Whiskey & Witches Read online

  “It triggers the night terrors.” Carrick shoved his bowl away. “I’m sorry, Ro. I have to do what’s best for him, all the same.”

  “You mean what you think is best for him.”

  “He’ll never accept you. Not like this.”

  She glanced up in time to see the pity in his eyes. Rage clouded her vision, and the plates on a nearby shelf rattled as an expression of her most profound emotions. “Get out of my house and never come back.”

  “Ro—”

  “Get out!”

  The ground rumbled, and his face grew pale.

  “Is this what happened that day? Did your anger take over?” he demanded.

  Her fury faded into a black void of grief. “I don’t know. I don’t remember much.”

  But she did. She remembered almost everything, although she wouldn’t say it, not to him anyway. He didn’t need to seek out the truth and get himself hurt or possibly killed going after a phantom. But she’d find their attacker, and whoever it was would pay for what he did to her family. For now, she would try to be patient a little longer, but that patience was thinning. Answers needed to be discovered, and soon.

  Roisin climbed to her feet with great care. If she moved at a pace faster than a snail, her back would pinch, and it would take the devil’s own magic to make the muscles respond to her commands.

  Carrick jumped up to assist her.

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice raspy and raw. “Never touch me.”

  “I was only trying to help.”

  “I don’t want your help.” What she wanted was her family back, and that he wouldn’t give her. Never mind that she’d initially thought the plan a sound one. She’d quickly discovered they’d erred in their scheming. Aeden was getting worse, not better, and she was never going to heal the scars on her face. Her magic was too erratic and never lasted long.

  Roisin shuffled to the other end of the kitchen and reached for the elixir she’d concocted for Aeden. Her back spasmed, and she couldn’t prevent a cry of pain. Silently cursing herself for overdoing her exercise today, she gritted her teeth and tried to push through the worst of it.

  Warm, strong arms encircled her from behind, and for a brief, heavenly second, Carrick held her to his chest. She didn’t have more than a heartbeat or two to savor the feel of his touch before he scooped her up and set her on the kitchen bench.

  “Bleeding stubborn to the last.” There was a hint of affection in his statement. When he squatted to look at her face, she lifted her hands to shield the damage. “Your scars don’t matter to me, Ro. They never have.”

  “Sure they do. They matter enough that I can’t be part of your life. Part of Aeden’s.”

  His expression turned to stone, and he stood. “He has horrific nightmares of that day. It’s caused him to shut down. I’ll not subject him to anything that could trigger more trauma for him.” He softened marginally. “We both agreed it was the right thing to do, Ro.”

  “Yeah.” She tried to tell herself he was being a good da and that she was a good mother, but it got more challenging every day. “Take the potion and go, Carrick.” She pointed to the bottle she’d tried to reach, then to the envelope at the far end of the table. “There’s the spell to go with it.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m tired, and I need rest.”

  What she really meant was that she was exhausted from the age-old argument. He’d made the decision to protect their son from the horror of her face while she’d been in stasis. And when Roisin had woken, he’d presented the plan to her. In her broken state with endless hours of recovery ahead of her, she’d agreed. Not only to protect Aeden’s mental health, but because someone had targeted her that day, and she saw no other recourse to keep Aeden safe until she discovered who.

  But in the interval, her spirit had been crushed, and her seemingly unbreakable bond with Carrick had frayed, becoming dangerously close to severing. These days, all she ever received from him—when he wasn’t shoving her away and reminding her this horrid way of life was better for everyone involved—were rare scraps of affection. She was tired of that, too.

  No more.

  She refused to meet his probing gaze and kept her eyes trained on the stone floor.

  It seemed as if an hour passed before he moved out of her good eye’s peripheral.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s for his throat. I’ve been working on the proper recipe for months. That should help.”

  His large hand came down on her shoulder and caused her to jump.

  Damned blind eye!

  And damned stealthy male!

  “What’s the dosage?” Carrick held the bottle to the light and squinted at the contents.

