Page 19

CHAPTER 19

“ T ry again,” Fi encouraged, frustrated Patrick’s magic had gone on the blink again.

“It’s no good, love. We’re stuck here for the time being.” A devilish gleam lit his eyes. “There’s naught for it but for us to pass the time shagging, I suppose.”

Torn between an impatient sigh and a laugh, Fi hit him on the stomach with the back of her hand. “Feckin’ behave yourself, ya scut.”

“Are you the love ’em and leave ’em sort, then?” he teased.

Right when she would’ve responded, the hooded figure appeared by the cell door, and Fi’s frustration ramped up. Acting on impulse, she grabbed the butter knife from beside her plate and threw it between the bars at their captor’s back. Her heart halted its beating when the utensil didn’t immediately hit him and drop to the floor, but instead sailed through his body, clanking as it landed and skidded toward the adjacent cell door.

Patrick shouted her name, reaching for her just as the figure turned and the hood fell back from his head, revealing his face. Pain caused her chest to seize, and the air see-sawed in and out of her lungs in a wheezing rattle. Panic slithered in, taking control of her mind until she thought she’d go mad.

Fi screamed.

Her response was so loud and long, it echoed off the walls, hurting her own eardrums from the shrill sound.

“No!” Fi cried as Patrick tried to embrace her and usher her away from the opening. Away from the lurking specter on the other side of the bars. “No! No! No! No! ”

She scratched and clawed, fighting tooth and nail to be away from him. Uncontrollable sobs wracked her body as she struggled against him.

“Fi! Love! Listen to me. I can explain.”

“ You! It’s been you all along!” She stared at him in horror, shifting her gaze only long enough to note the hooded figure’s sorrowful face, identical to Patrick’s in every way. “No! You… I… No! I gave myself to you. My body. My heart ,” she croaked. Sobs wracked her as she beat at his chest. “No!”

“Fionola!” Tadhg’s voice rang out, along with the shouts of other prisoners on the cell block. The cacophony forced her to cover her ears from the sheer volume of the noise.

Patrick’s grip on her elbows was the only reason she remained standing, but his touch was unbearable, repulsive.

“Don’t touch me,” she screamed, batting at his hands. “Don’t touch me!”

“Fi!” Tadhg cried. “You bastard! If ya hurt her, I’ll fucking rip your heart out, I will!”

The sound of prison cell doors rattling reverberated through the building, shocking her at the realization they weren’t electrified at all.

“You promised you wouldn’t lie to me,” she said, feeling pathetic upon hearing the whining tone of her voice. “You promised,” she shouted, stronger this time.

She sank down and hugged her legs to her chest, dropping her face to her knees to hide from Patrick. What a fucking fool she’d been to believe him! He’d taken her in with a few sad stories and longing looks.

She was fully aware of him kneeling in front of her, and she curbed the urge to kick him in the bollocks. Common sense prevailed—barely. If he had the power to imprison them all and maintain it as he had, what could he do to her if she angered him?

“Get away from me, Patrick O’Malley, or I’ll claw your lying eyes from your fat fucking head!” she warned, leaning back as far as the wall allowed. Fear might play a part, but she couldn’t bear him crossing the boundaries of her personal space.

“Fi, please listen to me,” he begged. Gripping his head like he feared it would explode, he implored her to listen. “Please. That isn’t me. It isn’t who I am in here with you. Ya have to believe I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know?” she scoffed. “How could you not?”

Was he trying to justify upending those victims’ lives? Hers? Rage boiled inside her. What right did he have?

“I love you,” he said simply, dropping his arms to his side and making no move to touch her. “Since meeting you?—”

“ Jaysus! I hate you! And I’ll not believe another word you say.”

When she sneered in the face of his declaration, he sat back on his heels. He looked as stricken as she’d felt moments before.

“You’re a fucking liar,” she snarled, forgetting her fear and caution and warming to her rant. “From the moment you answered my phone call about Tadhg, you’ve been lyin’ to me, and it hasn’t stopped. Do ya really think I’m going to believe you’ve suddenly had a change of heart about all of this? That you’re suddenly going to let everyone here go unharmed?”

Acceptance took the place of his hurt, and it was hard to see the torment in his darkening eyes. They were a witch’s tell. The darker the shade, the more upset the person.

A witch’s tell.

Belatedly, it occurred to her that his irises had progressively lightened over the time they’d been here. They’d gone from a mossy green to the emerald of éire’s fields in the spring, as they’d grown closer.

