Whiskey & Witches Read online

  Whiskey & Witches Copyright © 2022 T.M. Cromer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN: 978-1-7352032-9-4 (EPUB)

  ISBN: 978-1-956941-09-8 (PAPERBACK)

  ISBN: 978-1-956941-08-1 (HARDBACK)

  ISBN: 978-1-956941-10-4 (LARGE PRINT)

  Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design

  Edits: Precise Editing Group

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  To Kate Bateman:

  Thanks for the hours you spent with me at Panera Bread trying to make sense of a non-existent plot.

  “Bloody hell, Tara!”

  * * *

  A special shoutout goes to my hubs, Cynthia St. Aubin, Sarah Hegger, and Kate Bateman for taking my sucky blurb and turning it into something readers might find intriguing.

  * * *

  To Brendan, Dani, Tracey, and Alison:

  You’ve helped me create a story I’m proud of. Thank you for knowledge on all things Irish!

  CONTENTS

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  PREFACE

  Aeden.

  The pain was unexpected.

  Unbelievable.

  Unbearable.

  The movement of Roisin’s chest was compressed by the immovable part of the vehicle’s framework that caged her. Taking anything other than a partial, panting breath was impossible.

  Aeden.

  She wanted to call out to her son, but she couldn’t. Speaking required more air than she could muster with a single inhale. Even had she been able, the ability to draw in any oxygen was hindered by the sudden smoke filling the cab of their Rover. She knew real fear then. Smoke meant fire. It wasn’t just the compression of the metal or the thickening tendrils of smoke making breathing difficult; it was the blind panic beginning to set in.

  Aeden.

  Her beautiful golden boy. She could hear him crying in the back, and every fiber of her being needed to get to him, but she couldn’t. Her magic was gone, and without it, there was no prying herself out of the tangled metal.

  His terrified screams rose to a crescendo, becoming more frantic with each passing second. Then, they were no more. She cried out to him, but the sound was an aborted gurgle, and blood bubbled up from her lungs and into her mouth.

  Aeden!

  Her heart stopped beating.

  The physical agony eased with her death, but the anxiety for her son clung to her and wouldn’t let her cross to the Otherworld.

  Aeden.

  She couldn’t leave him, not her precious son. He needed his mam.

  Her heart thudded once. Stopped. Then started again, the beat thready and irregular. Barely there, like her spirit, but tenacious all the same. She was alive, and she’d stay that way for as long as it took to make sure her son was safe.

  Brilliant white-gold light filled the vehicle and felt like it seared her retinas behind her closed lids. The entire right side of her face was aflame, and the initial stinging turned into a raging fire. She gasped and immediately regretted the movement as another bubble of blood filled her mouth.

  “Don’t move, love. I’ve got you.”

  Whoever he was, his was the voice of an angel. Or perhaps a god because she wasn’t sure angels existed in the truest sense of the word. Gods did, though. And Fae. She definitely believed in the Fae, those mischievous feckers.

  The metal was sheered away, and Roisin had a vague sense of a giant looming above her.

  “Jaysus!”

  The light was still too great for her to open her eyes, but she turned her face toward the sound of his sucked-in breath. She wanted to speak. Wanted to ask him what was bad enough to cause that type of reaction. But she suspected the wreckage of her body was a gruesome sight.

  “Aeden?” she croaked.

  “He’s safe, never you fear. I’ll not let anything happen to him, love.”

  She managed a hint of a nod.

  “Meg,” she whispered past suddenly dry lips. She hadn’t heard her sister speak or move, and Roisin feared the worst.

  “It’s okay, Meg. I’ve got you.”

  “Sister…” The metallic taste of her blood mixed with the burn of bile, and she swallowed hard as another wave of fierce pain washed over her.

  Gentle fingers stroked the hair back from her face. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.

  The salty sting of tears burned the open, raw wounds of her face.

  Meg.

  Gone.

  Somehow, she’d already known that her larger-than-life, sassy sister who held the world in the palm of her hand was dead. Her rebellious sister who only truly wanted the one thing she could never have: Carrick. Roisin’s beloved husband.

  “I’m not a healer, but I can pause the internal bleeding until I get you to hospital for the help you need.”

  She opened her eyes and stared into the silvery depths of her savior. No longer able to manage speech or movement, feeling her life force fading, she blinked.

  “I’m going to need you to hang in there and not die on my watch, Meg.”

  His hand burned where it rested over her heart, but she felt the suffocating fluid filling her chest cavity recede, and her breathing was marginally easier. Turning her head away from his too-intense stare, her gaze touched on her son lying by the side of the road.

  Aeden!

