Page 62 of Wine & Warlocks

“But I wasn’t.”

His brows drew together in a deep frown of concentration, as if he searched for a way to explain. Finally, he said, “Technically, you were. When you descend from a magical family, the potential is always there. Yours was suppressed due to a curse, but when it was lifted, you likely experienced an infusion of power.” He smiled down at her. “If I had to guess, it was eye-opening. The world became brighter, and the auras of those around you were no longer muted and muddy. Your senses became sharper, no?”

Thinking back, she nodded slowly. “Yes. It happened just like that. A surge of heat throughout my body, as if my very cells had caught fire.”

“Precisely. And they did. It’s why the removal left you chilled.”

“So it’s not the damp air, but the fire gone out?”

“A combination of both, I imagine,” he said. Opening his mouth, he was cut off by Ronan’s muffled scream.

When she would’ve rushed forward, Alastair stopped her with a hand on her arm.

She released a savage curse under her breath and brushed him off. “I’ll do better.”

“Why don’t you take a walk around the perimeter of the stones? It might help.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

“Your young man’s abilities are hundreds of times stronger than yours and their removal, a thousand times worse. He isn’t aware of your presence, my dear.”

His encouraging look and another agonized cry from Ronan convinced her Alastair’s suggestion was a good one.

“Ms. O’Malley?”

She cast a questioning glance over her shoulder.

“Please stay within the garden walls,” Alastair said. “Damian has warded this area against attack, but you can never be too careful.”

Nodding, she drew the wool blanket tighter around her and strolled away. Not usually one for prayers, she sent a silent one up to Anu, asking for her to watch over Ronan.

* * *

Tombstones dotted the garden,each with its own separate climbing rosebush with blood-red blooms the size of both Dubheasa’s hands put together. Cautiously, she brushed her fingertips across a velvety petal of the one closest to her.

Smiling at the sensation, she read the name on the headstone in front of a cracked and vine-covered tomb.

Isolde de Thorne.

Damian’s mother.

“She’s not there, you know,” a young voice said from behind her.

Dubheasa half turned and met the dark eyes of Damian’s daughter, Sabrina. “So I’ve been told.” She cocked her head and smiled. “Would you care to tell me about her?”

With no further encouragement needed, the young girl regaled her with stories of the Enchantress and the epic battle when she’d returned to possess Baz’s wife, Mackenzie Thorne-Drake.

“That sounds dreadful!” Dubheasa exclaimed. “And you say you were cast into the Otherworld when your da fought her?”

“Yes. Watch. I can conjure lightning, too.” Holding out her small hand, Sabrina closed her eyes.

The atmosphere grew heavy, and blue light, like mini lightning bolts, crackled over the center of her palm. She made a fist and opened her eyes to stare at Dubheasa. A soft red glow was visible for an instant before it faded out, restoring her pupils to normal.

“That’s called channeling electricity,” Sabrina informed her proudly. “I’ve been practicing with Papa.”

“Sure, and I admit to being suitably impressed.”

“Ronan calls me ‘wee wild beastie,’ and you can, too, if you want.”

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