“How do we move forward with a faux wedding if you don’t want me to be the bride?” Dubheasa asked Ronan once they returned to the kitchen. Yes, it chapped her arse to think of another woman standing up with him, but she was trying to take his objection into consideration.
Alastair weighed in first. “If you’ll allow me. I propose we find someone skilled with magic, who can hold a glamour under fire. She can take on your appearance, Ms. O’Malley, and you’ll take on another.”
“You believe I’ll be a prime target, then?” The thought made her stomach queasy, but she refused to show it.
“Aye,” Ronan said grimly. “If my da can steal your magic and destroy my happiness in the process, he’ll do it. And he will be after the grandest prize of them all. You.”
When she pictured the engaging young boy Ronan might have been, then imagined what his childhood must’ve been like with a father like Loman, her heart ached.
“Okay. We’ll do it your way.”
Tension eased from Ronan’s frame, and the tightness around his eyes lessened. “Thank you, love.”
“Don’t be thanking me just yet. The important thing is to catch this gobshite and end his reign of terror.” Glancing at the others, she considered the problem. “It was mentioned that members of the magical community have disappeared. Can I get a list of names, last known locations, and dates they went missing? If we can’t track him by magical means, I might be able to find him the old-fashioned way, by tracing his movements or uncovering a pattern.”
Ronan’s appreciative grin went a long way toward boosting her confidence. Perhaps there was something she could bring to the table, after all.
“I’ll have them for you within the hour, Ms. O’Malley,” Alastair assured her with a warm smile. “You’re a very resourceful young woman, and I’m delighted you’re on our team.”
“Thank you, sir.” A weight of wistful emotion settled in Dubheasa’s chest as she watched him pull out his phone and exit the room. Would her own father have been so encouraging and kind, had he remained in her life? She couldn’t say she’d taken his loss the hardest of her siblings, but she certainly thought of him frequently in one capacity or another. Not a day went by when she didn’t miss his amused half smile and those dancing green eyes filled with love for her.
Ronan’s large hand engulfed hers, and when she looked up, it was to see his genuine concern for her well-being. Her earlier decision to accept him as her mate was cemented. “When do I get the Guardian infusion of magic?”
“That’ll be up to Anu and the Aether. But the sooner, the better. I won’t be sleepin’ well at night until you’re fully charged and my da’s dark soul is destroyed permanently.”
“We should make that our first order of business,” Damian stated. “The more firepower we have, the better our chances.”
Dubheasa met Fintan’s thoughtful gaze across the room. “And you? What do you know that can help us?”
Fintan’s eyes lost focus for a moment, but finally he said, “Your power should be bound and not added to, Dubheasa O’Malley. It’s the only way to protect against Loman’s theft.”
A chill chased along her spine, and her lungs refused to draw breath. It wasn’t until Ronan’s grip became painful that she got control of her anxiety.
“What do you know, Fintan Sullivan?” Ronan’s voice was as hard as raw granite and twice as rough.
“She’ll not survive a confrontation with Loman, should he get to her first. And if she has an ounce of magic in her veins, he’ll take it for his own.” The Seer appeared less thrilled to be imparting his dire prediction than Dubheasa was at hearing it.
“What the fuck is this, then?” Cian demanded with a fierce glare at Ronan. “You’ve been pushing for Dubheasa to amplify her abilities since the day you became a Guardian, ya have! Is this a trick to hurt our family again?”
Ronan’s hand grew clammy, and Dubheasa desperately wanted to tear hers away, but his fingers tightened in a stranglehold. A simple tug had her facing him.
“I’ve not lied about the magic, Dove. I swear on me soul, and if I’m lyin’, may the Goddess strike me dead.”
Through their mental connection, a wave of sincerity washed over her, assuring her that he was telling the truth.
“I believe you,” she said softly. “I trust you, Ronan O’Connor. Probably more than I should, considering our families’ history.”
“Thank you, love.” His relief was palpable, and he drew her into a tight hug. Biceps like small tree trunks crushed her to him, but he loosened his grip as soon as she shoved his chest.
She placed her hands on her hips and scowled. “If you’re after suffocating me instead, I’ll not be happy.”
His grin didn’t happen often but was a thing of beauty when it did, and Dubheasa caught her breath at the sight of it. The world fell away as their gazes locked, and in her heart of hearts, she knew he didn’t have it in him to betray her.
