Page 42 of Wine & Warlocks

Unease skidded along Ronan’s spine, and he suppressed the urge to shiver. Again with ghosts walking over his grave!

Damian frowned as their gazes locked. “Premonitions?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your visceral reaction to my comment.”

Ronan shrugged. “Look, and I don’t know. The closer it comes to taking action, the edgier I become. If I had my way, we’d be done with this right now.”

“Trust your instincts, my friend. They may save your life one day,” Damian warned.

“What’s it going to be, Dethridge? Should I check with Mackenzie to see if she’s had any visions?” Alastair asked.

“No need. We’ll consult the Oracle.”

CHAPTER19

As Damian left to retrieve Sabrina, Ronan studied Alastair Thorne. The flaxen-haired warlock was always impeccably dressed and seemingly in complete control. Although the man appeared cool and collected, Ronan sensed a whirlpool of emotions underneath the calm surface.

“Are you worried, then?” he asked quietly.

Sapphire-blue eyes rose from where they contemplated the scotch in the tumbler he held to meet Ronan’s. What Alastair saw when he looked at him, Ronan couldn’t discern. Was it the image of Loman? Or was he inclined to view Ronan as he did Castor? As a friend.

“I am.” Raising his glass, Alastair sipped his drink, then shut his lids as he seemed to savor the flavor. Finally, he returned to the present. “Sorry. I refuse to taint the enjoyment of a hundred-year-old scotch with unpleasantness.”

Castor snorted and sat beside Ronan. “We all know you love a good scotch. Tell us what you’re thinking, Al.”

“When I popped off to speak with Isis, she didn’t feel it was necessary to invoke the Six families from either side of the veil, but she wanted to keep the option open.” He sighed tiredly. “That tells me she’s uncertain of the outcome. The only time the Goddess isn’t forthcoming is when she can’t see the future. It’s rare, but the Fates can and do block the gods and goddesses for reasons of their own.”

“Why do you believe they’ve blocked her?” Ronan sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Her investment in all of us, her descendants, would be my guess. She’s been known to protect us, thus incurring the wrath of the other deities.” Alastair set his glass down, straightened his tie, and avoided looking toward Castor. “It’s possible one of those close to us could perish as a result of Loman’s mischief.”

Drink halted halfway to his mouth, Castor swore. “You think it’s Quentin, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, Alex, and I’m not going to speculate. It’s why we’re here to ask Sabrina.”

“What did Isis say to you?” he demanded, and the hard edge in Castor’s tone left no doubt he expected the truth.

“She said the Fates have allowed us to alter the course of things once too often. Death is meant to follow a timeline. To be permanent and not subject to a mortal’s will,” Alastair replied grimly.

“Sure, and that could mean anything,” Ronan reasoned. “They might’ve been referring to my da and the lives he’s taken.”

“True.”

“But something feels off to you?”

“It does.”

Another wave of unease crashed over Ronan. For too many years to count, he’d had to survive by his instincts, and right now, they were screaming at him. He suspected Alastair and Castor had lived much the same way. If they were feeling trepidation, like him, then all was not as it should be.

“Let’s just hope Sabrina has insight for us,” Alastair said with an attempt at a smile. It never reached his eyes.

They drank in companionable silence until Damian returned with his daughter in tow.

Ronan stood with the expectation that she’d run to him for a hug, but her expression was downcast as she avoided him. His heart began to hammer painfully in his chest. Nothing deterred Sabrina Dethridge.

“No hug for me, then, wee wicked beastie?” he asked gently, praying to Anu he’d misread the situation.

---