As Damian left to retrieve Sabrina, Ronan studied Alastair Thorne. The flaxen-haired warlock was always impeccably dressed and seemingly in complete control. Although the man appeared cool and collected, Ronan sensed a whirlpool of emotions underneath the calm surface.
“Are you worried, then?” he asked quietly.
Sapphire-blue eyes rose from where they contemplated the scotch in the tumbler he held to meet Ronan’s. What Alastair saw when he looked at him, Ronan couldn’t discern. Was it the image of Loman? Or was he inclined to view Ronan as he did Castor? As a friend.
“I am.” Raising his glass, Alastair sipped his drink, then shut his lids as he seemed to savor the flavor. Finally, he returned to the present. “Sorry. I refuse to taint the enjoyment of a hundred-year-old scotch with unpleasantness.”
Castor snorted and sat beside Ronan. “We all know you love a good scotch. Tell us what you’re thinking, Al.”
“When I popped off to speak with Isis, she didn’t feel it was necessary to invoke the Six families from either side of the veil, but she wanted to keep the option open.” He sighed tiredly. “That tells me she’s uncertain of the outcome. The only time the Goddess isn’t forthcoming is when she can’t see the future. It’s rare, but the Fates can and do block the gods and goddesses for reasons of their own.”
“Why do you believe they’ve blocked her?” Ronan sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
“Her investment in all of us, her descendants, would be my guess. She’s been known to protect us, thus incurring the wrath of the other deities.” Alastair set his glass down, straightened his tie, and avoided looking toward Castor. “It’s possible one of those close to us could perish as a result of Loman’s mischief.”
Drink halted halfway to his mouth, Castor swore. “You think it’s Quentin, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, Alex, and I’m not going to speculate. It’s why we’re here to ask Sabrina.”
“What did Isis say to you?” he demanded, and the hard edge in Castor’s tone left no doubt he expected the truth.
“She said the Fates have allowed us to alter the course of things once too often. Death is meant to follow a timeline. To be permanent and not subject to a mortal’s will,” Alastair replied grimly.
“Sure, and that could mean anything,” Ronan reasoned. “They might’ve been referring to my da and the lives he’s taken.”
“True.”
“But something feels off to you?”
“It does.”
Another wave of unease crashed over Ronan. For too many years to count, he’d had to survive by his instincts, and right now, they were screaming at him. He suspected Alastair and Castor had lived much the same way. If they were feeling trepidation, like him, then all was not as it should be.
“Let’s just hope Sabrina has insight for us,” Alastair said with an attempt at a smile. It never reached his eyes.
They drank in companionable silence until Damian returned with his daughter in tow.
Ronan stood with the expectation that she’d run to him for a hug, but her expression was downcast as she avoided him. His heart began to hammer painfully in his chest. Nothing deterred Sabrina Dethridge.
“No hug for me, then, wee wicked beastie?” he asked gently, praying to Anu he’d misread the situation.
She shook her head and used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes.
The sight of her distress caused Ronan’s stomach to knot, and he sent Damian a questioning look.
The Aether appeared as confused as Ronan felt.
Gathering his courage, he approached her, dropped to one knee, and tilted her chin up. “Whatever you’re worried about, it can’t be so bad, yeah?”
She brushed the tip of her bedazzled pink running shoe back and forth across the carpet, disrupting the direction of the pile with each sweep of her foot.
“You can talk to me, wee wild beastie. I’ll not get upset, and I’ll still be your friend.”
Lifting her head, she stared at him. “I’m not allowed to tell. Papa says.”
Ronan glanced up to see Damian’s quicksilver frown.
“I brought you here to reveal what you know, my love. It’s okay to tell Ronan whatever it is.”
“No!” Sabrina jerked her hand from her father’s. “You told me it’s bad to tell.”
The shock on the Aether’s face was priceless, and Ronan intended to bust his bollocks at a later date—when the situation wasn’t so fecking dire.
With remarkable speed, Damian recovered. Kneeling in front of her, he unfolded her crossed arms and held her hands within his. The picture of a comforting father. “You’re correct, Beastie. In the past, I’ve told you to refrain from blurting out things that might alter another’s future timeline. However, I’m asking you now to please reveal what you know.”
“No!”
One second she was there, and the next, she was gone. Only the fading pink light was any indication she’d been present at all.
“What the hell was that all about?” Castor asked from behind them.
Ronan and Damian rose as one.
“She’s troubled by what she’s seen,” Alastair said, joining their small group. “It doesn’t take an empath to sense her turmoil.”
And Ronan couldn’t help but feel that turmoil was directly related to him. “What do we do now?”
“We seek her out and try again,” Damian replied grimly. “It’s obvious she’s had a vision and is bothered by what she knows.”
“I don’t want to traumatize the girl.”
“She’s the Oracle, and with that title comes a responsibility to the witch community. Sabrina cannot throw a temper tantrum whenever it suits her to do so. If called upon, she needs to understand what is required of her.”