“I’ll never hurt you, Dove. You know I don’t make war on women and children. But even if I did, I’d never be able to double-cross you to such a degree. You’re the other half of my soul, you are.” He cupped her cheek. “And without you, I’m naught but a broken husk.”
“Feck, O’Connor. You’re making us weep, you are.” Eoin winked at Dubheasa. “If you don’t marry him, I will.”
The devilish sparkle in Eoin’s eyes tickled her funny bone, and she shouted a laugh. Her twin had been her staunch supporter in all things, and he’d die to protect her, as she’d die to protect him. But Eoin could read people’s true intentions. Perhaps it was the watchful artist, or maybe he had a deeper ability to separate the wheat from the chaff, but Dubheasa trusted his instincts. And if he was encouraging her to claim Ronan for her own, then she’d listen and be happier for it.
“That’s a fantastic idea!” Brenna said. Her enthusiasm caught the group’s attention, and more than half looked at her as if she’d lost her fecking mind. With a laugh, she shook her head. “Not in the way you think, but as Dubheasa’s stand-in for the fake wedding. If Eoin is in danger, my Siren will come out and annihilate the threat. It’s doubtful Loman would stand a chance against her.”
“The plan has merit.” Castor studied Brenna an extra moment, then faced those at the table. “And I’ll be there. So will my son. If anything goes sideways, it’s possible the two of us could reset time.”
“Wait! What?” Quentin pushed off the wall he’d been holding up. “What do you mean by reset time? As in, create a new timeline? Because that doesn’t always work so well.”
“No. I mean reset the current timeline.”
A deep frown drew Quentin’s brows together. “We can do that?”
“We’re Travelers. Our talents are many.”
“How did this never come up before now?”
Castor shrugged. “We never needed to utilize that type of power before. And I didn’t necessarily say we could do it. Simply that it’s possible we could do it.”
Quentin scowled. “So you’re making shit up now?”
“No,” Damian said, coming to his friend’s defense. “A pair of previous Travelers were able to reset time a little over a century ago. They, too, were related. Alexander is merely suggesting since it was done once before, you might be able to do it as well should the need arise.”
“That’s all well and good for the Travelers of the past, but since neither of them is still around and we don’t have the spell to pull it off, it’s a moot point, isn’t it?” Quentin reached for a finger sandwich from the tray Bridget held out. After thanking her, he shrugged at the Aether and popped the entire thing in his mouth.
“It’s eerie how much he resembles you,” Dubheasa told Ronan through their connection.
“I like him better for it.”
“Who said we don’t have a spell?” Castor cast his son a smug smirk, to which Quentin rolled his eyes and picked up another sandwich.
“Do you or don’t you?”
“Actually, you do, Quentin,” Damian responded for Castor with a hint of a smile. “In the ancient grimoire you possess.”
“And you know this how?”
“I was the one who encouraged the previous Travelers to reset the world’s timeline.” Damian’s reply was succinct.
With a sharp look at him, Bridget sat down. “Sure, and why would the world need resetting?”
“It’s too long a story, but like Loman O’Connor, another became too big for their britches and wreaked havoc upon the magical world. The Authority was forced to step in.”
“But they aren’t now?” Dubheasa shook her head. “How is this so different if Loman is possibly killing other witches to amass power?”
“I don’t know that it is, Ms. O’Malley. But if we use the time-reset option moving forward, we’ll need to keep it amongst ourselves. Without permission from the Authority or the Fates, we all face dire consequences for our actions,” Damian said.
He didn’t look thrilled by the prospect.
“You included?” she asked.
“Me included.”
Alastair strolled back into the room, looking for all the world like a man on a mission. In his hand, he held a flash drive to Dubheasa. “Here you are, my dear. Everything you requested.”
“I don’t know where it is you get your information, Mr. Thorne, but I’m after meeting the source, I am.”
He chuckled. “I’ll introduce you to Alfred someday soon.”
* * *
After Dubheasa excused herself to work her particular brand of modern magic with her laptop, Ronan and the others got down to the business of setting the faux-wedding trap. Damian, Alastair, and Castor brainstormed locations as Bridget, Brenna, and Eoin discussed everything from flower arrangements to dress designs.
“We could use Reggie for his fashion sense,” Eoin muttered with a shake of his head. “If only the scut would call me back!”
Ronan’s cousin cared for few people, but he had a soft spot for Eoin, and it didn’t sit well that Eoin hadn’t received a return call from Reggie.“When did you last speak to him?”
“It’s been a good four days, I’m thinkin’.”
