Page 63 of Beer & Broomsticks

She placed the amulet in his hand and began running her fingers through his hair as if she’d never experienced its feel and texture before.

“I love your hair. ’Tis soft and silky, but still thick enough to grip when you—”

To save her future embarrassment, he clamped a hand over her mouth and placed his lips close to her ear. “Save that thought for later,mo ghrá,yeah?”

With a giggle, she snuggled against him and dropped a light, lingering kiss against the column of his throat. “I love you, Ruairí.”

“And it’s glad I am of it,” he said. “I’ve a right powerful love for you, too, Bridg.”

Scooping her up and cradling her in his arms, he addressed the others. “I think we should all adjourn to the salon for this discussion. Our Bridget needs a lie down.”

Once in the main room, he placed her on the largest sofa and sat to cradle her head in his lap. He stroked her wild main of hair back as she stared up at him, stars in her lovely eyes. The color rivaled the stone in her amulet.

After everyone was seated, Ruairí tried again for answers. “Why did Goibhniu give you the amulet,mo ghrá?”

Tilting her head, she tried to view the necklace resting against her breast. “He said he lost a bet with a goddess, and it was to protect me from the Loman O’Connors of the world. I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said on a happy sigh. “Don’t ya think so, Ruairí?”

“No. I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

She laughed and rolled on her side to face the others in the room. “Goibhniu said he’s satisfied his weapon is in the proper hands, and we’re to gain our full abilities very soon.” She frowned and blinked. “Or I think that’s what he said.”

Alastair smiled indulgently. “Can you recall his exact words, my dear?”

Her frown deepened, and she blinked sleepily. “No. I…”

“And she’s gone,” Castor said, tone wry. “I didn’t expect it would be long.”

“How will we learn what Goibhniu was here to impart?” Cian asked, standing and preparing to lift his sister.

Ruairí waved him away. “I’ll see her to bed in a minute. Alone and unmolested,” he added under pressure of Carrick’s stern look. “In the meantime, you might want to see what he dosed her with. She’s—”

“You may want to put down the torches and pitchforks. Goibhniu didn’t hurt her. It’s the power of the amulet mixed with the alcohol,” Alastair said. “Bridget isn’t used to such a strong magical influence, and it’s made her drunk.”

Cian nodded. “Yeah, our Bridget can usually drink many a man under the table, so I suspect you’re right.”

Damian grew still and his eyes lost focus. “Leave her where she is,” he ordered, jumping to his feet and throwing his arms wide. “Prepare yourselves!”

A blinding explosion rocked the house, blowing out windows and raining only small bits of fiery debris on them all thanks to the Aether’s quick, protective action. Ruairí’s first instinct was to cover Bridget, but as he shifted over her, a viridescent beam of light shot straight up from the emerald of the amulet, spreading out and creating an impenetrable umbrella over their entire group. Wooden beams, glass, insulation, furniture… anything and everything bounced against the barrier and tumbled away. A man-sized hole now existed in the front wall, and across the street, Loman stood, igniter switch in hand and a bone-chilling smile on his face.

Ruairí charged only to be stopped short by Ronan and Alexander. “Let me go,” he demanded. “I’ll finish the scaldy bastard.”

“But you won’t, son.” Alexander gave him a hard shake. “He’s trying to draw us out for a larger scale attack. You need to stay with Bridget and let me handle this.”

“He blew up her fucking house!” A second blast rocked the neighborhood, and the sinking feeling in his stomach told him it was her pub. “Bridget’s going to be devastated.”

“We can rebuild with little effort, but we can’t restore a life lost,” Alastair reminded him as he rose from where he’d fallen and brushed off the dust from the sleeves of his suit jacket. Once he was somewhat tidy, he straightened his silver silk tie and tugged down his sleeves. “Dethridge? Shall we?”

“He’s mine,” Ronan said, and his lethal tone was enough to make the hairs on Ruairí’s body stand on end.

“Are ya up to it, Cousin? I’ll not have you going after him at half power.”

“I’ve never felt better, nor more determined, to kill that vile fucker.”

Carrick stepped forward. “We need cooler heads to prevail, but first, we need to put the fire out—”

Alastair lifted his arms wide, closed his eyes, and appeared to draw the moisture from the outside atmosphere. From where Ruairí stood beside Bridget, he could see the rain clouds gather through the hole in the ceiling. The flames, licking up through the opening and billowing black smoke, were immediately snuffed out.

“Sure, and that was a grand trick,” Cian said with an approving nod. “Now for the plan to kill Loman O’Connor.”

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