Page 72 of Beer & Broomsticks

“Yeah, and that suits me just fine. The fewer items he has at his disposal to harm another, the better.” He gave Bridget a steady look. “Are we ready to join the fray,mo ghrá?”

“As we’ll ever be.” Her expression showed her nervousness, but it was outweighed by her sheer determination.

Ruairí drew her into a tight embrace, and she returned his hug with a fierceness of her own. She would be protected, and he would be a target, but he’d have it no other way. “Let’s go murder my uncle.”

Knox released a short bark of laughter. “That sounds dramatic. Are you sure you aren’t related to Alastair by blood?”

“Alexander Castor.”

“Of course. That explains it.”

Bridget hesitated to leave, casting a concerned glance back at her brothers and Roisin. “Will you stay with them, Knox? Protect them?”

“He’s needed elsewhere, Bridg.” Carrick smiled his understanding, created a fiery blue ball and balanced it on one finger, spinning it with his other hand in a move similar to a professional basketball player showing off. “Sure, and we’ll be all right. Cian knows the cloaking spell, and we’ll do as the book instructed, yeah?”

When she bit her lip, undecided, Ruairí clasped her hand in his. “Trust your siblings,mo ghrá. You’d want them to trust you.”

She allowed him to draw her away, but she ran back to hug each of the others. “I’ll be cross with ya if you get hurt. You stay hidden.”

“Jaysus, Bridg!” Cian shoved her toward the stairs. “We’re notweens. We’ve made it to the ripe old ages we have without magic and no luck to call our own. Now we have both. We’ll be grand.”

“You’d test the patience of a saint, ya eejit.” She smiled to soften the comment. “But yeah, I love you, all the same.”

They had one foot on the steps when Bridget’s cellphone rang. When she ignored it, Ruairí stopped her with a hand on her arm. A little voice inside told him she needed to take that call.

“Answer it,mo ghrá.”

“It’s Eoin,” she said with a frown. “He usually leaves the callin’ to Dubheasa.”

“Answer it.”

With a tap of the button, she said, “Eoin?”

“Bridget O’Malley, I have a proposition for you, I do.”

Ruairí recognized the voice immediately, took the phone from her shaking hand, and hit the speaker option. “Hello, Da,” he said with a calmness he didn’t feel.

All the color left Bridget’s lovely face, and she sat down heavily on the step. He touched a hand to her shoulder and silently vowed he’d kill his father for whatever evil he’d stirred up this time.

“Ruairí, my boy. Sure, and why doesn’t it surprise me you’re with the bitch?”

“Don’t know which bitch you might be referring to, I don’t. You’re current wife isn’t here.”

A muffled curse sounded through the speaker, and he instantly regretted taunting Shane O’Connor. Eoin O’Malley had just paid for Ruairí’s snide comment.

“Want to try again, boyo?” Shane’s oily voice asked with glee. “The painter has more fingers for me to break. Eight and a dislocated thumb.”

“Go to the devil, you fucking bastard!” Eoin hollered in the background. “Bridg, don’t give into his deman—mmph.”

“I had to gag him. The lad never shuts up, he doesn’t.”

Ruairí ran back for the altar, gesturing for everyone to move. He snatched up a bowl from inside the cabinet, put the phone on mute, and said, “Knox, water.” Then he unmuted the phone.

Roisin jumped to find a scrying crystal and a stick pin, understanding what he was about.

“What do you want from Bridget, Da?” he infused his voice with resignation as he pricked his finger and added exactly three drops of his blood to the water in the scrying bowl. Once again, he muted the phone to quickly say,“Goddess Anu, hear my plea, assist me in this time of need. Show me where me father be.”

He unmuted the phone so Shane would hear any background noises and not get suspicious.

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