Brenna glanced up from the Pinterest board she’d started on her phone. “It’s odd, isn’t it? Reggie touches base with Eoin every other day, at least.”
“He’s been known to go silent when he meets a new friend, though.” Eoin shrugged but frowned just as quickly. “But usually, he’ll tell me he’s going dark for a bit, he does.”
“Sounds like we should be worried about our cousin Reggie,” Quentin said in a contemplative tone. “Where does he live? I’ll go check it out.”
Castor, who had previously appeared lost in discussion with the Aether, faced his son. “Not alone, you won’t.”
“I’ve been on my own my entire life. I don’t answer to you.” Quentin’s response was clipped and his expression unyielding.
To prevent a war of wills, Ronan stood. “Yeah, and I’ll go with him. I know a few of Reggie’s old haunts. Eoin can give me a list of the new ones.” He glanced at Fintan. “Care to be our early warning system, Seer?”
Fintan gave them a sharp nod, but nothing in his expression indicated he was worried about their journey, and Ronan breathed easier.
They arrived outside Reggie’s flat in London twenty minutes later with a list of places he liked to frequent tucked firmly in Ronan’s back pocket. Doubtful any of them would be able to enter his cousin’s warded place, he prepared to counter the enchantment with a charm from the Aether.
Quentin’s hand on Ronan’s arm stopped him before he got started. “Let’s get the attendant to let us in. If he’s a nonmagical human, he should be able to enter without difficulty.”
“No building manager will be lettin’ a group of strangers into the flat of one of their owners, to be sure,” Fintan said.
“Probably not, but they’ll let Reggie in.” Quentin’s grin was pure mischief, and not for the first time, Ronan wondered what it might have been like to grow up normal, with a sense of self, like his new cousin had.
“I’m guessing I’m to play the part of Reg?”
Quentin gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Well, you could probably emulate him best.”
After a quick search of the area to ascertain if there were onlookers or cameras to catch his transformation, Ronan glamoured into Reggie’s slighter, shorter frame. After two or three tries, he perfected his cousin’s posh English speech and arrogant expression.
“Let’s hope I can pass through the wards without getting my arse electrocuted.”
“It’s uncanny,” Quentin said with a shake of his head.
Five minutes later, the attendant was using a master key to grant them access to the flat. “Did your uncle find you, sir?”
“My uncle?” Sick dread settled in Ronan’s gut.
“Yes, sir. Your uncle. He came by about three or four days ago, now. Said he had a grand surprise for you.”
“I’ll just bet he did,” Quentin muttered as he shared a grim look with Ronan.
“You have Reg—er, my contact number, correct?” Hoping the guy missed his slip, Ronan sighed when he nodded. “My uncle and I have had a bit of a falling out in recent years. Should you see him again, text me or my cousin Ronan.” He rattled off his own number as the attendant put it in his personal cellphone.
“Yes, the man is bad news,” Quentin added. “Stole the family jewels and all that. I’m also a cousin of Reggie’s and Ronan’s. From America, but I’ll be hanging around, so if you can’t reach them, call me.”
After all the numbers were entered into his phone, the attendant left the three of them in the entryway of Reggie’s flat.
Fintan remained quiet as he followed them through the door to the marbled foyer.
“Why doesn’t he have this warded against strangers?” Quentin murmured as he cautiously moved forward. “I can’t help feeling like I’m about to step into a trap.”
Ronan morphed back into his true form and paid special attention to the details of the entry, looking for anything that might be a deterrent or weapon to hurt them should they progress into the flat. “Aye, and I can’t shake the feeling something’s not altogether right here. Fintan?”
“The ancestors aren’t speaking to me, but I feel we’re relatively safe.”
Quentin gave the Seer a disgusted glance. “That doesn’t sound reassuring in the least.” Of Ronan, he asked, “Reggie wouldn’t not ward the place against strangers, would he?”
“Maybe he wasn’t after viewing us as a threat,” Ronan replied with a thoughtful frown. With a deep, stabilizing breath, he walked into the living room. “Reg?” he called. “Are ya here, man?”
The space felt void of life, as if no soul had been there recently.
“Reg?”
A book fell off the shelf to Ronan’s right.
“What the fuck?” Quentin whispered. “Is this place haunted?”
“By Reggie?” Fintan shook his head, but in a blink, his eyes lost focus and turned opaque.
“Jaysus!” Ronan lurched toward him at the same time Quentin surged forward, and they caught Fintan before he could hit the ground.
Quentin wasn’t as quiet with his second what the fuck.