Page 20 of Highballs & Hexes

But then again, he’d lost his wife and young son to the Darkness, an evil far greater than any could imagine. Damarius had barely escaped into the night with baby Noah bundled tightly in his arms, and he’d mourned for his remaining days. As did Noah, for a mother and big brother who would never be his. For a childhood that should’ve been filled with love and laughter, but was instead void of both.

The Aether was an inch or two shorter than Noah’s six-feet-one, but his presence commanded attention. While the man wasn’t slight in stature, he wasn’t bulky either. Indeed, his build was somewhere in between, suggesting he was lean and fit underneath his elegant shirt and slacks. His obsidian-colored irises were dark enough to make them blend with his pupils if it hadn’t been for the silver slivers. The surprise in them was amusing if one were inclined to think shocking an Aether was a good thing.

“Hello, big brother,” Noah said. “I’m guessing by your surprise, you didn’t know I existed, yeah?”

One or two of the others present gasped, and behind him Bridget crowed, “Pay up, ya scut! Sure, and didn’t I tell ya they were related?”

But he ignored them as he watched the range of emotions—disbelief, acceptance, regret, along with a host of others not so easily discernible—flit across the perfectly symmetrical face of his only sibling.

“How?” Damian Dethridge slowly approached him, and his practiced casualness would be off-putting to someone who didn’t recognize it covered deeper feelings. Noah had utilized the trick himself on many occasions.

“Are you askinghowI exist? The normal way, I’m guessing.” Yes, he was being flippant, but old habits died hard, and the smooth voice was too similar to their father’s, grating on his last nerve. Although a muscle twitched along his brother’s sculpted jaw, any other sign of his irritation wasn’t visible to the others.

Noah felt it, though.

He hadn’t lied to Ronan in that he didn’t possess many abilities, but the ones he did were those of an empath and a telepath, along with the standard witchy gifts of teleportation and conjuring what he needed. All the extras he’d been born with were bound by his father and a Goddess known to his da. By using a two-superior-being whammy to remove what should’ve been Noah’s, Damarius had ensured those abilities would stay bound long after his death.

“I didn’t know about your existence,” Damian said smoothly, recovering well. “How is it you’ve been able to stay hidden as long as you have?”

“Sure, and that would be goddess magic.”

“Which one?” Although the cadence of the Aether’s tone was even, his emotions beneath the surface were a bubbling cauldron and would require nothing to boil over.

Noah suspected the next words he uttered might make that happen. He paused overly long and studied his brother, noting all the similarities in their appearance. Many who’d met them both had commented on the resemblance, but Noah had been quick to laugh it off with a quip or two. Acknowledging their connection was dangerous to his continued safety.

“Which one, Mr. Riley? Or should I say,Mr. Dethridge?” Damian asked silkily, almond-shaped eyes narrowing in warning.

It was Noah’s turn to be surprised. Exactly how his brother knew his chosen name was in question.

“Ronan called me yesterday when you first arrived.” The Aether plucked the thought from Noah’s brain, and the smugness of his answer nearly drove Noah mad. Damian’s dark eyes narrowed briefly before shooting to Ronan. “He failed to mention we look enough alike to be twins.”

“Ah! That explains it, then,” Noah said casually, mentally shaking off the feeling of having his mind violated. Yeah, that’s what he’d done to Ronan earlier, but he figured the arrogant bastard needed to be taken down a notch.

As did the one in front of him.

“Indeed,” Damian said. His expression hardened. “Now, please answer my question. Who was the Goddess?”

“Isis.”

The Aether’s slap of pained disbelief caused the occupants of the room to suck in their breaths or gasp at the stinging sensation.

“Dethridge! Pull it back!” Ronan barked.

With a shake of his head, Damian inhaled deeply, smoothing the look of betrayal from his face. “Did you know about me, Noah?”

“Aye.”

All expression disappeared and was replaced by a mask of cool indifference—another look Noah had perfected for himself. For the longest moment, he held his breath, awaiting Damian’s backlash.

It didn’t come.

Their father would’t have been as controlled.

“I have a lot of questions, if you care to answer them one day, but that’s not why we’re here, is it?” With a nod of politeness, Damian turned, his back arrow straight, and strode to Bridget. Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips and bussed her knuckles like a gentleman of old.

Of course, that’s what they were. At over two hundred years old, Damian and Noah were of another time, when courtly manners meant something. His older brother had retained all the niceties, where Noah had done away with them over the years, adapting when necessary to fit in with the common folk. He’d designed his pub to cater to both the magical and non-magical communities, with a stern warning to witches and warlocks that no abilities were allowed in his place while those without were present.

“Ronan explained about Patrick’s disappearance, my dear. I’ll do what I can to help,” Damian said.

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