  Her panic returned, and she feebly shoved at the thick, muscled chest holding her. She’d been unaware of speaking, but the gentle giant holding her was quick to ease her fear.

  “I’ve put him to sleep. He’s not hurt but for a little smoke inhalation. The fire’s out now, and he’s safe.” He touched her hand. “If you know what I am, you know what I can do, Meg. I’m going to use my magic to probe your spine for injuries, and I need you to stay perfectly still for me. You can do that, yeah?”

  She didn’t have the strength to move or speak, so she simply blinked her acknowledgment, feeling suddenly detached from it all.

  A pulse of power, just shy of an electrical zap, slowly traveled from the base of her skull to her tailbone, hesitating around the area of her low back as if it were exploring that area.

  “Nothing severe, but I think you have a few fractures, love. I need to get you out of this bloody mess, which means you’re going to experience a bit more pain.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but closed it again as blood trickled out in place of her words.

  “I’ve no choice, Meg. The whole thing could blow.”

  With great c
are, he used his magic and large, gentle hands to ease her out of the wreckage, then strode with her to where Aeden was curled up. Bending, he used the hand supporting her legs to touch the crown of her son’s head. Roisin’s cells warmed, starting with the nucleus and burning outward, heating her entire body as he teleported them away from the crash site.

  The sounds of an ambulance in the distance and of nearby shouting indicated they’d arrived at hospital.

  As the blackness crowded the edges of her consciousness, she heard her rescuer’s smooth, confident tone as he explained the situation to another and handed her off to the medical personnel. She had enough presence of mind to grasp his hand and squeeze—the only thanks she could manage.

  “Aeden is safe,” he murmured. “We’ll contact his da. Rest now, love.”

  And so she did.

  CHAPTER 1

  10 MONTHS LATER

  Aeden O’Malley was playing in the yard when the blonde witch arrived. Even at the ripe old age of seven, he knew what she was. Her light was brighter than most, meaning she was magically stronger than others like them. But even as he watched, it flickered as if it could go dark at any second. As if maybe she didn’t have full control over it.

  “How are you getting on, Aeden?” she asked, her pleasant smile reminding him of his mother. Everything reminded him of her. But she was gone now. Hurt so badly in a car accident that she was still in life-threatening stasis, unable to have visitors, according to his da.

  Hurt by evil.

  He’d tried to sneak off and see her once, only to get lost on the way and later be found by his worried da. His father had punished him for “takin’ years off his fecking life” and made Aeden promise never to attempt it again. The panic and mist of tears in Da’s eyes had made the promise an easy one.

  As the witch moved closer, Aeden jumped to his feet and barred the walkway.

  Her gentle smile shifted into a frown, and she looked beyond him to the door of the cottage, then back down at him. “Are you all right, Aeden?”

  He wanted to ask why she was here. Demand to know why she kept returning to see him, but his vocal cords refused to work most days. His throat had been damaged after he inhaled too much of the smoke from the flames surrounding the vehicle his mother had driven. Six months later, he’d stopped speaking to anyone but his da due to the pain, and he’d learned to sign, communicating with his hands and a few grunts. Once or twice during a nightmare, he managed a terrified scream, and he could still speak, but not without difficulty.

  Tears stung his eyes, and he pressed his lips together. Why did she get to visit him when his mother couldn’t? The witch who was his mother’s sister. Aunt Meg had never been nice to him in the past unless she wanted something, and he had no reason to trust her now.

  A soft light entered her sorrowful eyes, and she reached out a hand as if to stroke his cheek.

  Jerking back, he scowled and slapped her hand away. He wouldn’t be fooled by her, and he didn’t want her fake kindness. Didn’t need it when he had real family to look out for him. Turning away, he scooped up his toys and raced for the front door.

  “Aeden?” she called, and there was unhappiness in the sound.

  He paused just as he reached the entrance to his home, something in her voice compelling him to turn around.

  “I can help you.” Her smile was hesitant. “If you’d like.”

  He didn’t want her help.

  Didn’t deserve it.

  He was the reason his mother wouldn’t wake up. But he couldn’t tell her that. Couldn’t tell anyone.

  Aeden ran.

  * * *

  Roisin Byrne-O’Malley sighed deeply. For the sixth time in a month, she’d come to insist Carrick use her magical services to help Aeden. She’d have done it after waking from her coma, but her husband hadn’t wanted to tax her strength. Maybe he’d be more receptive to her cures after so much time had passed. Sure, and she wasn’t back to one-hundred percent, but her magic was stronger than it had been, and she was desperate to get their lives back to normal.

  Without a doubt, they needed to discuss revealing the truth to Aeden. Their son grew more surly by the day, and he still rejected her overtures as Meg. Granted, her sister had been a raging bitch to him, and posing as her wasn’t a comfort to him. Aeden had seen through her sister when she’d been alive, and it appeared he didn’t believe she’d had a change of heart now.

