Page 50 of Beer & Broomsticks
“But his magic is returnin’, so how do you explain that?” Ruairí asked.
The Aether shrugged. “I can’t. He should be one hundred percent mortal at this point. I’ve never heard of anyone’s power returning once I extracted it. It shouldn’t be possible.”
“Uh, fellas…” Bridget pointed to the golden glow starting in the far corner of the room. “I believe you’ll be gettin’ your answers soon enough.”
A rift split the fabric of their earthly plane, widening to reveal two women on the other side. Alex recognized the black-haired beauty with kohl-lined eyes in the flowing white dress as Isis. But he’d never seen the woman with the fiery red hair the color of the sunset and eyes the shade of Ireland’s greenest fields.
As one, with the exception of the Aether, their group dropped to their knees and bowed their heads in respect.
“Rise, beloved children,” Isis said in her soft, seductive voice. “We’ve come to bestow a gift.”
Alex smiled. The tide was about to turn in their favor.
* * *
As Loman loungedagainst the wall across the street from The Black Cat Inn, he shook his head in disgust. Their naiveté was astounding. There they all gathered within sight of the sitting room windows, no doubt discussing a plan about how to trap him. He’d have thought the Aether, Alastair Thorne, and Antoine would’ve known better than to make themselves sitting ducks. All it took was one bomb, not even a magical one at that, to take down the entire group.
The key to setting up the explosives would be in getting close. That feat was a little more difficult. The Aether had the gift of sight, and Alastair Thorne was an empath. Both would sense his arrival before he set foot on the property.
Rumor had it Alexander Castor—and here he found it hard to believe his twin was such a formidable warlock—was a Traveler, the type who could manipulate time and space. The rarest of the rare. Like hen’s teeth. Oh, if he could only channel his brother’s magic for his own!
He straightened.
Why couldn’t he?
Loman had the knowledge, and what he might lack, Moira certainly knew, skilled in the black arts as she was. What couldn’t he do if he had the power to manipulate time?
“If I had your ability, I could go back to when you were aweenand finish you for good, Brother,” he muttered.
“I’m afraid that’s not how it works.”
Loman spun, prepared to strike, when he saw his nephew Reginald. “Who told you I was here, lad?”
“It didn’t take a rocket scientist, Uncle.” His nephew’s look was pure cold amusement, his jade-green eyes reptilian in nature. Of all those spawned from the O’Connor line, Reginald was the most like him, and he was the only one Loman held a remote fondness for. That’s not to say he wouldn’t kill the young man should he have to, but he might regret it—eventually.
“Why wouldn’t it do me to go back in time to kill Antoine?”
“The time-space continuum doesn’t work that way. Should you go back and alter things, the present would change. Uncle Antoine would never transform himself and become Alexander Castor, and he might never gain his Traveler abilities.” Reginald shrugged as if it made no difference to him either way. “It also means you’d never get his powers. If you decide to try for Castor’s powers, you shouldn’t go back to do him in, or you’ll forfeit what you worked so hard to gain.”
“You’re a bleedin’ know-it-all, you are,” Loman grumbled, irritated he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d have eventually figured it out. Likely after killing Antoine and getting stuck in the past, but still. “And you’re Irish, boyo. Stop jabberin’ like you’re a feckin’ Brit. It’s sacrilege.”
One of Reginald’s perfectly groomed blond brows shot up, but he remained quiet, not daring to contradict Loman, proving he was, indeed, one of the smartest of their lot.
He nodded toward the inn. “What do you think we should do?”
A golden light filled the room, shining out through the panes of glass and casting rays on the ground like sunlight through the clouds. The glow could mean only one thing; a deity had entered the fray.
“Fuck!”
“Retreat would be my suggestion,” Reginald said with a hard laugh. “Come back to fight another day.”
CHAPTER21
“We’ve decided it’s time to restore magic to you, Ronan O’Connor,” Isis said with a gracious smile. “With the caveat that you use it to protect those present.” She gave a significant look at the ceiling, including everyone in the house. “I believe you’ve learned your lesson.”
Ruairí shot his cousin a concerned glance. Ronan hated the responsibility of looking out for others. He’d only ever cared and sacrificed for Ruairí and received beating after beating for his efforts. Loman had tried to remove Ronan’s innate kindness in the only way he knew how. Abject cruelty.
“Sure, and it appears the wee wild beastie was right. I’m to be a feckin’ hero, whether I want to be or not,” Ronan said with deep disgust.
