Page 68 of Highballs & Hexes

“I’ll not hear another word, Tadhg Bohannon, and you’ll be mindin’ your tongue, boy!”

“But Mam?—”

Clara dropped her husband’s arm to put her fists on her hips, and Tadhg staggered under Jimmy’s full weight. “Sure, and what did I say that you didn’t hear?”

Reacting quickly, Patrick voiced the first spell that came to mind.

“Goddess, hear my plea,

Assist me in this time of need,

Hide me from eyes who would do harm,

Allow me to view from a distance with calm.”

A mist-like substance clouded his vision, swirling up and threatening to choke him. Practiced at not making a sound, he fought to endure. When next he could see and breathe without effort, he was standing in the Bohannons’ garden by the back wall of the house.

Walking up the pathway was Clara and Tadhg, with the latter still whinging about all he’d suffered at Patrick’s hands. Behind them, Patrick’s body double approached, and the loud echo of sound he’d heard from across the yard disappeared. Everything spoken between the group became clear, as if he were there with them. A curious calmness settled over him as he watched his other self walk through the cottage door.

“Would you like help putting Jimmy to bed?” he asked.

Tadhg would’ve chewed nails, swallowed them, then shit them back out whole before accepting his assistance, and Patrick didn’t expect him to, either. But his mother had raised him proper like, and the decent thing to do was ask.

After Clara and Tadhg returned to the kitchen, Patrick launched into his explanation of what happened, somewhat surprised the woman was willing to listen, considering what he now knew about her involvement with the men in the alley.

They were six minutes into a discussion when Patrick sensed the presence of others gathering outside, but he didn’t dare release his spell to check who those people were. Certainly not when Tadhg was becoming more agitated by the second. It didn’t help that Patrick had questioned why Clara hired hitmen to murder Fi and him in the alley by the pub.

“Kill him now, Mam, and be fuckin’ done with it already. Fi doesn’t know the bastard’s here, and she’ll not be missing him. With his scrambled brains, she’ll think he deserted her, she will.”

“Ach! That hurts, it does,” Patrick replied dryly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you hated me, Tadhg Bohannon.”

“I feckin’ do!” the man snarled, lips curled and blue eyes shooting fire.

With a shrug of indifference that wasn’t feigned, Patrick looked at Clara. “Did you despise me so much upon meeting me, or has this fool talked ya into it?”

“Sure, and I can make up me own mind, Patrick O’Malley. I won’t be needin’ the likes of Tadhg or you to tell me how to feel, will I?”

In her fiery response, he saw the ghost of Fi, and the vision was so sweet that he smiled. “No,” he agreed. “But I’d ask you to give your daughter the same respect.”

With a nod, she acknowledged his successful parry, though her son was slow to pick up on the change in his mother’s mood or the crafty gleam in her intelligent eyes. “Will ya leave her alone if I ask ya to?”

Patrick shook his head. “No. But I’ll leave her alone ifsheasks me.”

The truth was, he intended to leave her, regardless. He had restitution to make, according to Anu. Though he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t able to do it and still keep Fionola close. But he’d not tell the others that. They needed to understand Fi’s choices were her own.

A shiver swept him, and he experienced her sweet touch, though she wasn’t in the room. With a frown, he glanced toward the window, but only saw a rain cloud’s shadow darken the grass as it drifted across the yard.

“That’s not good enough! Tell him, Mam,” Tadhg injected.

“It is for me,” Clara said. Fatigue had crept into her voice, and she waved in dismissal. “Be done with it.”

The disbelief on her son’s face told anyone who witnessed it that he wouldn’t be giving up anytime soon.

Patrick sighed, feeling tired and as old as dirt. Would the conflict never end? When did he get peace? More importantly, did he actually deserve it after what he’d done when his mind was unable to determine imagination from reality?

“I’ll say this and leave you to mull it over. My mind was damaged when I returned from the Otherworld, and no one—including me—figured it out until Fionola.” Patrick stood and tucked in his chair, then rested his hands on the high back. “The Aether and two of his best healed me, and I aim to make it right. If you require my death, then, aye, I’ll give it without protest.” He studied Tadhg’s belligerent face before meeting Clara’s thoughtful gaze. “But don’t put your daughter in harm’s way again, yeah? That fecker almost slit her throat, and she’s innocent in all of this.”

“He didn’t do what he was told,” Clara replied grimly. “They were only to catchyouunaware and alone.”

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