Page 69 of Beer & Broomsticks
She turned her head to see Lucky watching them, and she had to admit he did indeed appear judgy. When she held out her arms to him, the cat leapt up and settled firmly within her embrace. “What is it, my little love? What has you vexed?”
“Him.”
Bridget nearly dropped her familiar on his head. “Jaysus! He spoke!”
“What?”
“He spoke!”
“I thought. You hear with your mind.”
“He did it again,” she choked out, unsure whether to be terrified or fascinated or elated. “Lucky responds when I speak.”
If a feline could smile, Lucky would have. Bridget was certain she saw a distinct upward curl of his mouth.
“Jaysus, you really speak.” She laughed and kissed between his ears, happy to hear him purr. The sound was as loud as a motorboat engine in a cavern.
Ruairí attempted to pet him, only to draw back with a scratch on the back of his hand. “I don’t think he likes me.”
“O’Connor.”
“But a good O’Connor, Lucky. You’ll have to learn to get along with Ruairí, yeah?”
“No.”
She bit one corner of her lip and gave Ruairí an apologetic look. “It may take time.”
Her cat gave one long blink in his direction, then leapt from her arms to trot off, tail in the air, twitching in irritation.
“A lot of time.”
With a light laugh, he drew her close and gave her a light buss on her lips. “Let’s figure out how to duplicate your sword,mo ghrá.”
A small surgeof what felt to be his power, sizzled along Ruairí’s veins. Not strong enough to burn, but enough to make itself known.
All was not lost.
Unlike the O’Malleys, the O’Connor clan wasn’t part of the Six originating families. Their magic was born unto them through the centuries as the main families split off and married others. Ruairí had always expected his power would diminish should Bridget and her siblings restore theirs, and he’d always been fine with the thought. But here, in the moment, he knew real fear. Never before had he worried about being too weak to defend himself, but this sensation of being a newborn foal on wobbly legs disturbed him. He had little time to learn to walk again, so to speak.
And he had no idea which of his abilities were gone and which remained. He certainly didn’t know if he could conjure a sword. But then, Sabrina didn’t say hehadto do it. Only that he had tohelpBridget do it.
“We’re going to need a piece of rebar or a wheel wrench,” he told Cian. “Where can we get one?”
“The boot of my car,” Carrick said. “But it’s next door, and it might take me a few minutes to get there and back.”
Cian shook his head. “No, I’ll go. You stay here.”
“I’ll go.” Bridget gave him a no-nonsense glare when he began to object. “Goibhniu gave me the amulet for a reason. I’ve faith in his gift.”
As much as Ruairí hated to admit it, she was right. She would be the best candidate to go, and it galled him to be unable to protect her. “Sure, and I’ll go with ya.”
“No!”
“Bridg, it’s not open to negotiation. You don’t have eyes in the back of your head, and you need someone to keep lookout.” He shrugged. “And I believe your grand new necklace will protect whoever you want it to, but we don’t know how it works yet.”
“Before you go, I think you both should read what’s in the book,” Roisin inserted from her spot at the altar. “You’re likely to need this one, to be sure.”
They gathered around and read what was written, and as it dawned on Ruairí exactly what the spell contained, he laughed. “A glamour spell! We don’t need to make a duplicate at all. We only need to glamour the metal so everyone believes it’s the original sword.”
