Page 71 of Wine & Warlocks

She smiled tiredly. “Hello, Alex.”

“Christ!Everyone thinks…” He shook his head. “How?”

“Victor Salinger caught me years ago, probably as another strike against Alastair, via his brother-in-law, Jace. Victor burned my home down in the process, killing my family.” Her expression haunted, she shook her head.

“But that was decades ago,” Alex protested.

“The Désorcelers created a roster of prisoners once upon a time.” Her dull gaze absently swept the cellblock. “It put me on Loman O’Connor’s radar. I was one of the first people he sought to lock up again.”

Unable to calculate the trauma a second capture must’ve caused her, he did the only thing he could and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, Sylvie. So fucking sorry.”

For a second, she embraced him back, then drew away. “Save the rest of them if you can. They’ve been through the same as me. We can talk when it’s done.”

“Always practical and sweet,” he said softly and kissed her forehead. “If you can teleport, go to Thorne Manor and tell them who you are. If not, head north to the clearing. A chopper is making runs.”

She nodded and shuffled for the door, the faded blue scrubs she wore hanging off her slight frame.

Rage detonated in his brain.

Loman had a lot to answer for, and Alex intended to extract it out of his ass in as painful a process as possible.

“Castor!”

Fintan and Trevor appeared in the doorway in front of Sylvie, edging sideways to let her pass.

He met them halfway. “What?”

“Dubheasa…” Trevor gulped and gestured to Fintan.

“Dubheasa’s dead,” Fintan said flatly. “Loman never left the island, and he’s captured Ronan.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Castor wanted to throw up. In as much as he knew something would go wrong, he’d hoped it wouldn’t be his nephew. Ronan’s life until meeting Dubheasa had been a goddamned nightmare, and it looked like it would continue to be. “Where?”

“The building where you teleported in.”

“Let’s go,” he snapped.

Fintan put a hand on his arm. “You need a plan, ya do. Charging in unprepared will get us all killed.”

“Then fucking explain it to me, Seer. I don’t have all fucking day!”

“Sure, and you’ll be calming the feck down, or I’ll not be tellin’ ya a feckin’ thing.”

“I swear to—” Closing his eyes, Castor inhaled and exhaled a few deep breaths, hoping to chill the hell out and get rid of the curtain of red blocking his vision.

“Blane will go with you, cloaked, and you’ll enter from the south door as I enter with another Death Dealer from the north.”

Trevor shot Fintan a sharp glance. “What other—”

“Me.” From behind his brother, Simon Blane approached. “Rumor has it you don’t have enough juice on your own to kill the bastard, Trev. I thought I’d add my new abilities to yours.”

“No! You have no experience with this shit, Simon. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you do this.”

“It’s the only way this feckin’ thing will be workin’.” Fintan, in a fit of temper, shoved Trevor. “And it’s tired I am of the lot of you questioning the process.”

Both Trevor and Castor froze in their surprise.

“Any more feckin’ questions, or are ya done wastin’ me time?”

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