Alastair shook his head. “She’s a child, Dethridge. You can’t expect her to be fine with everything she sees. Especially if it has to do with someone she cares about.”
“I know exactly how difficult it is, Thorne,” Damian stated coldly. So coldly, in fact, that the air contracted with his anger and a thin layer of frost covered the window panes. “Have you forgotten I was made the Aether at only eight years old? Did the deities show me mercy when I was called upon to do my duty? The removal of another’s magic is excruciating for them and not a joy to be a part of.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it, Damian,” Castor said, attempting to placate him. “And we get that you’re worried about her. But you need to pull back your anger before you encase the house in ice.”
As if the central heating had kicked on, a warm breeze flooded the room, removing the last traces of the bitter cold. “My apologies, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my daughter.”
“We’ll help you look,” Ronan offered.
After a sharp nod, Damian strode from the room.
“I’ll take the kitchens,” Alastair said.
“All you ever think about is your bottomless pit of a stomach, Al,” Castor complained.
Alastair grinned. “You’re just irritated you didn’t think to call it first.”
For the first time in what felt like hours, Ronan laughed. “He has you there, Uncle. I imagine Damian has gone to check the wee beastie’s room, but I think I know where she went, all the same. If there’s not any chocolate gelato left for me when I get back, I’ll be knowin’ the why of it,” he warned them.
* * *
Ronan found Sabrina hiding in Baz’s barn with a black-and-tan Rottweiler puppy curled in her lap.
“Are you angry with me, then, love?”
She shook her head and swiped a tear from her cheek.
“Do you want to talk about what has ya so upset?”
Again, she moved her head in a negative fashion.
“And it’s something you can’t be telling your da?”
Sabrina gave a half-hearted shrug.
Crouching down, Ronan scratched the sleeping pup behind the ear. “I think I recognize this one, I do.”
“It’s the one you picked out for Dubheasa.”
“I picked, or the one you picked for me?”
A fleeting smile flashed across her face, but she sobered again just as quickly. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“You think I’ll be upset by what you reveal, yeah?”
She nodded.
His stomach dropped. Her prediction had to be dire, to be sure. “And there’s no chance you could be wrong?”
“No,” she whispered.
Ronan sat beside her. “Do ya want to know what I think, wee wild beastie?”
Lifting her head, she stared up at him. The agony of indecision was written on her dirty, tear-streaked face. “What?”
“I think you don’t have to tell me anything that brings tears to your grand eyes. But if ya think there might be something that helps others, it’s okay to let your da in on the secret.” Ronan gently bumped her shoulder with his. “He’s been around a lot longer than the two of us, and he might have a few tricks up his sleeve. I’m after betting he can help.”
“But it always ends bad, Ronan.” With a choked sob, she set the puppy aside. “I d-don’t want it t-to end b-bad,” she croaked and flung herself into his arms.
Holding her close, he rested his cheek on the top of her head and rubbed her back as she continued to cry. “It’s gonna be alright, love. Nothing is worth such grief.” When she sobbed harder, Ronan’s emotion got the better of him, and tears stung his eyes. Her pain gutted him. “Hush now, darlin’ girl.”
A sixth sense told him Damian was close, and Ronan visually searched the darkened corners of the barn for his friend. Chances were, if Sabrina was in distress, the Aether wouldn’t be far. Movement in the shadows to his left caught Ronan’s attention an instant before Damian stepped into the dimly lit room.
“Has she told you?” her father asked quietly.
“Nah. It breaks her puir heart to say. I’ll not push for details.”
Damian squatted beside them and placed a hand on the crown of his daughter’s head. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit with her for a while.”
“And I’d be going, but she’s clinging to me like an ivy, she is.” Ronan put his mouth by her ear and, in a conversational tone, said, “There are those who aren’t aware of it, but ivy is a tough, tenacious plant, to be sure. It grows wild, climbing trellises and trees alike. Not so different from a wee beastie I’m acquainted with.”
Her head came up, and curiosity lit her red-rimmed eyes. “Poison ivy?”
“Well, sure, if you want to be aggravatin’ others, you could be the poisoned variety, but I’m guessing you want to be the pretty English ivy whose flowers provide nectar for bees and that produces berries for birds come winter, yeah?”
She grinned, and his heart ceased to ache on her behalf. Like English ivy, she was resilient.
“Tell your da what ya know, wee wild beastie. Trust him to help you.”
“I love you, Ronan.”
“Sure, and why wouldn’t ya?” he asked, infusing his tone with surprise that she might not.
With a giggle, she released him and reached for her father.
Over her head, Damian’s grateful gaze met his. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
With a half smile, Ronan left. Part of him was tempted to eavesdrop, but they’d sense his presence, and it was a given that those who listened at keyholes never heard any good about themselves. The Aether would tell him what he found out in good time, and while he waited, Ronan intended to enjoy the chocolate gelato the Dethridges kept on hand.