Page 49 of Whiskey & Witches

Aeden’s frown deepened.

“His name is Aeden,” Carrick told her, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze.

“Aeden.” The girl said the name as if she were testing it out. Inching closer to him, she peered up into his too-serious face. Suddenly, she smiled, and the sunniness radiating from her warmed their small group. Carrick found himself smiling despite himself. “I’m Sabrina, but Papa calls me Beastie.”

Carrick exchanged a look with Roisin and opened his mouth to tell the girl that Aeden had difficulty speaking when Sabrina reached out and touched their son’s throat.

“Ah.” Locking eyes with Aeden, she took his hand in hers and tugged him toward the Aether. “Papa can fix it. He can fix anything,” she said with the confidence of a young child who adored their parent.

Carrick surged forward at the same time Aeden tugged away and ran back to him.

“Beastie.” With a stern look, Damian said, “While I appreciate your faith in me, you can’t go around offering my services without first understanding the situation.”

Her expression crumpled, and she half-turned from him to face Aeden. “But he’s in pain, Papa. We need to fix him.”

It appeared Damian was no match for the tears welling in his daughter’s eyes, and he rushed to her, squatting to take her in his arms. “Hush now, my love. We’ll help him, but it has to be his choice. Do you understand?”

She nodded, all her worried attention on Aeden.

Carrick looked down at his son, only to see him peeking back at Sabrina. Curiosity was replacing his fear.

“We came to see if you could provide a cure for Aeden’s throat,” Roisin said. She cast a wary glance at Ronan but squared her shoulders. “And help us with another matter best discussed in private.”

Damian rose to his feet, leaving a hand resting atop his daughter’s dark head. “Why haven’t you asked if I can heal you as well?” The question was softly spoken and not intended to mock. The kindness in his eyes was disarming. There was no pity, just compassion.

After clearing her throat and shooting a nervous glance around the room, Roisin said, “It would be presumptuous.”

Carrick’s heart began to hammer. He wanted nothing more than for Ro to be happy and healthy, and now, the moment was at hand. If the Aether could make her emotionally and physically whole once more, her pain a thing of the past, perhaps they could get back what they’d had.

Hooking his pinky with hers, he gave a small tug, enough to propel her farther into the room.

“First things first. I believe introductions are in order. As you’ve likely already suspected, I’m Damian Dethridge. And the statue on the other side of the room, trying to blend in with the wood paneling, is Ronan O’Connor.”

Roisin moaned and grabbed her forehead. As she swayed, Carrick caught her. “Ro? What’s happening?”

Damian growled low in his throat, and the air in the room became heavy. “Unless I miss my guess, she’s been spelled to react adversely to the name.” He shifted to face Ronan. “Care to explain?”

“Not to react adversely, but to forget the name altogether.” Redness crept up Ronan’s neck, and he crossed his arms over his chest, lifting his chin defiantly. “Something misfired in her brain.”

The man reminded Carrick of Aeden when his son was scared but trying not to show it. His anger toward Ronan was muted by the odd feeling of compassion he felt. Part of him wanted to rearrange the guy’s beautiful features, and the other part wanted to offer sympathy for whatever he was going through.

Carrick shot a look at Damian only to find the Aether watchinghimin return. There was a bemused look on his face, as if he could read Carrick’s thoughts and was surprised by them.

“I can, and I am,” Damian said.

The blood drained from Carrick’s face. “You can read my thoughts?”

Ronan snorted from his spot across the room, but everyone ignored him.

Damian nodded. “Some, yes. As well as your conflicted energy.”

The urge to flee and never return was overwhelming. “Are you friends? You and RonanO’Connor?” It took a concerted effort not to sneer the name. Carrick wasn’t sure he’d succeeded.

“We are.” Amusement danced in the Aether’s obsidian eyes. “And now you’re wondering if you can trust me not to betray you. The simple answer is yes. I’m the balance between good and evil, Mr. O’Malley. I don’t choose sides without extenuating circumstances.”

“And is this one of those times?”

“No.”

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