Page 28

CHAPTER 28

A fter Patrick left Fionola with the Seer, he cut through the alley to the Black Cat Inn. Halfway to his destination, his grandson Aeden appeared with a message from Anu. He’d become a Receiver from a young age and had developed a special connection to the Goddess in recent years. If the boy was dodging his parents and lurking in alleyways, he had a damned fine reason.

“Anu said she blocked the Guardians, but you’ll find the answer you seek at the Bohannon cottage,” Aeden told him in his raspy voice. His grandson had been injured in a car accident, and although healed by the Aether, he’d never lost the strained quality whenever he spoke. It was endearing but strange, as if the boy was a two-pack-a-day smoker who drank whiskey in place of water.

Aeden’s message indicated Patrick was the one meant to find the source and go it alone, though he couldn’t begin to guess why. He needed to trust the Goddess had a plan for him.

Patrick ruffled Aeden’s golden hair and conjured a slice of chocolate cake. “You’ll be sure to hide evidence of this, yeah? And brush your teeth when you’re done eatin’ it, or they’ll rot out of your head, boyo.”

“That doesn’t happen to witches, seanáthair .”

“You’ve proof of that?”

Aeden narrowed his eyes as if trying to decide if Patrick was pulling his leg. Finally, he shook his head. “No.”

“Aye, better to be safe, then. Scurry along, now.”

With deep affection, he watched Aeden duck into the back of the pub, cake in hand and a wide grin on his face. From the moment he’d met his grandson, Patrick felt abiding love for him, and it seemed Aeden experienced the same. Their bond had been swift and strong, and despite the fact Patrick tended to lose his patience with people, the child would never be one of them. Indeed, the boy had a calming influence on everyone around him.

He remembered when Carrick was the age of his son and how inquisitive he was, always asking, “Why, Da?”

Rose would become annoyed and seek to shoo him away, but Patrick had taken the time to sit him down and explain the answer in great detail, filling Carrick’s curious mind to brimming and providing him with more things to consider. The pride he felt for his children was limitless. They’d all turned out to be a thousand times better than Rose and him combined.

“He idolizes you,” Eoin said, stepping from the nearby shadows.

With a deep sigh of regret for all the years and opportunities missed, Patrick faced his youngest son. “He’s a child and doesn’t know any better.”

“Aye.” The hostility in Eoin’s eyes was like the crossbow bolt to the chest all over again. “You shouldn’t allow him to get attached. You’ll be leaving again, I imagine.”

“Aye. The Goddess has plans for me.”

A cynical smile curled Eoin’s lips, and his expression was dismissive as he pivoted to walk away.

“Eoin.”

Shoulders stiff, his son stopped but didn’t turn.

“I’d have been there for ya if I could’ve. I didn’t leave of my own free will.”

“Sure, and I know that,” he said with a scornful glance over his shoulder. “I’m not a feckin’ eejit, Da.”

“Why do you hate me?”

With a hefty sigh, Eoin laced his hands behind his head. “I don’t. Not really.”

Patrick waited, hoping for clarification.

“I don’t know ya, do I?” Eoin posed it more as a statement of fact than a question. “You breeze in and back out, causing the others nonstop worry. That’s to say nothing of the people you abducted and kept against their will. But we’re supposed to be okay with all of it while you collect more enemies?” Dropping his arms, he shook his head. “I’ve a wife, Da. I’ve no desire to see her hurt because some gobshite takes it into their head to get even with the O’Malleys. Moira’s and Loman’s evilness was enough to last a lifetime.”

“And you prefer me to go, never to return?” Patrick wasn’t certain how he’d managed to ask, considering the idea of it was torturous.

“No, Da. I expect you to be a better man and get your shite together so the innocents like Aeden and Brenna don’t have to look over their shoulders all their lives.”

“I’m after doing that today, son.”

“See that ya do.” Eoin didn’t storm away as expected. Instead, he strode to Patrick and hugged him fiercely. “I don’t hate ya, Da. And like I said, I don’t know ya. But I want to.”

