Page 35 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

“There was an attack on the estate.”

“What?”He charged toward the door only to have his way blocked again. “You’ll be moving out of me fucking way or I’ll rip your head from your shoulders, man,” Eoin threatened, deadly serious.

“Can’t do that, Mr. O’Malley. Mr. Thorne’s orders.”

“I don’t give a feck about his orders. Brenna is inside, and I’ll see her safe.”

“She’s safe. She’s the one who staged the attack,” the other guard said.

“Jaysus!You’d better be havin’ a craic. But if you are, I’ll be telling ya here and now, it’s not funny, to be sure.”

They had to be mistaken. His Brenna would never hurt a living soul. She didn’t have a mean bone in her entire compact and mouthwateringly curvaceous body.

With a disgusted look at his partner, the first guard swung his gun behind him and gestured toward a padded bench. “Have a seat, sir. I’ll explain what I can.”

Casting the French doors one last frustrated look, Eoin crossed his arms and braced his legs. “I’ll stand, thank you. And I’ll be hearing that explanation, all the same.”

“Name’s Martin, by the way. And here’s what I know…” Martin detailed the harrowing sight of facial-less features and claw-like hands attempting to push through the drywall. Of how it stretched and strained under the weight and how those in the control room were half convinced a zombie apocalypse was taking place. “Mr. Thorne suspects Brenna conjured the entire thing and put herself into stasis, perhaps to seek you out.”

“But for what purpose? I intended to see her in the morning.”

And here, Martin’s expression turned sketchy as he squinted his eyes, crinkled his nose, and scratched behind one ear.

“Out with it, man.”

With a wary side glance toward his partner, Martin said, “Possible seduction. So she could steal your powers.”

“That’s fuckin’ absurd! She wouldn’t—” But she almost did. When she’d arrived in his room, looking like a wet dream, he’d felt compelled to ask her to sing, and although she hesitated at first, she fully intended to do it. That’s when Alastair rang the bell in her head, putting a stop to their shagging.

What did Eoin really know about her? Yes, he’d seen her at a few art functions over the years. Yes, she dressed in dowdy clothes and did nothing to enhance her appearance. And sure, she seemed withdrawn and unassuming with her shy smile, a genuine Mona Lisa, but could it all be an act? Was it meant to lure him in? If so, how had she known he’d take the bait? Had she gained insight into his character through his creations and the brief conversations they’d shared?

The idea that she might’ve was disturbing.

“I’m goin’ in there, Martin. I’ve questions that need answers, and it’s only Brenna who can provide them.”

“Sir, I beg you—” He touched a finger to his earpiece, and nodded as if someone could see him. “You can go in, Mr. O’Malley.”

Eoin scanned the roofline, finding multiple cameras pointed in his direction. He assumed Alastair had monitored the entire conversation. Again, to what end? To see if Eoin was loyal to Brenna or party to whatever mischief she was stirring up?

Mentally dismissing the guards, he stormed toward the entrance. There were more questions than shades on a color wheel, and he intended to have answers.

CHAPTER 15

Brenna woke in stages, and her body felt like she’d tied one on. Her pulse resounded inside her head like a gong, and her brain cringed with every hit of the mallet against the metal. Only once, at age fifteen, had she given into the need to find solace in alcohol, and she’d paid for it with a hangover that lasted two full days. She couldn’t forget the feeling or the cotton mouth that went with it.

Oddly, Odessa hadn’t scolded her and, instead, had plied her with tonics to help her through the worst of it. For the first time in the years since Gran died, Brenna had felt cared for. Of course, after two days were up and Brenna was almost fully restored to her former self, Odessa had reverted back to the cold-hearted, distant woman she always was.

Removing her glasses, Brenna rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes. When she opened them, everything remained crystal clear, as it had in her dream. Or rather, in her visitation to Eoin. How had that happened? She sat up abruptly.

The first thing Brenna registered was roughly a dozen people crowding the room, half of which were security guards. The others were Alastair, Aurora, Spring, and Knox, and they all looked at her with varying stages of fascination, grimness, orsuspicion. The last was Eoin, and his wariness struck her right at the center of her heart. But she understood it.

To give herself time to think, she carefully folded her glasses and set them on the table. Apparently, she was no longer blind as a bat without them. One good thing had come from this, she supposed. When she was sure she wouldn’t break down and sob, she lifted her chin and faced the censorious gaze of Alastair Thorne. She couldn’t bear to look at Eoin again.

“I-I…” She cleared her throat, inhaled deeply, and tried again. “I suppose you’d like to know what happened.”

He lifted a brow.

She gulped.

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