“I’ll take you up.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I need a few things from my room.”
He walked her up, held her for a moment in the doorway. “I can protect you, at least to a point.”
“What?”
“Charms and spells,” he said, and drew her back. “I’d want your permission for that.”
“To block her out.”
“As much as I can. The rest is for you. You are the key, Sasha. You are the master of your own gift.”
“It doesn’t feel like it. Yes. Blocking her out doesn’t just help me, it helps all of us.”
“Go on to bed then, and I’ll start drawing the curtain.”
He went to his room, gathered what he needed, got out his book. He made up two charms specific to Sasha. By the time he went back to her room, she slept.
He slipped a charm under her pillow, then lifted her head to fasten the stones he’d fashioned into a necklace on a thin leather cord around her neck.
It would serve, for now, he thought.
“The rest is up to you,” he whispered, and laid his fingers on her temple, murmured the spell that would give her quiet, dreamless sleep until morning.
Then he left her to do the real work of the night.
He found the others still on the terrace.
“Is she okay?” Riley asked him.
“Sleeping.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“A bit of this, some of that.” He stepped back to scan the house. “Big, bloody house, and we’ll need to cloak every door and window.”
“We can help. We want to help,” Annika said.
“For more usual protection, there are basic spells, chants, charms. But when dealing with a god . . . Still, you could help. We’ll cast a circle, but first we could use a broom.”
“Seriously?” Sawyer grinned. “You’re not going to like—”
He made a whooshing motion with his hand.
“I’m absolutely not, no. Two brooms would save time if we have them, and as I doubt we’ve a cauldron handy—I’ll be rectifying that soon—a large pot of water, three bowls. Glass or metal.”
While the others went to get what he needed, Bran went down to the lawn, set out white candles in a large ring on the grass.
He set the pot Sawyer hauled out to him in the center, crossed the two brooms in front of it, set out the bowls. Carrying his bag, he walked inside the ring.
“We’ll form a circle in the circle,” he said, and set the bag down. “You’ll need to clear and open your minds as best you can. And don’t break the circle.”
He glanced up to Sasha’s doors. “She asked for trust, so I’m trusting it’s the right thing to share what’s mine.”
He flung out his arms, and the white candles flamed.
Annika applauded, then hunched, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m apol—sorry.”
“Not at all.”
“It’s serious.”
“It is, but there should always be joy.” Now he held his palms up, elbows bent at his waist. “On this night, in this hour, I call upon the ancient powers. We cast the circle within this light, and here we make magicks white. I am your servant, your soldier, your son. All you bid I have done. These hearts and minds the fates entwined join here with me and cast together our destiny. As you will, so mote it be.
“Fire bright, candlelight.” Under the pot, flames sparked and lit. And the candles shot up white spears of light.
“Earth lift, air drift.” The ground under the bowls rose into smooth mounds. The crossed brooms floated a foot above the ground.
“Water clear, simmer here.”
As the water in the pot bubbled and steamed, Bran took crystals from his bag, closed them in his fists. When he opened them, he flicked the powder they’d become into the simmering water.
Vapor and blue smoke rose.
“Here I brew, here I make the veil of white, and all within are blocked from sight. Safe in body, mind, and heart.” As he spoke he circled the pot, circled a hand in the air that stirred the wind. “No power can this curtain part. And so all within remain concealed, my blood forms the seal.”
He took the knife from his belt, scored it across his palm. Flicked his blood into the vapor.
For an instant it washed red, seemed to pulse. Then it rose thick and white.
“So it is done,” he stated. He frowned down at his palm, closed his fist over the shallow wound.
“I feel like applauding myself.” Riley studied the floating brooms, barely resisted tapping one just to see what happened. “You put on a hell of a show, Irish.”
“In the immortal words? You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He smiled at her. “Take a broom.”