  “A spoonful morning, noon, and night until it’s gone. And should he regain his voice, he’s to continue until there’s none left.”

  “What if he hates the flavor?” he asked dryly. “You don’t know what it’s like to make that child take—”

  He clammed up when she glared. Their gazes remained locked until redness dusted his cheeks. “Right. Sorry, love.”

  “I flavored it to taste like his favorite sweets. He’ll take it without complaint,” she told him as he retrieved the envelope with a handwritten spell from the end of the table. “He might not be able to speak that aloud, but have him mouth it, at least.” She gave Carrick a pointed look. “Aeden needs to concentrate on the words and the intent behind them. It will give the potion a boost.”

  “He’s an O’Malley. He has no power.”

  “Oh, you O’Malleys hold more magic than you realize. But the spell is from my family’s grimoire and the potion from me. It’ll work.”

  “Will it tax your strength?” he asked.

  “Cautious to the last,” she muttered. “What does it matter if it does? It’s for our son.”

  Carrick’s dark green eyes focused on her, and in their depths, she saw his thanks. Roisin was positive she heard her heart crack for the third time that day. His gratitude made all of this worse; he truly believed parting Aeden and her had been for the best.

  Fool.

  Once, those stunning eyes of his had been a brilliant emerald color. But since their personal tragedy, they had turned the shade of a shadowed forest. Eyes were a witch’s tell. The lighter and brighter the color, the happier or more content the person was. Carrick’s told the tale of his pain.

  “I don’t know how to express my thanks, Ro.”

  “Meg. I’m Meghan now. Roisin is never waking from her stasis, remember?” she said snidely. “And I’m not doing any of this for you. I’m doing it for Aeden. And only because I don’t want him to know his da is a fecking eejit.”

  She bit her lower lip as she struggled to her feet. Having Carrick hover over her was a strain on her neck. With her standard shuffling walk, she crossed to the door and opened it. “Goodbye, Carrick.”

  He paused in front of her. His hand lifted to her destroyed cheek, and she flinched at his touch. As he trailed three fingers along the network of scars, she forced herself to give him a stern look from her good eye.

  Wordlessly, he dropped his arm and left her alone.

  A sob caught in her throat, and she sank to the ground with her back to the closed door, giving in to her grief. Sitting like this would cause a cramp, and she knew it would be hours before she could move again.

  CHAPTER 2

  Carrick heard Roisin’s heartbreak through the closed door. Her sobs became louder with each passing minute. He placed the flat of his hand against the weathered wood and hung his head. As if, somehow, that simple touch could alleviate her pain.

  It couldn’t.

  He found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. Roisin couldn’t maintain a glamour for any extended amount of time, and the sight of her disfigurement would certainly send Aeden spiraling into the dark abyss associated with the accident. As it was, their son was convinced monsters were out to destroy their entire family.

  No, despite the
fact he loved Roisin, Carrick needed to keep her and Aeden separated until she could keep a disguise in place for longer than an hour or until their son’s mental state improved. Their beloved boy was Carrick’s number one priority.

  As he meandered home, he wondered—not for the first time—if he should have an honest conversation with Roisin. If he should remind her his love for her would never die and beg her to grab what small happiness they could when stolen moments allowed. Even as he had the thought, he discarded it. They’d already been down that path, and she was too proud to settle. Without a doubt, she’d insist he was only with her out of duty.

  His heart ached at the remembered sight of her pitiful attempt to cover her scars. The network of raised, angry keloids crisscrossing her face and causing her sightless eye to droop might be grotesque to some, but he saw none of that. Her inner beauty and magic shone too brightly. He was the one blinded in her presence. If only Aeden could see it the same, perhaps then, they might begin to rebuild their lives.

  Carrick’s hand tightened around the neck of the bottle Roisin had given him. A tear trailed down his cheek, and he swiped it away with the back of his hand. She’d faced it all—rejection, ridicule, constant physical pain—with a brave heart and a defiant tilt of her chin. The residents of their tiny village had never cared for or treated Meg well, and yet, Ro courageously posed as her much-hated sister as they looked for a way to help fully recover her magic.

