Page 62 of Highballs & Hexes

“Aye.”

Hesitant to say, he looked toward the door Patrick exited. “Where’s your man gone?”

“Don’t know. He mentioned giving us privacy and that he’d a thing to do. Should I be worried?”

“I think you should seek out Noah Riley and ask him what he knows about yesterday’s attack.”

She sucked in a breath so sharp she coughed, and Fintan experienced a twang of remorse for his bluntness. “Ach, and I’m after apologizing for being as dull as a turnip. I didn’t mean he’s responsible, just that he likely knows who is. Or he will by the time you go see him.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Sure, and that’s a grand question, but not one I can answer easily enough.” He exhaled a frustrated sigh. For years, he wondered the same bleeding thing. His life would be a helluva lot easier if he could just blurt out what he knew and be done with it. Subtle nuances were not for the likes of him! “My ancestors aren’t inclined to be forthcoming. Their greatest pleasure is forcing me to run around like a feckin’ chicken without its bleedin’ head.”

Her mouth twitched, and humor lit her eyes. “My sympathies.”

They conversed for a short while, mainly because she had questions about his gifts and he had the time to humor her.Yet as he turned to go, the sensation he associated with an incoming vision struck. His nerve endings tingled, and his brain felt too tight for his skull. The room disappeared, leaving him in a weightless state in an endless black space with no sense of up or down. He didn’t have time to wonder what Fionola thought of his reaction, but he’d been told in the past that his eyes tended toward an opaque white and went sightless. All in all, an unnerving thing for an onlooker to see. It also left him vulnerable to attack, should someone take it into their mind to strike, and he hated it.

“Fintan.”

Experience had taught him the omnipresent voice was a collective of his ancestors, with the dominant member’s message taking precedence over the others. He didn’t bother to answer. There was no point. They’d reveal what was necessary and throw him back like an unwanted catch from a fisherman, leaving him to flounder and attempt to get his bearings.

“Save the patriarch.”

“What pat?—”

He was thrust back into the land of the living, and he staggered, unprepared for such a short encounter.

Although Fionola stared at him in abject horror, she instinctively caught and helped to steady him.

“Thanks,” he growled, not irritated with her, but the entire situation. Why couldn’t he be at the Sullivan estate, ensconced in the library with a good book, away from the world at large?

“You didn’t finish your question.”

He frowned, trying to recall what he’d asked her. Nothing came to mind.

“You said, ‘what pat,’ then swayed on your feet,” she prodded gently.

“Oh! Aye. Yeah, and that wasn’t for you—” But it was, he recalled with sudden clarity.

Patrick O’Malley was the patriarch!

Fuck!

“Where did your man go?” he demanded briskly. “And don’t be plaguing me with twenty questions. Tell me and be done with it, yeah?”

Goddess love her for recovering from his salty attitude as quickly as she did, because Fi shook off her surprise and pointed toward the neighboring building. “Black Cat Inn. Said he had an errand.” Her head whipped in the direction she pointed, and she swore under her breath. “Let’s go!”

They took off at a run, and by the time they arrived at Patrick’s room, he was gone.

Fionola surveyedthe pin-neat space and immediately registered that Patrick had cleared out. A quick check proved his toiletries were missing from the bathroom and the wardrobe contained no clothing. The linens and comforter had been stripped from the bed and were placed in a neat pile beside the door.

“He left me!” she exclaimed aloud in her shock. How could someone kiss her as he had, then leave immediately after? No hint he was going or a goodbye and good riddance. Just disappeared without a word, and her thinking they had developed something special after his beautiful song. She turned stricken eyes to Fintan and winced at his compassionate expression. For a hardened man like the Seer to show his softer side, he had to believe she was a pitiful sack.

Her anger built.

“What did you want with the fecker, anyway?” she snarled.

“I’m to ‘save the patriarch.’ That means Patrick O’Malley.”

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