Page 21 of Beer & Broomsticks

Oddly, Bridget felt offended on Ruairí’s behalf. He’d only been a friend to her brothers and had come charging over a time or two when things had gone tits-up, during his cousins’ attack. He’d also manned the bar if the rest of her family were too busy.

When he would’ve left, she clasped his hand and led him to the sofa. “He’ll hear what you have to say unless Anu has indicated otherwise,” she said stiffly.

A wide, satisfied smile curled Quentin’s lips, and he gave her a nod of approval. She wasn’t certain why it mattered that he found favor with her gesture, but it somehow did. Perhaps it was because he displayed a calm collectedness and, as a Traveler able to alter time and space, was privy to future events because he’d lived them already. Maybe he already knew how her relationship with Ruairí would turn out. It was food for thought and one she’d explore later as time allowed.

“As I was sayin’, Aeden’s had a message from Anu. The time is now to complete the final leg of the prophecy.” Carrick gave her a pointed look. “She said you needed to have faith, Bridg. Your ability to trust is about to be tested.”

Cold washed through her, and she instinctively dropped Ruairí’s hand. Wasn’t she just talking about trust? And why did the message come through Aeden at that precise moment? Was Anu trying to tell her Ruairí had a hidden agenda?

“Is that all?” she croaked.

“No.” Her brother shook his head. “The threat is on our doorstep, and we’re to gather together to defeat it by using the resources at our disposal.”

“What the devil does that mean?” she snapped.

Ruairí’s phone buzzed, and he removed it from his pocket to read a message. “We’ll find out soon enough,” he said grimly. “Ronan is on his way.”

CHAPTER9

“We’re supposed to welcome him into our home and have a grand ol’ time of it?” Bridget’s outrage and worry showed in the tight lines around her eyes and the glance she darted toward the door.

Ruairí shifted to comfort her, but she backed away, avoiding meeting his inquiring gaze. Aeden’s prediction now hung between them, creating a distance Ruairí might not be able to bridge. But he had to try. If it meant doing whatever it took to retain her trust, he intended to do it.

“I’ll meet him outside. You can keep the wards against him in place.”

“No.” Roisin’s fierce denial was unexpected, and they all stared at her in varying shades of disbelief. But it was her husband who was the recipient of her severe look. “He saved Aeden. For that, we’ll hear what he has to say.”

Ruairí knew the story from Ronan himself. How Moira and Seamus planned and executed an attack on Aeden and Sabrina, the beloved daughter of Damian Dethridge, the Aether and the most powerful magical being on earth. The children had been clever enough to glamour, changing appearances to reflect Aeden as Sabrina, thereby saving the girl from certain death. The boy’s actions had fulfilled the second part of the prophecy—the golden Son sacrifices for the One—therebysecuring the gift of Carrick’s magic.

And Ronan had been on hand to help stop his cousins and heal Aeden at great risk to himself. He’d effectively painted a target on his broad back since he refused to allow women or children to be pawns in the game for power that the O’Connor clan was fond of playing.

Carrick was quick to acquiesce to his wife’s demand. “Aye. We’ll hear what he has to say, Ro.”

“Do you think he’s here to bring us the sword?” Bridget asked in an odd voice.

Ruairí choked down a disbelieving bark of laughter. “Doubtful.”

“And why would you say that?”

Thinking fast on his feet didn’t come as easy to him as it had when he was younger and needed to be at the top of his game to survive, but he could still weave a diversion when he needed. “A feeling. Do you believe he’s your Enemy at the Gate? Seems to me he’s more of a reluctant ally, if anything.”

A frown formed between Bridget’s brows, and she sported a disappointed expression. The return of her magic meant a lot to her, and Ruairí would make it happen. Whatever it took, whatever hoop he needed to jump through, whatever she needed for him to provide, he’d do that too. Basically, he lived to make Bridget happy.

“Tell him to use the back door,” Holly said with a speaking glance at her husband. “We’ll cloak ourselves and be prepared should anything go sideways.”

“You remind me more of your father every day, love.” Quentin rose and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “You stay here, and I’ll stand guard until our visitor arrives.” When she objected, he patiently waited her out as if he had all the time in the world. Eventually, he said, “Frankie needs her mom, Hol. I’d prefer you not take chances when I can easily handle this.”

Although her mouth opened and closed as if she wanted to argue further, she eventually squeezed his hand and sat back down. “Do what you have to.”

The love in the man’s eyes as he looked down at her was awe-inspiring. Never had Ruairí seen such emotion shining so fiercely. He glanced at Bridget to find her watching him, and he couldn’t look away. If he could find a way to tell her what was in his heart, actually get her to listen and understand it beat only for her, perhaps she’d trust him enough to give him a second chance—or ratherthema second chance—at happiness.

Quentin clapped him on the back. “Send the text.”

Two minutes later, with Quentin cloaked in the garden behind the house, Ruairí went to meet his cousin Ronan.

* * *

Standingout in the open gave Ronan the willies. He couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched, and he spun in a slow circle twice to search out the source. If his bleedin’ cousin would’ve just sent an image of the O’Malley drawing room, he could’ve teleported right in and all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense could be avoided. Yeah, and he wasn’t visiting this fecking inn for his own health, was he? If he was a smart man—and here his brilliance was questionable, as was his sanity—he’d have stayed on the other side of the pond, away from his heinous father.

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