  To anyone else, her sacrifice might not make sense; however, Carrick and Roisin felt this way allowed her to visit Aeden on occasion and prevented their son from encountering gossiping gobshites without a care for his feelings. Neither Roisin nor Carrick had considered what it might look like when he went to the cottage to check on his wife. The more critical members of their village liked to speculate on his “affair” with Meg.

  If Carrick hadn’t already loved Roisin before today, he certainly would have after. The elixir in his hand spoke of a genuinely good soul who cared more for a seven-year-old child than she did her own wants or needs.

  “Ah, Ro,” he whispered to the wind. For the millisecond he was able to hold her, he thanked the Goddess Anu. The bittersweet feel of Roisin in his arms, along with the smell of her lilac-scented skin, nearly drove him mad from his need to hold her forever. And for the moment, he believed she enjoyed being held by him, too. The light caress of her fingers through the fine hairs on his forearm, the deep sigh she expelled when her back connected with his chest, and the slight softening of her stance before she remembered to put up her guard, all spoke of a deeper desire to be close.

  Carrick opened the gate and smiled at Aeden, who waited so patiently on the stoop for him to come home. “Hello, my boyo.”

  “Hi, Da,” Aeden signed. He had no smile for Carrick. Indeed, his son had forgotten what it was to laugh. Their only hope lay in the liquid contained in the amber bottle and the spell in his pocket.

  And perhaps a new therapist.

  The old one had done nothing to help him get past the trauma.

  Piper Thorne, his brother Cian’s American fiancée, stepped out of the open door and graced Carrick with a wide smile. “You’re back! That was fast.” She placed one hand on her slightly protruding belly and ruffled Aeden’s shaggy blond curls with the other. Soon, she’d have another O’Malley child to spoil. “Aeden and I had a wonderful time while you were gone.” She cast a quick glance around and said, “I conjured my cousin Winnie’s infamous cinnamon rolls. They’re as big as a plate and dripping with the tastiest icing you’ve ever eaten.”

  Aeden’s eyes lit with hero worship as he looked up at her. She smiled down at him with the same expression. Carrick told himself that Piper and his sister Bridget might be all the female influence his son would need. But inside, he knew himself for a liar, all the same. No one could replace Roisin.

  “Did you accomplish what you needed?” Piper asked.

  “Mostly, but I’m not sure it made a blind bit of difference.” He gave her a tight smile. No one knew the truth of his relationship with his not-really-deceased wife, and he intended to keep it that way as long as possible. Aeden believed Ro was in stasis. The rest of the world thought her dead. It was for the best until their son healed in mind and spirit.

  Carrick held up the bottle in his hand. “I brought Aeden a new medicine to try.”

  A sullen look settled on his son’s hauntingly thin face.

  “Look, I’m told it will help,” Carrick told him. His resolve was firm. Whatever it took to make Aeden a normal child again, he’d do.

  “Wow,” Piper said softly, her enchanting honey-colored gaze intent on the bottle. “It has to be a powerful witch to brew what you’ve got. I can see the pulse of magic from here.”

  Both he and Aeden frowned at the cobalt blue glass.

  “Are you codding me?” Although Carrick could tell a witch from a normal mortal from their glowing aura, he’d never been able to tell if an object was infused with magic or enchanted due to his family’s curse. For two-hundred-and-fifty years, they’d been without real power because some thieving O’Connor stole a sword the O’Malleys had promised to protect. The god Goibhniu, who’d entrusted the weapon to Carrick’s family, didn’t take the loss well.

  Piper laughed lightly at his question and shook her head. “If that means kidding you, then not at all. I suppose if you had your abilities, you’d see it. Did a spell accompany the potion?”

  “Yeah, it did.” He wasn’t sure why he was hesitant to pull the paper from his pocket, but he was.

