end of the sofa?”
“You needed quiet and rest, that’s all.” Because he trusted her calm now, he managed to shift them both so they wedged together in the corner of the sofa, looking toward the fire. “You were asleep before we brought out the tea, and never stirred when I carried you up, and Branna got you in your nightclothes. It’s healing, darling, the sleep’s a healing thing, and your mind and body, even your spirit took what it needed.”
“I thought you didn’t want to be with me, and I hunted you down to fight about it.”
“Then I’m glad you tripped over my boots as this is nicer than a fight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to keep being sorry.” He traced a finger over the stones around her neck.
“Fin went to the stables and got it for me.”
“I know.”
“I won’t take it off again.”
“I know.”
Trust, patience, forgiveness. No, she didn’t deserve him, she thought, and pressed her face to his throat. “I hurt you.”
“You did, yes.”
“How do you love so easy, Connor? So free and easy. I don’t mean how it always was with us, or how it is for you with Branna.”
“Well, I’m new with it myself, so I don’t know for certain. I can say it was like holding something you’ve had so long and is just another part of you. Then tilting that something a little. You know how you hold a piece of glass, then change the angle just a bit, and it catches the sun, makes that beam? You can kindle a fire that way, just tilting the glass. Something like that, and what was already there tipped and caught all the light.”
“It could tip another way, and lose it again.”
“Why would it when the light’s so lovely? Do you see the fire there?”
“I do, of course.”
“All it takes is a bit of tending, a stir, more fuel, and it’ll burn day and night and night and day, give you light and warmth.”
“You could forget to stir it, or run out of fuel.”
Laughing, he nuzzled at her neck. “Then you’d be careless, and shame on you for it. Love needs tending, is what I’m saying. It’s some work to keep the light and the warmth, but why would you want to be cold in the dark?”
“No one would want to, but it’s easy to forget to tend things.”
“I expect sometimes both tend, and other times one may tend more as the other forgets for a bit, then it might shift over again.”
It was all a matter of balance, he thought, with some care and effort tossed in.
“What’s easy isn’t always what’s right, and it may take a reminder here and there. Over it all, Meara, I’ve never known you to just settle on the easy. You’ve never been afraid of the work.”
“What I can lift or carry or clean or put my back into, no. But emotional work is another matter.”
“I haven’t seen you shirk on that area either. You don’t credit yourself near enough. Friendships take tending as well, don’t they? How have you managed to remain such good, strong friends, not only with me, but Branna, Boyle, Fin, now Iona? Then there’s family,” he said before she could comment. “And families take considerable tending. You’ve done more than many would for yours.”
“Yes, but—”
“And grumbling about it doesn’t matter,” he said, anticipating her. “It’s the doing that counts at the end of the day.”
He kissed her between the eyes. “Trust yourself.”
“That’s the hard part.”
“Well then, practice. You didn’t learn how to ride a horse by standing back and wondering if you might fall off.”
“I’ve never in my life fallen off a horse.”
“There, you see my point in it all.”
It was her turn to smile. “Aren’t you the clever one?”
“That makes you the lucky one, to have such a clever man in love with you. With patience enough to let you practice until you catch up.”
“It makes my heart shake when you say it,” she admitted. “It makes me so afraid when you say it to me my heart shakes.”
“Then you’ll tell me when it stops shaking and grows warm instead. Now try to sleep again.”
“Here?”
“Here’s where we are, and we’re cozy, aren’t we? And the fire’s nice. Do you see the stories in the fire?”
“I see the fire.”
“There’re stories in the embers, in the flames. I’ll tell you one.”
He spoke of a castle on a hill, and a brave knight on a white stallion. Of a warrior queen skilled with bow and sword who rode the sky on a golden dragon.
All so fanciful, she thought, and so pretty she nearly saw what he drew with his words.
And she drifted off to sleep again with a smile on her face, and her head pillowed on his shoulder.
* * *
IT TOOK THREE DAYS BEFORE SHE WAS ABLE TO BE UP AND awake more than down and asleep. She spent the whole of the first day in bed, on the sofa, or doing what small chores Branna would assign her. But by the second, she felt able to return to the stables for part of the day, help with grooming, feeding.
And made her apologies to her coworkers.
By the third, she’d found Meara again.