Yet his eye color was turning to a dense forest, deeper and darker than their first meeting, revealing his upset. Was it because she’d found him out? Because he’d destroyed what she thought they were building with his sick games, shattering her heart in the process?

Like a pendulum, her emotions swept back and forth. On one side, fear for what he’d done and was capable of doing still. On the other, fury for all of it along with his lies. With her balled fist, she struck, knocking him on his arse.

Scrambling to her feet, she raced for the door, unsure how she intended to unlock it before he caught her but willing to try anyway. It swung wide before she got there, and the shock halted her in her tracks.

Was it a trick?

“It’s no trick, Fionola,” he said tiredly. “Sure, and you’re right about everything. I’m a fucking monster.”

She spun back to see him settle into the shadows with his back to the wall. As she watched, the remaining light seeped from his eyes and his corner of the cell grew dimmer than normal.

Was he doing that? Making himself disappear?

Her heartbeat was excruciatingly loud in her ears, and she almost missed his next words.

“There’s a panel at the end of the corridor.” He waved a hand in the general direction. “If you flip the main switch into the up position, it’ll unlock all the cells at once.” His dull-eyed stare was focused on the ground.

She froze where she stood, unsure if she could trust him, and it drew his attention to her. A bitter half smile curled his lip.

“You’re safe from me, love. I’ll hold the monster at bay while you shut my door and use the override to open theirs. When it’s done, bring your brother back, and I’ll tell you how to seal mine for good, yeah?”

Her stomach flipped, and tears stung her eyes before rushing down her cheeks. Using the heels of her hands, she swiped them away.

“You mean for me to leave you here to die?” she asked incredulously. “Are ya mad?” With a shake of her head, she swore. “Of course you’re mad. What the feck am I saying?”

He huffed out a tragic little laugh, as if she amused him with her ramblings, but just as quickly, his countenance hardened. “Go now, Fionola,” he ordered harshly. “Get the fuck out before it takes over again.”

Why was her urge to rush back to him so strong? It made her feet leaden as she lifted first one then the other to leave.

“Fi?” His tone held desperation.

She paused in the act of swinging the door closed.

“I do love you, Fionola Bohannon. You gave me hope,” he confessed, his voice hardly audible above the deafening noise of the hollering along the corridor.

“I loved the man I thought you to be,” she replied on a sob. “But you’re not him. You could never be and do what you did.”

Closing his eyes, he compressed his lips, and the faint movement of his Adam’s apple was visible, as if he were swallowing convulsively. Finally, he nodded. “Aye. I’m not a man anyone can love.”

As the door to his cell slammed shut, so did the lid on the coffin of Patrick’s dead heart. If Anu was kind, she’d take him this very moment, but he’d discovered the gods and goddesses were capricious fuckers who cared nothing for the lives of humans. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn the deities viewed witches as mortals viewed cockroaches: as bugs to be crushed under their boot.

The screech of unoiled hinges swinging open grated on his raw nerves, and Patrick lifted his lids in time to see Loman’s victims—no, his victims—sprint for the exit. A few brave souls stopped long enough to spit in his cell or throw what remained of their food.

A half-eaten croissant skidded to a halt at the heel of his shoe.

Would they be so brave if they knew the door wasn’t locked yet?

He didn’t blame them for their disgust or rage. Hell, if the situation was reversed, he’d likely rip the goddamned door from its hinges and beat his captor with it. Their restraint showed them to be a different caliber of person than the Patrick that existed in his twisted mind.

He was no hero.

Indeed, he’d just stood beside Fi and woke to the fact he was the polar opposite of everything he believed. Everything he wanted to be. He was the villain in these people’s story this time around. Not Loman. Not a copycat seeking to recreate what that gobshite had.

Jaysus!

The magnitude of what he’d done was sinking in, and it hurt to discover he was nothing but a sadistic devil, forcing them to revisit the trauma of their past.

Why? Why had he done it? Was it all because he needed the puzzle pieces to fit back in place? It was the only reason that made any sense.

Or it was until the truth worked its way up from the depths of his subconscious.

Patrick gasped and clutched his head.

His alter ego believed they were safer! That they’d heal if he could reconstruct what had happened to help them, make it better. If they’d found a way to escape, wouldn’t they be able to take their personal power back? Regain what was lost? All they needed was the strength of faith. He’d given them all an out, but none had recognized it.

Not even him.

It appeared Tadhg had been close a time or two, but his own demons had kept him imprisoned. Had the man solved Patrick’s unspoken riddle, he’d have been free days ago. Prior to Fi becoming involved. Yet he, along with the others, had preferred to wallow in pain and disillusionment rather than find a solution.

