Page 27 of Whiskey & Witches

“Roisin, I need you to wake up now, pet,” he said more firmly, adding a light tap to her unmarred cheek.

Still, she slept, remaining oblivious to him and her surroundings while deepening his concern. Carrick swore under his breath and withdrew his phone to call Piper.

“How is she?”

“I don’t know. She’s sleeping like she’s had one too many at our pub. It’s not like her.”

“Okay. I’ll get Bridget to sit with Aeden. Cian and I will be right there.”

“Thanks.”

As he waited for the others to arrive, Carrick lit a fire and returned to Roisin’s side to watch for signs that she was waking. It reminded him of all the endless hours he’d spent in her hospital room, sitting beside her bed and praying to the Goddess she’d wake alive and well, able to return home with them.

But she hadn’t. Not right away, at least.

Her stillness wasn’t natural and was too stasis-like. Rage brewed inside him. He’d bet his worthless life that she’d been drugged in some way, shape, or form. If he found the right-bollix who abducted her, he’d tear them limb from limb. Seamus might’ve been behind taking her, but he didn’t possess the brains to do more than that. Someone was pulling that puppet’s strings, to be sure.

Piper was the first through the door with Cian hot on her heels. “Still no change?” she asked.

“None.”

“Scoot. Let me look at her.”

Piper’s mother was a skilled surgeon, and it was a given the daughter had picked up a few things along the way. But Carrick was worried they’d need more than modern medicine to wake Roisin. He wasn’t certain how he knew, but he’d bet all the income from his entire backlist of books that this was a magical coma of sorts.

“Does this feel like an enchantment to you?” he asked her.

“Yes. There’s no dilation of her eyes or other signs to indicate she’s consumed anything. But this—” Piper ran a hand along the air above Roisin’s torso and the space between her body and Piper’s palm crackled with silver light. “—this is from a spell, without question.”

Cian shot a sharp glance Carrick’s way, then addressed his fiancée. “Sure, and we don’t know much about all that, but I’ve learned enough to understand it’s hard to break an enchantment without knowing what spell was used. Is this bigger than you, Piper my love?”

“I’m afraid so.” She gave Carrick an apologetic look. “I have the power, but not the skill. If there was a grimoire or something—”

The lid rocked on a decorated box sitting atop a shelf behind them, catching their attention.

They all stared at it, bemused.

The tarps kept out the worst of the weather, and with the windows and doors shut tight, there should be no wind in the house to cause a lid to flutter.

Again, it rocked.

“I think it wants us to check there,” Cian said in a stage whisper.

The absurdity caused Carrick to snort. His brother was physically the toughest and likely the wiliest of their family. To see such a clever, capable man tentative in the face of a rattling cardboard lid was amusing to the highest degree. And had Carrick not been so worried about Roisin, he’d have given in to the threatening laughter.

He stretched on his tiptoes and grabbed the box with both hands. Praying it wasn’t a rat or some other disgusting creature, he whipped off the top. They all released a collective sigh of relief to find nothing but papers inside.

Carrick immediately recognized all the hand-written notes he’d penned for Roisin over the years, the latest being the one he left on her table after they shared her stew. His heart thunked and turned over in his chest to see one love letter after the other in his barely legible scrawl. Swallowing hard, he put the lid back on the box and set it on the table. With reverence, he ran his fingertips over the finely decorated top.

“Nothing we could use?” Piper asked in a caring, cautious way.

He cleared his throat. “Not that I could see.”

The lid rocked back and forth, this time harder than the other times.

They all shared a wary glance before Carrick removed the lid again.

One by one, he gathered the loose papers, unsure what he was searching for but confident he’d feel or sense what he needed. When he got to the bottom of the box, he scratched behind his ear, perplexed by the damned thing’s insistence he explore the contents. “I don’t understand,” he finally said. “I don’t know what it’s trying to tell us.”

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