It felt so good she sang as she shoveled shit.
“Look at you, giving Adele a run for her money.”
“The woman’s got a brilliant throat.” Meara paused, smiled back at Iona who leaned on the open stall door. “Sure I never really understood that saying about how at least you have your health. Never really sick a day in my life. A strong constitution and a best friend who’s a witch with exceptional healing powers saw to that. Now that I’ve been down, I’m learning to give thanks for being up again.”
“You look great.”
“And feel even better.”
Meara wheeled the barrow out of the stall, and Iona stepped in to sweep it out. With their changed positions, Meara glanced right, left, to be certain they were alone.
“Since I’m better, will you tell me how bad it all was?”
“You don’t remember? You had all the details before, once you came out of it.”
“No, I remember. What I’m meaning is how bad was it, Iona? How close did he come to destroying me? I didn’t feel right asking Branna or Connor before,” she added when Iona hesitated. “But I’m on my feet now, and I’m asking you. Knowing the whole of it’s the last of the healing I think I’ll need.”
“It was very bad. I’ve never dealt with anything like that before. Well, I don’t think the others had either, but they knew more about it. The first moments, from what Branna told me, were critical. The deeper you went under, the harder it would be to bring you back, and the more likely . . . there could have been a kind of brain damage.”
“A madness.”
“Of a kind, I think. And memory loss, a psychosis. Branna said Connor reaching you so quickly made all the difference.”
“So he saved my life, and my sanity as well.”
“Yes. After that, the next hour or two were critical points. Branna knew just what to do, or she bluffed really well while barking out orders to Connor and me. I didn’t realize how scared I was until we were finished; it was all just do, and do now. Then Fin came and having him added to it. And Boyle. He sat, held your hand right through the ritual. It took over an hour, and you were so white and pale and still. Then your color started to come back, not much, but a little.”
“I’m making you cry. I don’t mean to make you cry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Iona dashed the tears away, and together they cut the binding on the fresh bale. “Your color came back, and Boyle said he felt your fingers move in his. And that’s when I realized how scared I’d been—when the worst, according to Branna, was over.”
“He put me down hard,” Meara said as she loosened the straw with a pitchfork. “That’s a tick in his column.”
“Maybe, but we brought you back, and here you are spreading fresh straw for Spud’s stall. That’s a bigger tick in ours.”
The silver lining, Meara mused. Iona could always find one. And maybe it was time she started searching them out herself.
“I’m after keeping it that way. I’ll be putting in some time with my sword. I need the practice.”
Needed practice, she thought as they moved to the next stall, on many things.
* * *
CONNOR DID SOME CLEANING OF HIS OWN, BUT WHAT HE considered end-of-the-day work. Birds must be fed, and as with horses, their area cleaned regularly of droppings. According to his personal calendar it was time for the hawks’ bath to be cleaned and sanitized.
He wanted the labor. He’d needed the sheer physicality and mindless rote of it the last day or so while Meara recovered. It took effort to maintain his own calm, for her sake, to add some cheer to keep her spirits up when she’d been weakened and tired, and so unlike herself.
With some women you brought flowers or chocolate. With Meara—not that some blossoms and candy were out of place—she did better with bits and pieces of village gossip, or tales of work, of the people who’d come by the schools or stables.
He’d done his best to supply her, to prop his boots up, lift a pint and regale her with stories—some of which he embellished, others he made up of whole cloth.
And what he’d wanted to do was hunt Cabhan down, to dare the bastard to show himself. He wanted to whip a wind so fierce it would rend his bones and freeze his blood.
The thirst for vengeance ran so strong he was constantly parched.
And knew better, Jesus, knew better, he thought as he scrubbed the tub while the birds perched and watched him. But knowing and feeling weren’t the same thing at all. He could hope that the labor burned the thirst out of him.
Then he saw her, walking across the wide gravel yard. He left everything, went out and through to meet her.
“What are you doing walking about alone?” he demanded.
“I could ask the same of you, but as I know what you’ll say to that I won’t and avoid it all. Iona and Boyle dropped me off before they went to Cong for a pint and a meal, so I haven’t been alone at all, as I’m not now.”
She glanced around. “You’re late at this, aren’t you, Connor? Where’s everyone else?”
