“You could’ve avoided that spot.”
“True enough. I didn’t want to avoid it. And because I didn’t, I learned the hawk I chose for Merlin will be his match.”
He told her, accepted the tea, and actively considered trying for a third biscuit.
“He grows more arrogant,” Branna said.
“Enough to taunt, which is all this business was. He wanted me to come at him again, and it occurred to me that denying him that was more of an insult.”
“He wants us to know none of us can take a simple walk in the woods without risk. Taunting,” Branna agreed, “in hopes to destroy our morale, close us in.”
“He’s more confident than he was, or so it strikes me.”
“We’ve bloodied him twice, more than twice, and the last time nearly destroyed him.”
“But we didn’t,” Fin pointed out. “And he heals, and knows he’s only to reach his lair again to heal. Knows he can battle us time and time again, and come back time and time again. If you’re a gambling man, the odds would be at some point we’ll lose the day. It’s time again, Branna, and he has that in his pocket.”
“He doesn’t believe he can be destroyed—or he doesn’t believe what’s in him can. But I’m working on that.”
She walked over, tapped her finger on her notebook. “I called on my father, and he called on others, and I’ve put together ingredients and the mixing of them I think will take the demon. I’ve been working on the words of the spell along with it. We need the name. I don’t believe this will work without calling the demon by name, and those who consulted with my father confirm that.”
Fin palmed the third biscuit, then stepped closer to read over her shoulder.
“Dried wing of bat—best from Romania?”
“I’m told.”
“Tail hairs from a pregnant yak.” Fin arched a brow. “No eye of newt or tongue of dog. Apologies,” he said to both Kathel and Bugs.
“You may joke about the English bard’s witches three, but I’ve formulated this from the best sources I can find.”
“Wolfsbane, Atropa belladonna berries—crushed—tincture of Amazonian angel’s trumpet, conium petals from Armenia, sap from the manchineel tree. I know some of these.”
“All poisons. All of them natural poisons. We have some of this in what we’ve devised for Cabhan, but there are a number of ingredients here that are more exotic than I’ve worked with before. I’ll have to send for some, obviously. It requires water blessed by a priest, which is easy enough. Blood remains the binding agent. It’s yours we’ll need. Your blood, some of your hair, and nail clippings.”
He only grunted.
“I’d started on the amounts, and the orders. My sources conflict somewhat on both, but we’ll find the right mix. And the words need to be right. The potion will be black and dense when we have it right. It will hold no light, reflect no light.”
He reached up, massaged her shoulders. “You’re knotted up. You should be pleased, not tense. This is brilliant progress, Branna.”
“None of it will have a hope of working unless we choose the right time, and there I’ve made no progress at all.”
“I’ve thought on it. Ostara? The equinox. We tried the summer solstice, for light. Ostara is light as well, the balance of it tipping to the light.”
“I come back to it, again and again.” She pushed her hands through her hair to secure loosened pins. “But it won’t hold for me as the other tries did. It should be right; maybe it is and I just can’t see it through the other elements.”
He turned her, still rubbing her shoulders. “We might try devising the spell, and the potion with Ostara as the time, and see if it holds then. Providing we find a pregnant yak.”
She smiled as he’d hoped. “My father tells me he knows a man who can acquire anything, for a price.”
“Then we’ll pay the price, and we’ll begin. I’ve still got an hour or so, and I’ll help with the spell. But tonight, I think you could use a distraction, having your mind off all this.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I think you should come out to dinner with me. I’ve a place in mind you’ll like, very much.”
“Out to dinner? And what sort of place would this be?”
