Page 77 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

As he jogged forward to join Reggie, he hollered, “That’s the plan, love.”

She waited for a few moments more, then closed her eyes and pictured the landscape beyond Alastair’s garden. But her cells didn’t warm in the form of any teleport she’d experienced. She tried again and again, growing panicked by the sounds of shouting and running feet.

Frustrated, she lifted her lids, but jerked back the instant she realized she stood face-to-face with the clapping man from the park. The fierce satisfaction in his cunning, reptilian eyes spoke volumes.

“Loman, I presume?” Trying to play it cool, Brenna inched back one step, then another, the plan to create distance. Everyone had warned her tales of this guy’s treachery and cruelty. If Loman was targeting her directly, shit just got real. Asmall shift and a darting glance over her shoulder showed they were alone.

Brenna tucked her treasures behind her and tried her damnedest not to clink the tiny top of the clay pot as she slid the amulet inside. Pinching the lid’s edge, she slipped the top into her jeans back pocket.

An image flashed in her mind, one of Gran showing her how to create fire when Brenna was a small child.

Here goes nothing.

With the tip of one finger, she brought a small flame to life, holding it against the edge of the charm’s domed center to melt the glass and destroy the crystalized blood.

“Nah, uh, uh! Sure, and if I allow you to melt that little scrap of metal you’re holdin’, I’ll likely never have what I need to destroy those fucking O’Malleys. You’ll be handing me that amulet, girl. And do it soon, or I’m apt to get upset with ya.”

The strain to undo what the Aether had created caused sweat to pool at her back and drip down her temples.

“Yeah, can’t do that, I’m afraid.” Where Brenna got the courage to stand up to Loman O’Connor, she couldn’t begin to know, but the idea of being a robotic weapon used by this particular dude was terrifying to the extreme.

She heard the approach of another person from behind, and she had a momentary panic.

“You won’t need to, Brenna.”

Ronan.

The cavalry had arrived.

Though why he’d save her after she’d blown his eardrums and repeatedly rejected his help was a mystery to be solved.

Turning her back to Loman wasn’t wise, so she inched sideways to look at Ronan. But upon closer inspection, it wasn’t him at all, just someone glamoured to look like him. How exactly she knew, she couldn’t say. The feeling was instinctual in nature.His aura was more muted, but still bright, with only the slightest hint of darkness. She almost asked the guy who he was, but the almost imperceptible shake of his head held her back.

Had Loman noticed?

“Ronan,” Loman spat under his breath, and Brenna had her answer. The two were enemies, and the man posing as Ronan intended to fool him for reasons unknown. A little louder, Loman said, “This doesn’t concern you, my boy.”

Fake Ronan simply smiled, but the hate radiating from his eyes made Brenna’s stomach flip-flop. Whoever he was, he despised the real Ronan’s father.

The hiss Loman emitted reminded her of a terrified cat.

“Call off your army now, or I’ll be locking ya in the tower until you die a shriveled-up, powerless old man.”

The threat made Loman pale, and his wild look told of a very real phobia. Brenna didn’t know the story behind the tower, but she reminded herself not to book it for an Airbnb stay.

“What do the O’Malleys have to sway you to their side?” Loman asked desperately. “We could have all the power again, my boy! You could help me defeat them, ya could.”

“I already have all the power I need, to be sure.” Fake Ronan’s face spoke of his disgust. “How did you go about revivin’ yourself after Castor won your match?”

With a scoff and a shake of his head, Loman said, “Hell didn’t want me. Walkin’ out the door was simple, to be sure. It was the finding and killing witches so I could be acquirin’ their abilities that was a wee bit harder.”

His comment seemed to mean something to the imposter Ronan because he swore resoundingly.

Brenna’s heart rate increased, threatening failure, and she watched the two men volley comments like a spectator at Wimbledon.

Eyes narrowed, Loman lost all sense of fear and leaned slightly forward. “You’re not Ronan.” A calculating smile curled his lips. “This changes everything, now, doesn’t it?”

He raised his hands, and Brenna could only assume he meant to strike.

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