Cillian’s eyebrows crept toward his hairline. “That’s the only thing you wanted to say to me?”
“What else is there?”
A flash of anger flickered in Cillian’s eyes, something that had rarely been directed at Bran when they were younger. “I think there’s plenty. Starting with why you ran off after graduation before I could talk to you.”
“I didn’t run.”
Cillian laughed, the sound sharp and angry as he leaned forward. “Bullshit, Bran. You changed your number and told your mom not to give it or your new address to me. I’d always hear you were in Pelham for a visit only after you’d left again. I haven’t seen you in seven years, and this isn’t the reunion I wanted.”
“We didn’t need a reunion.”
“I wanted one.”
Bran’s gaze skittered away from Cillian’s face, looking at the Shoppe instead. “And if I didn’t?”
Before Cillian could respond, the door to the stairs opened, and Aisling popped her head out. Her expression brightened when shecaught sight of Cillian, and Bran wasn’t surprised when she made a beeline for him. Cillian opened his arms for a hug, and Aisling readily gave him one. “Still not talking?”
It seemed to be everyone’s refrain over the last few days, usually followed by pity and sometimes a promise to feed her and Bran, as if food could fill the emptiness in them both. Cillian didn’t look at Aisling with pity, though, only a sadness that made Bran clench his teeth.
“She’ll talk when she’s ready,” he said.After I’ve found the grimoire and I’ve removed the damn geas on her.
Becoming a pseudo-parent hadn’t been in the cards—tarot or otherwise—but Bran wasn’t going to walk away from his sister and leave her to the whims of foster care. There might be a twelve-year age gap between them, but that didn’t matter. She was all the family he had left, and he would protect her.
“Do you want me to make breakfast, or did you want to go to Red’s?” Bran asked. Aisling pulled away from Cillian and frowned before pointing at the ceiling. “All right. Head upstairs. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Aisling nodded and left the Shoppe on quiet feet. Bran watched her go because it was easier to follow her passage than to look Cillian in the eye.
“She’s a good kid,” Cillian said softly, his anger seemingly gone.
“She’s been through a lot.”
“You both have.”
Grief welled up, sudden and deep. Bran squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, getting himself back under control. “I think you should go.”
“Bran—”
“I only wanted to thank you for helping Aisling.”
“You don’t ever have to thank me for that.”
“Yeah, well.” Bran let out a heavy breath and opened his eyes. “I’m still glad you found her.”
Cillian nodded slowly. “Are you staying in Pelham?”
“What?”
Cillian’s sharp-eyed focus was impossible to escape. He felt pinned like a scarab beetle in a frame. “You heard me.”
It wasn’t like he couldleave, even if Cillian didn’t know that. Branwas hit with the uncomfortable realization that staying meant escaping the other man would be impossible. “You’re going to be late.”
Cillian stepped back from the display case, a look in his eyes that Bran couldn’t read. “See you around, Bran.”
He left, and Bran stood there alone in his mother’s Shoppe, trying to decide if Cillian’s parting words were a promise or a threat and whether or not he minded either way.
Chapter Six
Jupiter pecked the crouton out of the salad bowl before Bran could shoo her off. “No! That’s not for birds!”