But now the tables had turned.

He was to be the prisoner again. This time for real, and rightfully so.

Fionola skidded to a halt, tugging her brother to a stop when he tried to drag her to freedom. “He wants us to seal him in, Tadhg.”

“Aye, it’s a fucking grand idea!” The other man’s face was ruddy in his outrage, and the light of battle glowed in his blue eyes.

Shutting his, Patrick smacked the back of his head against the cinder-block wall— hard —repeating the gesture a second, third, and fourth time for good measure. If he beat himself bloody, would it stop the endless self-hatred? Stop the negative dialogue in his mind? Possibly end his suffering for good? Perhaps. If he were senseless, he couldn’t harm anyone else with his absurd ideas.

“Stop it!” Fionola cried. “Stop!”

And suddenly she was there, cradling his head against her chest. He wanted to lift his arms and hold her close, but he didn’t have the right. And so he pulled away and returned to bashing his defective brains against the wall.

“Please! Patrick, please don’t,” she sobbed, clutching him against her in an attempt to stop his self-destructive behavior. “Please.”

“Leave him, Fi,” Tadhg barked. “He’s not worth even one of your tears.”

“Go, Tadhg. Get out of here and find his daughter, Dubheasa. She’ll know what to do.”

“Fuck that! I’ll not leave ya with him.”

Patrick shoved her toward her brother with the last of his strength. “Listen to him,” he croaked. “Listen to your brother.”

“No,” she replied, reaching for him again.

He frowned at the blood on her hands.

“You’re bleeding, love. Why are ya bleeding? Did I do that to you?” His horror was great. “Come, I’ll heal ya. Let me heal you.” He extended his arm, but was swamped by a tsunami of dizziness and pitched forward. The sight of her jean-clad knee in front of his face was unexpected and surprising. As he lay there, summoning the strength to sit up, the atmosphere around them altered. Became heavy mere moments before the crackling and popping began.

“Ah, strong magic at work,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “They’re breaking down my barriers, Fionola. Like you did .”

“Da?” Bridget’s voice was low and tender, almost tearful—definitely at odds with how strident it could be when she was on a tear. “Da, I’m here with Dubheasa and Ronan. We’ve come to help you.”

“Don’t want your help.” He brushed aside the sticky substance clouding his vision. Why wouldn’t everyone just leave him the feck alone? All he wanted was peace. It was all he’d ever wanted from birth, along with a strong-willed but soft woman to keep him warm at night, children he could bounce on his knee and mold into decent human beings, a welcoming home, and a pint to drink now and again.

But the O’Connors, helped by Rose, had made it impossible. They’d turned him into a warped creature who didn’t know reality from nightmares. It could be argued his current reality was a nightmare, though.

Weary to his very soul, he said, “Go away. I deserve my fate.”

Or tried to.

The words were slurred and disjointed.

And completely ignored.

Strong arms lifted him as if he were a featherweight.

“Careful!” Fionola cried out. “He bashed his head.”

“He did, or you and your brother did?” Bridget snapped.

“There’s my darling girl. Ready to defend her kin even if it means scratching another’s eyes out,” Patrick murmured.

“ He did,” Fi replied as if he hadn’t spoken. “The blood… I tried… I tried to help.” Sheer agony coated her words, and Patrick lifted his hand toward her to send her soothing energy.

Or tried to.

His arm refused to cooperate, and he frowned down at himself. Why the fuck wouldn’t they work? Useless appendages! When he looked to her once more, prepared to assure her he was well, fucking Noah was there and ready with an embrace.

Right when Patrick believed he had no fight left, jealousy provided the energy to struggle against those holding him. Over Ronan’s shoulder, he met Noah’s enigmatic look. Yet the man displayed no triumph or satisfaction, and it allowed Patrick to relax again.

Fi was where she needed to be. With whom she needed to be to have the life she required. Not a washed-up old fool, no better than the bastard who’d set out to destroy him. If Loman’s soul hadn’t been obliterated by the Death Dealers, he’d certainly be somewhere laughing about Patrick’s plight.

At the forefront of his cloudy mind, a thought took hold and refused to leave him; the Authority had the power to ease his suffering and send one of their Death Dealers for him. He’d welcome it, too. His soul was too weary to continue on, anyway.

“Sleep now, Paddy,” Ronan said in a soothing, hypnotic voice. “You’ll be grand in no time.”

For the first time since they’d met, Patrick felt kindly toward the man. His eyes closed, and blissful darkness descended.