Page 78 of Beer & Broomsticks

“Yes.” Alastair sighed. “He’s one of few allowed into my circle of trust. For years, we thought he was deceased, but it turns out he was hiding from the very man his brother worked for.”

“Why did he return?”

“To help us fight an evil entity taking over the Otherworld.” He poured himself a drink and took a sip. “His intelligence and magical talents turned the tide and helped us contain the Evil in the Netherworld.”

Bridget turned to look at Ruairí, who had his head resting against the sofa back as he watched her through lids that were half-mast. Love and concern were displayed, the two things she always saw in his beautiful blue eyes, usually for her. “I wish Castor was his da. He deserves better than what he got, to be sure.”

“Castor wasn’t great father material, my dear. Remember, he was on the run. Quentin was adopted at a young age by a couple in North Carolina.”

“Maybe your Alexander Castor feared turning into his brother and left Quentin for his own good, yeah?” When Alastair didn’t respond, she turned back around. He was smiling at her. “What?”

“I don’t know why I never thought of it. You’re exceedingly insightful, Bridget O’Malley. And an excellent person to have on one’s team.”

The compliment warmed her from the inside out. Alastair Thorne wasn’t judgmental, but he was selective about the people he associated with. His words were high praise, indeed.

“Thank you.” She downed the rest of her drink and held out the glass. “Now let’s find my sister, yeah?”

Ronan strolled through the door, looking harried and out of sorts. “Your sister is fine and a pain in me arse.”

“Are those scratches on your face?” Bridget’s voice rose two octaves. “And why are your eyes bloodshot? Did Loman do that?”

“No, Dov—er, Dubheasa. And it’s the last time I try to save her ungrateful arse, it is.” He swiped the empty glass out of Alastair’s hand and went straight to the bottles on the sideboard. “Yeah, and she refuses to listen to reason.”

“Because your reasons are shite, like you!”

Bridget laughed and ran to hug her sister. “How are ya here?”

“The overgrown man-baby,” Dubheasa said in disgust after they separated. “It was only a little bit of pepper spray, and he acts like—”

“Don’t say it,” Ronan warned with a growl. “I swear, you’d test the patience of a saint, Dubheasa O’Malley.”

She flipped him double-fisted birds and set Alastair off into the throes of hilarity.

Bridget was hard pressed not to laugh.

Eoin was the first to hug their sister as she joined the others. Side by side, the twins were a beautiful sight. Her siblings made Bridget consider the dynamic between Castor and Loman. They were the only twins she knew who outright despised one another. One evil, one good, if a little unorthodox with questionable tendencies. How did two babies share a womb, a crib, first steps, and still hate each other as much as those two did? One would think the bond would help them grow stronger under the abuses heaped on them from their parents in their family’s madness over the sword.

Ruairí drew Bridget down onto his lap and snuggled her close. “What has you thinkin’ so hard,mo ghrá?”

“Your uncles.”

“Ah, yeah, well, they aren’t worth your worry. I say we go up to bed and give that brain of yours a rest.”

“What’ll we do about Loman?”

“There’s nothing that can be done that Castor and the Aether aren’t already doing, Bridg. You can’t control everything.”

She sighed her frustration. Glancing up, she met Ronan’s impenetrable stare. She got the distinct impression he, too, was upset there wasn’t any news. Would there come a time when father and son would need to square off like Ruairí and Shane had? If so, how would it affect Ronan without someone for him to confide in and care about him?

His gaze cut to Dubheasa, and he watched her with a hunger that stole Bridget’s breath away.

“My sister’s the one,” she said softly.

“I believe so,mo ghrá.Ronan’s emotions are never so close to the surface, but he seems to hold a fascination for Dubheasa, all the same.”

“She hates him.” And the thought somehow made Bridget sad for him.

“Sure, and I don’t think she does. She can’t stop checkin’ his whereabouts,” Ruairí replied in a low voice, careful not to be overheard. “If she isn’t the next Guardian, I’d be surprised, I would.”

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