“Those are dangerous, Branna.”
“As well they need be.”
“You’ll take precautions.” His face only went stony when she shot him a withering glance. “So you always do, I know full well. But I also know you’ve never worked with such as this, or concocted such a lethal brew. I’ve a right to worry about my sister.”
“You do, but you needn’t. I’ve spent the days waiting for all of this to arrive to study on them. Meara, take him off, would you? The pair of you should be off to work, not hovering around me.”
“If we can’t use the stuff until near to April,” Meara argued, “can’t you wait to make it?”
“As Connor’s so helpfully pointed out, I’ve never done this before. It may take some time to get it right, and I might even have to send out for more before we’re sure of it. It’s a delicate business.”
“Iona and I should do this with you.”
Patience, Branna ordered herself, and dug some out of her depleting stores.
“And if the three are huddled in here, hours a day, maybe for days on end, Cabhan will know we’re brewing up something. It’s best we all continue our routines.” Struggling against annoyance, as his worry for her was from love, she turned to him. “Connor, we talked all this through.”
“Talking and doing’s different.”
“We could mix up the routines a bit,” Meara suggested, caught between them. “One of us can stay for an hour or two in the morning, another can come around midday, and another come round early from work.”
“All right then.” Anything, Branna thought, to move them along. “But not this morning as you’re both on the schedule. I’m only going to be making powders, distilling. Preparing the ingredients. And I know what I’m about. Added to it, I expect Fin by midday, so there’s two of us at it already.”
“That’s fair enough,” Meara said before Connor could argue, and grabbed his hand. “I’ve got to get on or Boyle will be down my throat and up my arse at the same time. Branna, you’ll let us know if you need any help.”
“Be sure I will.”
Connor strode over, gave Branna a quick, hard kiss. “Don’t poison yourself.”
“I thought I would just for the experience, but since you ask so nicely...”
She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them, then found Kathel sitting, staring at her.
“Not you as well? When did I all at once become an idjit? If you want to help, go round on patrol.” She marched to the door, opened it. “I’m after cloaking the workshop and locking up besides. It wouldn’t do to have someone wander in for hand balm while I’m doing this work. Be helpful, Kathel,” she said in a more cajoling tone, “and you’ll tell me if you find Cabhan’s anywhere near.”
Another sigh of relief when she’d shut the door behind him.
She cloaked the glass so none but who she chose could see inside. She charmed the doors so none but who she chose could enter.
And turning back to the counter, began—carefully—with wolfsbane.
It was painstaking work, as one of the precautions involved psychically cleansing each ingredient.
Some said those who practiced the dark arts sometimes imbued poisonous plants with the power to infect strange illnesses by only a touch or an inhale of scent.
She didn’t have the time or inclination to fall ill.
After cleansing, she rejarred the entire plant, or crushed petals or berries, or distilled.
From outside, Fin watched her as if through a thin layer of gauze. She’d been wise to cloak her workplace, he thought, as even from here he recognized belladonna, and angel’s trumpet—though he could only assume the latter was Amazonian.
She worked with mortar and pestle because the effort and the stone added to the power. Every now and then he caught a quick glimmer of light or a thin rise of dark from the bowl or from a jar.
Both dogs flanked him. He wasn’t certain if Bugs had come along for himself or for Kathel, but the little stable mutt sat and waited as patiently as Branna’s big hound.
Fin wondered if he’d ever watch Branna through the glass without worry. If that day ever came, it wouldn’t be today.
He moved to the door, opened it.