Tears blurred Patrick’s vision, but he’d already committed his son’s handsome visage to memory. One day, he intended to be a father his sons could be proud of. Until then, he had business for the Goddess to perform.

“Your Brenna is a lucky woman,” he said gruffly.

“Nah. I’m the lucky one.” Eoin grinned. “She’s shy most days, but when riled, she’s fierce and the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Happy looks good on you, boyo.”

“It feels pretty feckin’ grand, too.”

After they parted, Patrick cast one last regretful glance toward the pub. He’d have liked to say goodbye to Fi, but he could feel the urgency building. Anu was getting impatient and tugging his cord.

He jogged upstairs and gathered his belongings, teleporting them to his flat in Galway. Once the task was completed, he stripped the bed and inspected the room for anything he might have left behind. Satisfied, he closed his eyes and visualized the place where he’d stopped with Fionola. His cells warmed to burning, and when he could take no more, he felt the cool, damp breeze from the countryside drift across his feverish skin. The view was technically as beautiful today as it was the first time he’d seen it, and yet not. Without Fi beside him, that charming sight was wasted on him.

Voices down the lane caught his attention.

Clara and Tadhg were positioned on either side of Jimmy, escorting him home.

“I’ll not hear another word, Tadhg Bohannon, and you’ll be mindin’ your tongue, boy!”

“But Mam?—”

Clara dropped her husband’s arm to put her fists on her hips, and Tadhg staggered under Jimmy’s full weight. “Sure, and what did I say that you didn’t hear?”

Reacting quickly, Patrick voiced the first spell that came to mind.

“Goddess, hear my plea,

Assist me in this time of need,

Hide me from eyes who would do harm,

Allow me to view from a distance with calm.”

A mist-like substance clouded his vision, swirling up and threatening to choke him. Practiced at not making a sound, he fought to endure. When next he could see and breathe without effort, he was standing in the Bohannons’ garden by the back wall of the house.

Walking up the pathway was Clara and Tadhg, with the latter still whinging about all he’d suffered at Patrick’s hands. Behind them, Patrick’s body double approached, and the loud echo of sound he’d heard from across the yard disappeared. Everything spoken between the group became clear, as if he were there with them. A curious calmness settled over him as he watched his other self walk through the cottage door.

“Would you like help putting Jimmy to bed?” he asked.

Tadhg would’ve chewed nails, swallowed them, then shit them back out whole before accepting his assistance, and Patrick didn’t expect him to, either. But his mother had raised him proper like, and the decent thing to do was ask.

After Clara and Tadhg returned to the kitchen, Patrick launched into his explanation of what happened, somewhat surprised the woman was willing to listen, considering what he now knew about her involvement with the men in the alley.

They were six minutes into a discussion when Patrick sensed the presence of others gathering outside, but he didn’t dare release his spell to check who those people were. Certainly not when Tadhg was becoming more agitated by the second. It didn’t help that Patrick had questioned why Clara hired hitmen to murder Fi and him in the alley by the pub.

“Kill him now, Mam, and be fuckin’ done with it already. Fi doesn’t know the bastard’s here, and she’ll not be missing him. With his scrambled brains, she’ll think he deserted her, she will.”

“Ach! That hurts, it does,” Patrick replied dryly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you hated me, Tadhg Bohannon.”

“I feckin’ do!” the man snarled, lips curled and blue eyes shooting fire.

With a shrug of indifference that wasn’t feigned, Patrick looked at Clara. “Did you despise me so much upon meeting me, or has this fool talked ya into it?”

“Sure, and I can make up me own mind, Patrick O’Malley. I won’t be needin’ the likes of Tadhg or you to tell me how to feel, will I?”

In her fiery response, he saw the ghost of Fi, and the vision was so sweet that he smiled. “No,” he agreed. “But I’d ask you to give your daughter the same respect.”

