Page 32 of Highballs & Hexes

“She wouldn’t have,” Damian said sharply. “She didn’t murder me, and she wouldn’t have harmed her baby.”

“That’s not the word on the street.” Yes, he was pushing buttons, but Noah needed to gauge the man beneath the power.To really see what he was made of, and not be subjected to the act he presented to the world.

“I don’t care what the word is. She wouldn’t have hurt you. With the last of her willpower, she requested assistance on my behalf.” Damian picked up his drink and studied the contents. “If you were with us, she’d have sent you away with me. But the fact she let Father take you once she’d become infected spoke of her love for you.”

In two centuries of living, Noah had never considered it from Damian’s point of view. And although his mother might’ve actually cared about him, he found it hard to reconcile the past with the present.

“Perhaps,” he finally said, removing Damian’s drink from his hand to take a sip and hand it back. “If I wanted to poison you, I’d have done it already.”

His brother laughed and placed the drink on the bar top. “I’m not much of a beer drinker. I prefer an aged scotch or brandy.”

“Well why the feck didn’t ya say so?” Noah shot him a disgusted look and reached for a bottle on the top shelf. “Feckin’ pretty manners,” he scoffed. “You need to live in the wilds of Ireland for a time, then ya’d speak plain.”

“I lived in the wilds of America during my youth. Trust me. I have the ability to get down and dirty with the best of them. But I prefer civilized conversations and finer things as I get older.”

“Aye, and you’re ancient.” After serving up a tumbler of his best scotch, Noah downed the remainder of the beer, then swiped his shirtsleeve across his mouth to wipe away the foam before offering up a hearty belch.

Damian merely laughed at his antics. “Like I said, I’d have appreciated a bratty younger brother.” The Aether’s mood shifted. “My daughter revealed some truths after you left, Noah. If you care to hear them, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“What happened to the rules you hammered the wild beastie with? Is it fair they don’t apply to you, then?”

Obsidian eyes, so solemn yet sincere, stared back at him, waiting.

“Fuck it.” Noah drank the second pint and set the glass on the bar. “Fine. Out with it.”

“She said Fionola won’t return to you.”

He scowled at Damian. “And what the bleedin’ hell does that mean? To work, to this village, to me in particular?”

“I took it to meanyou, but Beastie can be quite literal. It may mean to the village or even to work here, I suppose.”

“And did your child-clone tell you we’d find her?”

“Yes, but not right away or without a great deal of effort.”

“Jaysus. If I’d known I was supposed to be solving riddles, I’d have kept a clear head,” Noah muttered.

Damian’s mouth quirked up on one side. “I’ve more bad news for you.”

“Of course you do.”

“My wife would like to have you over for dinner tonight. I’m not to return home without your agreement.”

With a scowl, Noah gathered the glasses and began to wash up. “Why me? And why tonight?”

“You, because you’re family. Tonight, because Vivian can be as impatient as our children.”

Curious despite himself, he studied Damian. “Your daughter mentioned she had a brother.”

“Nate. Named after my foster father, Nathanial Thorne.” There was sadness in the his brother's smile. “He was a great man, and I wish you could’ve had him for a father.”

Noah was astonished to realize Damian was sad because Nathanial hadn’t raised him, too. He did the only thing he could to cover his surprise—he agreed to dinner.

CHAPTER 15

After his brother left, Noah returned to the table holding his scrying supplies. Cursing himself for forgetting to ask Damian to give it a try, he picked up the crystal. Whatever it took, he’d find her. And he’d give no credence to Sabrina’s prediction that he and Fi wouldn’t be together. He loved her, and she loved him. They were meant to be, and he’d be quick to provide anyone who disagreed what for!

Outside the door, a commotion arose, and he ran to check it out. Townspeople milled in the street and were pointing at a golden streak suspended on the hill, as if lightning was frozen in the middle of a strike. Those unfamiliar with teleportation would assume a natural phenomenon. But those in the witch community knew better, and he met the gaze of a tiny, hunchbacked elderly woman with rheumy purple eyes, the same color as her disturbing lavender hair. The soft glow of her aura indicated she was a witch, and she watched him with the same curiosity as he did her. Oversized dentures shifted around her mouth when she suddenly grinned at him. With a stubby, gnarled finger, she shoved them back in place, chomping down twice then following it up with pat of her coiffed hair and a hand dusting.

---