Page 35 of Wine & Warlocks

“That perhaps Loman is smarter than we’ve given him credit for.” Damian lifted his tea and drained the cup, then set it down with deliberate care as if the group wasn’t waiting with bated breath for him to reveal his thought process. Finally, he said, “If it were me, I’d throw a red herring into the mix. It’s possible his fortress is on the other side of Scotland, well away from any notable activity.”

It hadn’t occurred to Dubheasa to check disturbances on the opposite side of the country. Once she found the original pattern, she’d reached the same conclusion as Ronan. Now, she was kicking herself for not putting more effort into the project.

Turning the laptop around, she began the process of discovery. First, she checked for private or hidden islands rumored to be in the area the Aether had indicated. Then she overlaid the weather as she’d done for the first map. The timing of the rain and fog was suspect in that each occurrence was always within minutes of the weather pattern in her first compilation.

“Here.” She shifted the screen so Damian could see it.

“Only in that particular spot, and so fleeting you’d not notice it if you weren’t specifically looking.” He gave her an approving smile. “Well done, Ms. O’Malley.”

To the others, he said, “In the morning, we’ll split into two groups. One will check out the original area Ms. O’Malley mapped out, and one will investigate the other location.” Damian met Ronan’s eyes. “I believe you, Quentin, and the Seer should attempt to contact Reggie, in the meantime.”

* * *

After their grouphad agreed on a time for their late-morning mission and disbanded, Ronan, along with Fintan, Dubheasa, Castor, and Quentin, adjourned to the sitting room.

“What’s our best course of action here?” Quentin asked his father. “Do we use the O’Malley ceremony room, or should we just try to dial into Reggie from here?”

Castor sent a speculative glance in Fintan’s direction. “I think the person we should ask is the Seer.”

As Fintan opened Reggie’s book and reviewed each page preceding the one they’d been instructed to use, Ronan watched him carefully, searching for any sign that creating a communication line was a bad idea.

Fintan spoke without bothering to look up. “Here is grand. I don’t think a protection spell is necessary, but if it would please the lot of ya, we can do it all the same.”

“I’d rather we not have everyone traipsing about where they don’t need to,” Dubheasa said. “But I’ll concede to a majority vote.”

Ronan understood her reticence when it came to allowing others to dabble in her family’s sacred space. He’d been mighty protective of his own in the past. Not that he truly had anywhere to call his home anymore. Since Loman first returned to Ireland looking for the Sword of Goibhniu, Ronan had been hopscotching around the country and the United Kingdom in an effort to outrun his father. When he was afforded the gifts of a Guardian, he’d been able to stop running. Most recently, he’d resided in the guesthouse on the Dethridge estate to be available to protect Sabrina. And still, he preferred his privacy when he could get it.

Castor rose and crossed to the sideboard. Having previously stayed at the Black Cat Inn, he knew exactly where to go for fortification. After he helped himself to a drink, he said, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

“You should check page forty-one to see if Reggie sent you a message first,” Quentin suggested.

Fintan flipped a few pages and shook his head. “Not yet, and here goes nothing, yeah?” With a healthy sigh, he held his hand flat above the page, and words began to form.

Ronan read over his shoulder. “Be sure to ask how many mercenaries my da has workin’ for him.”

“And how many witches are being held,” Dubheasa added. “We’ll need to have a healer when we stage a rescue.”

Castor frowned and opened his mouth, but Ronan cut him off with a minuscule shake of his head.

“I don’t know that there’ll be anyone left to rescue, Dove,” he said gently. “If my da hasn’t drained them dry by now, they may be casualties in the longer game.”

She stared at him as if uncomprehending his meaning.

“He means we may have to bomb the island,” Quentin said.

“But all those innocent people!”

Her horrified expression cut Ronan to the quick, but they had a job to do—stop Loman O’Connor. Permanently.

Castor squatted in front of her where she sat, his stare solemn. “We’ll save who we can, but you have to be prepared, Ms. O’Malley. Not everyone is getting out of this alive. Part of our own team might not make it.”

Her wide-eyed gaze snapped to Ronan. “Fintan said the only way to save my life was to bind my power, not add to it. What if we hired nonmagicial mercenaries?”

“My da would wipe out the lot of them,” Ronan said flatly.

“Then what about a temporary binding of all our powers? He can’t steal what we don’t have.”

“And haveusbe powerless against him? Are ya mad, woman?”

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