Page 30 of Beer & Broomsticks

Alex’s shudder wasn’t faked. “Perish the thought.”

After they glamoured and were firmly ensconced in the pub, and after the cloaking spell was modified to muffle their conversation, Alex got to the point. “Let me take a stab at the problem. O’Connors and O’Malleys have been fighting for the better part of two and a half centuries. You and your boyscout cousin Ruairí have decided you don’t want to play on Team Evil anymore, and without anything more than determination and grit, you’ve decided to take on one of the craziest sonofabitches alive. That about sum it up?”

“Aye.”

“Which means this is going to come down to the blasted prophecy. How many of the three conditions have come to pass? Are the O’Malleys close to getting their magic back?”

“Two of the three. Cian’s frozen heart was pricked by a mighty Thorne, Aeden was the golden Son who sacrificed for the Aether’s daughter, also known as the One. All that’s left is for the Enemy at the Gate to be welcomed by the Keeper of the Sword.”

Alex didn’t let his surprise show regarding the involvement of Damian and Sabrina Dethridge. As a close friend of the Aether, he’d have thought Damian would’ve told him what had happened, but it wasn’t the first time the guy had kept disturbing news and events to himself. The man was an island and welcomed few to moor anywhere close to shore.

Giving thought to what Ronan said, Alex looked at the couple flirting behind the bar as they served the patrons. “You believe it’s those two?”

“Damian Dethridge gave me food for thought, but Ruairí has a plan. He’s convinced himself Bridget would view him as the Enemy at the Gate, and she’s the rightful Keeper of the Sword.”

“Interesting.” Alex sipped his beer as he ran various scenarios through his head. He fully intended to have a conversation with Damian, but first, he’d like to discover who really possessed the Sword of Goibhniu after all this time.

“You know, it’s disturbing to see the wheels turning in your head. It’s too similar to Loman when he’s thinking about his next move.” Ronan rubbed his hands together as if to ward off a chill. “Gives me the willies, it does.”

“I can imagine so. There’s only one difference between Loman and myself, and it’s important you remember it. His heart is black. Mine, well, it’s more of a murky gray with shades of pink for those I care about.”

“Would you say you’re the more powerful of you both?”

Alex had to give due consideration to the question. As children, Loman seemed like the stronger of the two of them. He knew no fear because he cared for nothing or no one but himself. Alex, on the other hand, was taunted for being “soft” until the day he learned to pretend. He’d grown into a consummate actor. His faux disdain of all things O’Malley would’ve earned him a Tony Award had he taken his act to the stage. When Loman hurt others, Alex sneered and turned his back as if his stomach wasn’t roiling from his need to vomit. He had silently vowed to himself that one day he’d stop Loman and make up for the pain his brother had caused.

At twelve, he’d run away, only looking back to make sure no one was on his tail. It was the day he’d met Damian Dethridge and a young Alastair Thorne. Those two upstanding men had saved his life by creating a new identity for him, and teaching him right from wrong. They’d helped him hone his skills to become the formidable warlock he was today.

Loman had gone from bad to worse. The psychopath inside had developed a thirst for power, and he eventually became the right hand of Victor Salinger, Alastair’s nemesis and the second in command of an organization known as Désorcelers, a group of non-witches determined to erase anyone with magic. The irony was that those fuckers had needed people with Loman’s abilities to take on their enemy. When Victor was cast into the Netherworld and his band of merry men disbanded, the Witches’ Council saw to it that Loman was incarcerated with his powers bound.

“We both have different talents,” Alex finally said. “I’d like to think I’m more powerful, but if my brother has escaped his jailers, then he’s found a way to kill those who bound his magic in the first place and get back what he lost.”

A sickly look spread over Ronan’s countenance, and his hand shook as he lifted his pint. “When Cian and Carrick solved their respective parts of the puzzle, their magic was restored and all of us felt the drain. Did you?”

Alex frowned. “When did this take place?”

“Over the last few months.”

“No drain, but then I severed ties with my kin long ago. Damian gave me a magical boost to defend myself should I need it at the time. Perhaps it counters the lost O’Malley magic.”

“Sure, and that’s something, then.”

Reaching out, Alex gripped Ronan’s wrist. “I’m here now, son. We’re on the same team, you and me. And I’ll do what I can to divert Loman’s wrath and leave you a clear field to see the ball reaches the goal.”

His analogy made Ronan chuckle. “Were you a coach in your last life?”

“No, but I’ve been watching a lot of Ted Lasso lately. It’s inspiring.”

The two of them shared a laugh and clinked glasses.

A resounding bang confused them for the split second before the world exploded around them.

CHAPTER13

Sure, and this chapter has been omitted by request of Bridget O’Malley for the obvious witchy reasons. But prepare yourself because shite is about to go down!

CHAPTER14

Adeafening explosion rocked the pub, sending the alcohol bottles and pint glasses along the back wall crashing to the floor and upending tables, chairs, and patrons in the common area. Bridget barely had time to register the threat when Ruairí dove for her, covering her body fully with his. He pressed her face against his chest and cradled the back of her head with his large hand as he lay overtop of her and protected her from glass and timbers raining down.

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