Page 32 of Wine & Warlocks

“Jaysus!”

“I was about to say the same thing,” Quentin replied dryly. “Okay, I’m going to release him. Be prepared.”

A resounding pop sounded in Ronan’s ears, and he startled at the loudness.

Snarling and ready to continue his fight, Fintan jumped to his feet and looked around wildly. “What did ya do to me, then?”

“Not a damned thing,” Quentin told him. “Seriously, man. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you began channeling Reggie. It was freaky as fuck.”

The sincerity must’ve gotten through because the fight left the Seer and he gave Quentin a cautious nod. “Aye. Freaky as feck for me, too.”

Ronan took a tentative step forward. “You’ve never had that happen, then?”

“No. And I can’t say as I liked it, to be sure.” Fintan gave a full-body shiver and shook his hands out. “What was said?”

“You’re to communicate with Reggie through the book there.” Ronan nodded to the discarded tome. “Page thirty-seven for your questions, with the answers comin’ back to ya on page forty-one.”

“Me? Ach, and why not you?” Fintan’s dark, put-upon scowl almost made Ronan laugh.

“Sure, and we’ll not be knowin’ that until you write to my cousin, now will we?”

“I feckin’ despise the bleedin’ cloak-and-dagger shite, I do.” The Seer snatched the thick book from the ground and promptly dropped it again with a yelp followed by a savage curse. His palms were a deep scarlet. “The fucking thing burned me!”

“May I?” Ronan nodded to Fintan’s blistering hands. “I can heal ya if you’re of a mind.”

In his mind’s eye, Ronan visualized the bubbled skin smoothing and returning to a standard flesh color as he pulled the heat and pushed a cooling breeze across the angry marks. With each minute that passed, Fintan’s palms returned to normal.

“Thank you, O’Connor,” Fintan said gruffly. “I’ve not much call to ask for the assistance of others, but I’m appreciative, all the same.”

“You can be prepared to return the favor, yeah?”

Tentatively, Ronan reached out a hand to lift the book from the ground. Though warm to the touch, it didn’t sear his skin as it had Fintan’s. With a sharp look at Quentin, he asked, “Did you feel anythin’ when ya picked it up?”

“It got warm, but it didn’t burn me.”

“Will ya touch it now?”

Cautiously, Quentin did as he asked, shrugging when he had the tome firmly in his grasp. “Warm still, but no searing heat.”

“It’s feckin’ blood magic, it is.” Fintan strode to the shelf the book had originally fallen from. “Ronan, pick up the athame and prick your finger. I’ll need three nice-sized drops in a glass.”

After he’d done as the Seer commanded, Ronan faced him. “What’s next?”

“Do the same to your cousin.”

Quentin didn’t appear thrilled. “I don’t participate in blood magic.”

“You’ll be participatin’ in this one if ya want me fecking help,” Fintan snapped. His pale eyes turned the churning shades of the angry sea during a hurricane. “I’m not fond of the bleedin’ process either, but your schemin’ cousin has given us no choice.”

“Tell me what you’re attempting, andperhapsI’ll participate.”

Ronan noted the steely tone and Quentin’s equally hardened expression. With all his standard teasing aside, Quentin Buchanan looked like a vengeful god. An immovable, stubborn-as-hell deity who would rather smite the lot of them than give a single drop of his life’s blood. Knowing how precious it could be and exactly how easily one’s own blood could be used against them, Ronan was sympathetic to his cousin’s plight. But they also had a job to do.

“Look, and can we take all this back to the inn and have Castor contribute to your spell instead?” Ronan asked Fintan.

“There’s danger in delayin’ and in the moving of tools we intend to use. It’s best to complete the spell here, where the original was cast.” After a deep sigh, Fintan faced Quentin. “Sure, and I understand your reticence, I do. But the only way I’ll be able to access that book is to use blood magic from two of Reggie’s relatives. You and Ronan.”

“The process,” Quentin barked.

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