“Better get it right then,” Cally said. “Tabhair dom neart, mar thonn ag briseadh.”Give me strength, like a breaking wave.
Somewhere to the rear of the house, multiple explosions erupted in quick succession, peppering the walls and windows with flying fragments. Cally didn’t want to dwell too much on what they might’ve been.
“What the hell was that?” Eve asked, sittingstraight up.
“Anti-personnel mines,” Noah muttered.
“Antoineminedthe backyard?” Eve said sharply. “I took a walk out there!”
“Mo lámh is trom,” Cally said pointedly, reaching for Eve’s hand and clasping it—half to draw her back to focusing where it mattered, half to reassure her. “Mo chum—”
“‘Khoo-whut,’ not ‘chum’.”
“Mo chumhacht ag méadú.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
Cally closed her eyes again, muttering to herself against a background of screams and automatic fire. “All right, I think I’ve got it.”
“Babe, if you can cast it with all this shit going on, you really are a witch.”
“If Ican’tcast it with all this shit going on, what good does it do me?” She held out her hand. “Pin, please.”
Eve grabbed it from the bedside table and passed it over. “A circle on your forehead, over your heart, and on your hands.”
“Yeah, I know.” Cally pricked her finger deeply, grimacing at the pain, but below Antoine was fighting, and somehow she knew he was in pain too. “Do I say it as I draw the blood, or afterwards?”
“No idea. Try both?”
Two concussive explosions detonated almost below the window, the glass rattling hard and one pane cracking. Cally clenched her jaw. If there was ever a time to get a spell right on the first try, this had to be it. Then she could get downstairs and help Antoine.
How many thralls were left? How many could he handle?
“Neart mo chnámh, seasaim go láidir.” Cally drew a circle on her forehead, then squeezed her finger to well up more blood, and slipped her hand inside her blouse. “Mo chroí ag bualadh, ní thiteann sé riamh.”
Eve nodded in approval, letting her know she’d gotten it right. She pushed out more blood, then paused, wondering whether to paint her palm or the back of her hand. They hadn’t discussed it, but she didn’t want to ask. Not mid-invocation.
Palm.It felt natural.
The lights flickered back on, her own relief reflected in Eve’s expression. She drew the circle on one palm, reached for the pin again, and stabbed a finger on her other hand.
“Outcast! Where are you, Outcast?” The shout came from directly below,insidethe house, and Cally couldn’t help but share a look with Noah. His face was white, expression murderous.
“Tabhair dom neart, mar thonn ag briseadh.” She finished drawing the blood, wet and sticky against her skin. “Mo lámh is trom, mo chumhacht ag méadú.”My hand is heavy, my power growing.
“Good,” Eve said. “Do you feel any different?”
Cally didn’t. If the spell had worked, shouldn’t she feelsomething?
Shit. I didn’t focus my intent.How could she have forgotten?
“Antoine, old man.” The voice called again. “I know you can hear me. Are you lying bleeding somewhere? We’ll find you.”
That was how.She focused only on Antoine, on whether he was indeed lying bleeding somewhere. But she didn’t have time to get this wrong; she needed to be down there, helping.
“Neart mo chnámh…” She started again, squeezing out more blood, her finger throbbing as she ran it over the circle already sticky on the skin of her forehead.Strength. Give me the strength I need. Please.
A concussive boom erupted in the room beneath, rattling the bed frame and buzzing the windows in their panes. Dust sifted from the ceiling as the house groaned around her.Tell me Antoine wasn’t caught in that?She gritted her teeth, turning her fear into focus as she finished the incantation. “…mo chumhacht ag méadú.”
