“It can’t be more or less. It’s not like cooking up a kitchen-sink soup.” Though she heard the testiness in her own voice, she simply couldn’t smooth it out. “Itmustbe right, Connor, and I feel this may be our only chance. If we fail, at best we have to wait another year before trying again. At worst, the demon finds a way to shield himself when he finds we’ve a way to attack it.”
“You’re fretting far too much, Branna. It’s not your way to fret and second-guess.”
He was right, of course, and fretting, she admitted as she pressed her fingers to her eyes, tended to block more than open.
“I feel an urgency, more than I have. A knowing, Connor, thismustbe the time, or our time is done. And the thought we might only go on slapping at Cabhan as we have, for our lifetime, only hold him off until we pass this duty to the next three? It’s not bearable. You’ll have children with Meara. Would you want to weigh one or more of them with this?”
“I wouldn’t, no. Of course, I wouldn’t. We won’t fail.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, rubbed them. “Ease your mind a bit. You’ll block your own instincts—and they’re a strength—if you pour in all this doubt.”
“This will be the third time I’ve tried creating the brew. The doubt’s there for a reason.”
“Then put it aside. This recipe, that recipe, put that aside as well. What do you think—how does it feel to you? Maybe it’s not like throwing together a soup, but you’ve been mixing potions since you were four.”
Deliberately, he closed the books, knowing full well by now she could recite it all by rote in any case. “What do you say—not just from the head this time, but from the belly?”
“I say...” She shoved impatiently at her hair. “Where the devil is Fin? I need his blood for this, and I want it fresh.”
“He said he’d be here before noon, so he will. Why don’t I work on the order with you, and the words? Then when he comes, you’ll bleed him, and begin.”
“All right, all right.”
Time to stop fussing and fiddling anddo, she ordered herself.
“The blessed water would be first. I’ve got ‘First we pour the water blest to form the pool for all the rest. Belladonna berries crushed and steeped, stirring juices slow and deep. Hair from a pregnant yak mixed with manchineel tree sap to dissolve the wing of bat. Angel’s trumpet, wolfsbane petals, add them in and wait to settle. Then...”
“What do you think, Branna?” Connor prompted.
“Well, I think I rushed it last time. I think this stage needs to work, to boil a bit.”
“So... Stir and boil and bubble and stir...”
“Until the rise of smoke occurs—yes, I rushed it. It should boil and steam a bit. All right.” With a firm nod, she wrote more notes. “The mushrooms, we’ll try the mushrooms as—what the bloody hell, it feels right.”
“There we are now.” Connor gave her an elbow poke of encouragement.
“Caps of death soft and white, bring about eternal night. No, no, not for a demon.” She crossed it out, started again. “Caps of death three plus two, spread your poison through this brew.”
“Better,” Connor agreed.
“And the conium petals. Ah, pretty petals sprinkled in, let this lethal magick begin.”
“Deadly magick’s better, I think.”
“Yes, deadly.” She made the change. “Blood to bind it, drop by drop, and the demon heart will stop. Power of me, power of three, here fulfill our destiny. As we will, so mote it be.”
She dropped the pencil on the counter. “I’m not sure.”
“I like it—it sounds right. It’s strong enough, Branna, but not fussy. It’s death we’re dealing, so there’s no need for frills.”
“You’ve a point there. Bloody hell, it needs to thicken, go black. I need to add that. Blacken, thicken under my hands...”
“To make this poison for the damned,” Connor finished.
“I quite like that,” she considered. “I want to write it all up fresh.”
“If you can’t start until Fin’s here, why don’t you—” He broke off, turning to the door as Fin came in. “Well, here he is now. She’s after bleeding you, mate.”