“We finished up the last hawk walk, and I sent the lot of them on. Brian had some studying for this online class he’s taking, and Kyra had herself a hot date. And for the rest, I thought they could use an extra hour free.”
“And you wanted some time alone with your friends,” she added with a nod toward the hawks.
“There was that as well. I have to finish up here, since I’ve started it all.”
“I’ll come back with you, if that’s all right. Then you’ll give me a lift back to the cottage.”
He walked her back. The birds ruffled a bit at the visitor, gave her a long stare.
“I haven’t had time to visit much in the last months,” she commented. “The young ones don’t know me, or not well.”
“They’ll come to.” He got back down to finish the cleaning. “How’d the day all go for you then?”
“Just as it should. I took out two guideds.” She angled her head at his sharp look, pulled out the stones she wore from under her scarf. “And Iona insisted I take Alastar—and she braided fresh charms in his mane. I saw nothing but the woods and the trail. I won’t be reckless, Connor. For my own sake, yes, but also because I never want to put you or the others through what I put you through once already.”
She paused a moment. “I need the work and the horses as you need the work and the hawks.”
“You’re right. I hope he felt you. I hope he felt how strong and able you are, despite him.”
He began to fill the tub, listened to the water pour.
“You think I don’t know you’re angry,” she said quietly. “But I do know it. I’m angry as well. I’ve wanted to end him, always, because it’s needed, because of you and Branna and Fin. But now I don’t only want to end him—I want to give him pain and misery first, to know he suffers. I don’t tell Branna as she’d never approve. For her it’s only about right and wrong, light and dark—birthright and blood. And I know that’s how it should be, but I want his pain.”
From his crouch, he looked up at her. “I would give it to you, and more. I would give you his agony.”
“But we can’t.” Hunkering down beside him, she touched his arm lightly. “Because Branna’s got the right of it, and because it would change you. To seek revenge only? To seek to cause pain and suffering to pay him back for what he did to me? It would change you, Connor. I think it wouldn’t change me, but that’s the lack in me.”
“It’s not a lack at all.”
“It’s how I’m built, so we’ll all have to live with it. But you’re the light, and there’s reason for that. End him, it must be done. But it must be done as it should be done. And if there’s pain, it’s because it had to be, not because you willed it.”
“You’ve done some thinking on this.”
He measured out the additives, then as he always did, stirred the water with his hands over the surface, adding that light she spoke of, for the health and well-being of his birds.
“God, yes, and far too much on it. And in thinking far too much on it, I came to understand you needed to know I felt as you do, but it isn’t what I want from you, or for myself. I want what we are, the six of us. I want us to be right. And when we end him, and it’s done, for us to know we were right. I want no shadows over us, no shadows over you. That’s revenge enough for me.”
“I love you, Meara. I love that you’d understand this, come clear to it, and tell me. I’ve been torn, in a way I’ve never been.”
“Don’t be. Know I’m telling you what’s in my heart. I want us to be right.”
“Then we will be.”
Satisfied, relieved, she nodded. “And it’s time to talk of it all again. I know you’ve all let it go the last few days.”
“You weren’t up to it.”
“I’m more than up to it now.” She pushed up, flexed her biceps to make him smile. “So we’ll talk again, the six of us.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight, tomorrow night if need be. We’ll see what the others say.”
“I’ll finish up then.” He looked at her, smiled.
For some women it was flowers, he thought, or chocolate.
For Meara?
“Hold your arms out.”
“What? Why would I?”
“Because I ask you. Hold your arms out.”
She rolled her eyes, but did as he asked. He stretched his hands toward the birds, the young ones, sent his thoughts to them.
With the flow of his hands, they lifted, a soft whoosh of wings—the young hawks—and rose up to circle her, to make her laugh.
“Hold still, and don’t worry about your jacket or your skin, I’ve taken that in the measure.”
“What— Oh!”
They landed light and graceful along her outstretched arms.
“We’ve trained them well, though this isn’t in their lessons. Still they don’t seem to mind it. And they’ll know you, Meara, now they will.”
“They’re beautiful. They’re so beautiful. When you look in their eyes you think they know more than we do. So much more.”
She laughed, and at the sound of it, the terrible thirst that had dogged him for days finally eased.