  Her narrowed eyes assessed him, then the bottle.

  Wordlessly, he handed her the written note from Roisin. She studied what he’d given her in silence.

  “Well?”

  “I can’t see where it wouldn’t work.” Piper handed the paper back. “It’s worded correctly.”

  Carrick expelled a long breath in his relief. He wasn’t sure why he feared failure—maybe because their family’s luck had been shite for what felt like forever—but he had. Perhaps there was a subconscious worry what Roisin gave him wouldn’t work, and once again, he’d let down his son.

  “I’m happy to lend my magic to the cause,” Piper offered. “I know Cousin GiGi would help as well. She’s the most skilled healer I’ve ever encountered and would willingly confer with the witch who gave this to you.”

  Embarrassment caused Carrick’s neck to heat, and he scratched behind his left ear. His wife would’ve teased him had she been around to see. Roisin never missed those small gestures that gave him away and used to delight in every one. A fresh wave of sadness washed over him, and the air seized in his lungs. The first indication of a panic attack began with the crawling sensation under his skin and his need to be anywhere but where he was. He’d started having these episodes when Roisin failed to wake after the wreck. They were rare but tended to creep up on him at the oddest moments, like now.

  For seven full years, he’d believed the ill-luck haunting the O’Malleys had passed him by. But the accident changed his thinking and had left him wondering why he’d been arrogant enough to dream he, of all people, was special.

  He took a few deep, calming breaths and counted back from ten.

  “Carrick? Are you okay?”

  He shook his head in an attempt to let go of the past and dispel the remaining anxiety.

  “Sorry.” A glance showed Aeden watched him, his blond brows drawn together. Carrick forced a smile for his son’s benefit and held up the potion. “Ready to craic on?”

  Roisin was alerted at the exact moment her spell had been used. She’d charmed the elixir so she’d know if Aeden was taking it as prescribed. If he wasn’t, she’d intended to blister Carrick’s ears.

  Swiping a hand over the silver-framed scrying mirror in front of her, she watched her small family as they performed the ritual. She saw the dark-haired witch interact with Aeden, and for the first time since she’d been spying on her husband and son, she witnessed Aeden’s pink lips twist in a semblance of a
smile for Piper Thorne.

  Roisin’s heart spasmed to know he’d never again look at her with such unguarded love. No, she’d frightened him the day of the accident and in the days that followed. Some inner part of him recognized she was responsible for all his woes. It didn’t stop her from scrying or from seeing Carrick’s eyes fill with something other than pain for the first time since she woke.

  On rare occasions, she’d seen a fleeting glimpse of more in his green eyes. Eyes that, when happy, rivaled the rolling emerald fields of Éire. Eyes that saw through her most times.

  She shivered.

  Should he ever guess the truth, those magnificent eyes would be forever dark; she failed to protect their son when it counted. As it was, he couldn’t understand why she’d been traveling with Meg to begin with. He’d known all about their continual strife. But he didn’t know about the rest, and until she unraveled the threads of the mystery herself, she would keep silent.

  With a swipe of her hand, Roisin hid the sweet scene at Carrick’s from view. She didn’t want to see another woman in the role she coveted for herself, whether it was an innocent relationship or no. Roisin chided herself on her foolishness. Jealousy had no place in her current, miserable existence, and she needed to keep her stronger emotions in check.

  Heaving a heavy sigh, she returned the mirror to the sideboard between her tiny kitchen and living area. She added the trio of candles on top. Should she ever have a visitor, they wouldn’t see it as anything other than decor, certainly not the instrument she used to torture herself daily. They’d simply see Meghan Byrne, the surly Witch of the Woods who made potions for people for money and who despised their village as a whole.

  A glance out the window showed the afternoon weather was mild and the sun shining. A perfect time to work in the yard and get her mind off what might never be. She gathered a basket, gardening gloves, and a straw hat. Within twenty minutes, she’d pruned all the bushes and discarded her gloves to get lost in the sensation of dirt sifting through her fingers.