Page 64 of Beer & Broomsticks

“No plan, just a show of force,” Damian said. “Ronan, cloak yourself.” He left the protection of the amulet and walked steadily toward the opening in the wall.

“He’s so impulsive,” Alastair lamented as he followed in the Aether’s footsteps.

Alexander ran to catch up. “You two aren’t having all the fun without me, Al.”

“Do keep up, Castor.”

* * *

Loman could barely containhis glee when the Aether, Alastair Thorne, and Antoine stepped through the opening at the side of the inn. His attack, designed to draw them out, worked perfectly.

The C-4 he’d used was able to destroy the house the man-made way. He’d managed to circumvent the wards by paying the mail delivery service to place a package on the stoop, claiming it was a present for his lover. Over the roof of the inn, Reginald had used a drone, and for the other business, Loman had simply lobbed a stick of dynamite. Blowing things up was great fun, as he’d discovered in the years he’d worked for Victor Salinger at the Désorcelers society. As a magical demolitions expert, there were many witches he was able to take down without ever having to get close.

Currently, Loman had another ace up his sleeve, and he was getting ready to play his trump card. Moira was waiting nearby, gun at the ready to take out Alastair, and Reginald had prepared a gas combination of witchbane and moonseeds to poison Damian and Antoine, weakening them in the process. Loman owed them both a violent death. Alastair didn’t know it, but he was getting off lucky with a bullet to the brain.

After the major players were off the field, it would be time to finish the O’Malleys. Years ago, he’d wanted Victor to use the Désorcelers resources, but witches without abilities were beneath his notice. But now, they would be extremely vulnerable with no magic of their own, and with Moira and Reginald beside him, his life-long enemies didn’t stand a chance.

Loman held up a hand, and his adversaries stopped in the center of the road. “If ya think to capture me and send me back to the Witches’ Council, think again, ya feckers,” he shouted. “I’ll not go back alive.”

“We weren’t intending to send you back at all,” Antoine said with a cold grin. “Your reign of terror ends here, Loman.”

The buzz of the drone drew their notice and caused Loman to chuckle. He loved a solid well-thought-out battle, especially when the others had no way of knowing what was coming. “No, Antoine, I don’t think I’ll let ya kill me today, I don’t. But you, on the other hand…”

But just as the drone topped the house, it froze in place.

A second later, he heard Moira scream.

Sweat beaded his brow, and he straightened from where he’d been lounging against the stone wall. “How’d ya do that?”

Damian Dethridge tilted his head and studied him like a bug under a microscope.

“How?”Loman screamed.

“Me.”

Ronan appeared beside him, and the glow coming off him was almost blinding. Somehow, some way, his son had amplified his powers to exceed those of Loman’s own.

“Ronan, me boy.” He hated that his voice sounded wheedling, but he needed to appear weaker so that perhaps he’d appeal to Ronan’s softer side. His son’s Achilles heel was those who were at a disadvantage, and he refused to attack anyone unable to defend themselves.

“I’m not your anything, ya gobshite,” Ronan spat. “Don’t look to be paternal now. You were the worst sort of father.”

Outraged that anyone would dare insult him, much less a disappointment like Ronan, Loman struck. But the fireball didn’t reach its intended target, instead fizzling out to nothing but a smoke bomb.

“You did that?” he asked in disbelief.

“Aye. It seems you’re no longer the strongest O’Connor, yeah?” Shifting forward, Ronan looked him in the eye. A mocking smile curled his lip. “How does it feel to be helpless for a change?”

“Did you forget I always have a backup plan, son?”

For a brief instant, Ronan’s self-assurance slipped, but he replaced it tenfold. “Yeah, I’m afraid your backup is out of commission, and you’re on your own.”

“What did you do to them?” By attempting conversation, it allowed him time to formulate a new escape plan.

“Let’s just say Moira is a little tied up right now, and your drone-driving minion has already taken off and left ya high and dry, he has.”

“Reginald was always out for himself. He’s like his mam that way.” Loman grinned like they were sharing a joke. “Do you remember the time—”

“I don’t give two shites for your fond memories. Quit your yammerin’, and start walking toward the inn. I’m sure you don’t want me to drag your old feeble arse across the yard by your ear and embarrass you, now do ya?”

---