  Movement in an upstairs window caught her attention. As if she’d conjured him with her thoughts, Carrick appeared. He stared down at her, his corded arms crossed over his impressive chest and a dark scowl on his devastatingly handsome face. Today, he only wore a simple navy-blue t-shirt. Even from this distance, Roisin could see how the material loved his body, conforming to all the well-defined muscles.

  Oh, how she remembered the beautiful contour of his chest and abdomen!

  Damn, but the man was grand. Always had been, always would be.

  Too bad he had no place in his life for her anymore. She felt a literal pang in the region of her heart, and she imagined she could hear another crack as it fractured further. They’d grown distant since she’d woken from her stasis, and separate households didn’t help their relationship. It only served as a constant divide as the weeks, then months flew by.

  She gave a tentative little wave, causing his frown to deepen to a scowl. Without meaning to, she grinned, mostly to annoy him and cover her heartache. But her cheeky smile disappeared when he ran a hand through his thick black hair and turned away in dismissal. Tears welled up, and she violently wiped them away. Hers was a family she couldn’t have anymore, and she was an eejit for thinking she could change things. For wanting everything back the way it had been before that fateful day.

  A tingling in her face was the only indication her glamour spell was wearing thin. She released the clip holding her hair and arranged the thick layers to shield most of her scarred visage. Careful to keep the ravaged side away from oncoming foot traffic, she traveled the short distance until she came to the dirt path leading to her cottage. The remainder of the glamour dissolved, and her hair morphed from a smooth strawberry blonde to a wild mass of golden curls. Thank the Goddess, her place was as close as it was; anyone witnessing her transformation would be in for the shock of their lives.

  She’d only been home five minutes or so when the banging on her front door commanded her attention.

  Carrick.

  It had to be. No one else would dare be that demanding of the Witch of the Woods. Not in her own home anyway.

  “Open the door, Roisin!”

  The challenging tone grated on her nerves. Who the hell did he think he was? He had rejected her. Now he thought to come here and what? Take her to task for talking to Aeden on an unscheduled day? For trying to reach beyond their poor child’s pain and help him heal? For giving in to her need to see her son?

  “Go away, Carrick. I’m not accepting callers today,” she hollered from the other side of the wooden panel.

  “Jaysus, woman, you’d try the patience of a saint! Open the fecking door!”

  A little devil danced on her shoulder. “Only if you ask me nicely. I’ll be expecting a please from you, I will.”

  She imagined she could hear his teeth gnash together. To be sure, she heard his frustrated exhale.

  “Please,” he gritted out.

  Suppressing the bubble of laughter was difficult, but she managed. She didn’t know why she found his irritation amusing these days, but she’d take her jollies where she could get them. When she could speak without inflection, she said, “Please, what?”

  “I swear to the Goddess,” he muttered. Raising his voice a hair louder, he called, “Please, open the bleedin’ door!”

  She turned the knob and stepped away, presenting her back. “It wasn’t locked.”

  “You’d try the patience of a saint.”

  “You’re getting repetitive, Carrick, my love. I’d make a concerted effort to find another way to insult me if
I were you. It shouldn’t be too hard.” Without bothering to spare him a glance, she limped to the stove and spooned stew into two bowls. She slapped them on the table and followed it with a crusty loaf of freshly baked bread. “Eat. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in ages.”

  She sat to his right to hide the direct line of sight to her scarred side. After a long, tense moment, he joined her at the table. They ate in silence, shoulders bumping lightly, and she got lost to another time when the two of them had broken bread together. A time when love and laughter were the themes of the day. A time when they had lovingly fed each other and followed each bite with a delicious kiss.

  “I think you have to stop coming by, Ro. You’re frightening Aeden.”

  “I’m not giving up.” She struggled to keep her voice steady even though her heart was thumping wildly in her chest, on the verge of breaking completely. “I’ve never let him see the marks, and anyway, I think he’s ready for the truth.”

  “I don’t.” Carrick’s voice was as grim as his look. “His behavior is worse. And when you appear like you do, lookin’ like Meg, you remind him of his mother.”

  Her stomach clenched in knots, and she wanted to shout that she was his mother. “Is that such a bad thing? To let him think of me?”

  Carrick set his spoon down with a loud clatter. “Yes, it is. Thoughts of you are bad for all of us.”

  Blinking furiously, she set down her spoon and placed her shaking hands flat on the table. “You’re a complete arse! We were great, Carrick. Those memories are good for him, and if we take the time to explain, he’ll understand. He’s a clever boy.”