With a nod, she acknowledged his successful parry, though her son was slow to pick up on the change in his mother’s mood or the crafty gleam in her intelligent eyes. “Will ya leave her alone if I ask ya to?”

Patrick shook his head. “No. But I’ll leave her alone if she asks me.”

The truth was, he intended to leave her, regardless. He had restitution to make, according to Anu. Though he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t able to do it and still keep Fionola close. But he’d not tell the others that. They needed to understand Fi’s choices were her own.

A shiver swept him, and he experienced her sweet touch, though she wasn’t in the room. With a frown, he glanced toward the window, but only saw a rain cloud’s shadow darken the grass as it drifted across the yard.

“That’s not good enough! Tell him, Mam,” Tadhg injected.

“It is for me,” Clara said. Fatigue had crept into her voice, and she waved in dismissal. “Be done with it.”

The disbelief on her son’s face told anyone who witnessed it that he wouldn’t be giving up anytime soon.

Patrick sighed, feeling tired and as old as dirt. Would the conflict never end? When did he get peace? More importantly, did he actually deserve it after what he’d done when his mind was unable to determine imagination from reality?

“I’ll say this and leave you to mull it over. My mind was damaged when I returned from the Otherworld, and no one—including me—figured it out until Fionola.” Patrick stood and tucked in his chair, then rested his hands on the high back. “The Aether and two of his best healed me, and I aim to make it right. If you require my death, then, aye, I’ll give it without protest.” He studied Tadhg’s belligerent face before meeting Clara’s thoughtful gaze. “But don’t put your daughter in harm’s way again, yeah? That fecker almost slit her throat, and she’s innocent in all of this.”

“He didn’t do what he was told,” Clara replied grimly. “They were only to catch you unaware and alone.”

“There is always collateral damage, Clara Bohannon. Always .” He shook his head. “I should know, because I’ve turned your son evil.”

“I’m not evil!”

“He was twisted by Loman,” she said in agreement. “I’ve done nothing to help him, to be sure.”

“I wasn’t…” Tadhg trailed off with a frown. “He…”

Patrick infused understanding and compassion in his voice when he said, “I was there too, boyo. I heard what that gobshite said to all of you. How he blamed your incarceration on the O’Malleys.” Hour after hour, Loman had played a recorded message throughout the cellblock. He’d droned on about how the O’Malleys were at fault because they’d stolen his magic and murdered him time and again. His claim was that he was only after syphoning their magic to defeat his greatest enemy. “After a while, it seeps into your subconscious, especially while you’re sleeping. If you hear something often enough, whether it be true or false, you begin to believe that’s the right of it.”

“What is the truth?” Tadhg asked hoarsely. “Are you trying to say you didn’t imprison us again?”

“No. I did it to all those on our original cellblock, and only because my bent mind needed to create a safe space to land. It sought the comfort of the familiar.”

“You admitted it yourself, Tadhg. The lot of you ate like kings and had the finest bed,” Clara pointed out, bless her. “Other than to keep you there, he did nothing to hurt ya.”

“I wasn’t after torturing anyone,” Patrick added. “But the truth started two hundred and fifty plus years ago when the O’Connors stole the O’Malley magic. My children fulfilled a prophecy, and our power was returned to us as a reward. Loman O’Connor didn’t like the drain of his, so he sought to replace it any way he could.”

“We were all caught in your war,” Tadhg concluded.

“His, but yeah.” Straightening from where he leaned on the chair, he approached Tadhg. “I can heal ya if you’ve a mind to let me. Take away the hate and damage caused by both Loman and myself.”

“This will heal me better,” the man said, his visage screwing up and revealing his contempt.

Patrick caught the flash of light off the blade a second too late. When he glanced down in disbelief, it was to see a knife hilt protruding from his chest. Clara’s gasp matched another, but he was damned if he knew where it had originated from.

She gasped again as his body dissolved into a burst of shimmering lights and the knife clanked when it hit the floor.