Mac nodded grimly. “Two more hikers have died since you left, and no one goes out at night right now.”
“Can you take us to the Shoppe?” Bran asked, holding tightly to Aisling’s hand.
Mac eyed their group. “I don’t have room in the cab for everyone, but yeah, I can drive you there.”
“Don’t worry. No one will notice anyone in the truck bed.”
Wariness filled Mac’s eyes beneath the brim of his wide hat, but he didn’t demand an explanation for that statement, merely waved at his truck. “Get in. Sunset is in less than an hour.”
The urgency in Mac’s voice had everyone scrambling toward the truck. Cillian, Bran, and Aisling squeezed into the truck’s cab while Niamh and Seamus hauled themselves into the truck bed. Mac stared at them in the rearview mirror, his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled.
“Are you going to tell me what those people are?” Mac asked. Cillian thought he might already know, judging by the use ofwhatrather thanwho.
“Just drive,” Bran said, and Cillian nodded in silent agreement.
Mac, for his part, didn’t argue. He just pressed on the gas and headed south, back to Pelham.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bran expected the Shoppe to be boarded up from the attack, his car dusty from sitting outside for a couple of months. He figured Mac would have transferred Cillian’s ranger truck back to headquarters with the help of another ranger. What he didn’t expect to see was a convertible Porsche parked next to his Honda Civic and a woman who didn’t know whatclosedmeant standing on the porch.
“What’s she doing here?” Cillian asked from the back seat.
“Being a problem,” Bran said. Before Mac had even pulled into grassy dirt out front that doubled as the Shoppe’s parking lot, Seamus and Niamh had flung themselves out of the truck bed. They still appeared human to his eyes, but the standoff wasn’t something he liked. Cillian got out as well, and Aisling went after him. Bran glanced at the clock on the truck’s dash. “Go home, Mac.”
Mac scowled at him. “What the hell are you doing with Fae? Your mother never would have?—”
“Well, she’s dead, and I’m not,” Bran cut in harshly. “And I’m doing what I have to so that Aisling and this whole town stays safe.”
The silence in the truck rang loudly in his ears. Mac finally let out a heavy sigh. “The Fae are the enemy. They need to die. That’s what your coven has alwayssaid.”
Bran worked his jaw, needing to force himself from reflexively looking at Cillian. “Turns out if you want to kill a Fae, sometimes another Fae can do the job better.”
“This isn’t how your coven has ever done things.”
“That’s not your concern,” Bran said in a low voice, not looking at the guardian. “There’s still time for you to make it home. So go. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He didn’t say they might not see the morning, but Mac was always good at hearing what wasn’t said. Bran was the last of his group out of the truck, and Mac wasted no time in driving off once he shut the door, taillights bright in the encroaching darkness. Bran approached the Shoppe with Cillian and Aisling by his side, eyeing the woman on the porch. “Meghan, isn’t it? What are you doing here?”
“That’s not her name,” Seamus said flatly, hand curled as if he were gripping something. Probably his sword. His glamour was good because Bran knew he was Fae, knew he was in armor and carried a bladed weapon, but he couldn’t see a damn thing in the plain T-shirt and jeans Seamus presently appeared to wear. The modern clothes had no defects to the outfits. It made Bran wonder if Seamus had ever crossed the wyrding into the mortal world before.
Wondered if he’d ever killed any witches.
Bran shook that thought away as Jupitercawedoverhead before landing on the roof. Meghan was dressed in a casual outfit this time, looking fashionable in white wide-legged linen pants and a sleeveless white blouse. Her red hair was tied back in a fishtail braid while a large leather tote bag hung from her elbow.
“You never contacted me,” Meghan said coolly.
“The Shoppe is closed for repairs. The boarded-up windows and door should have clued you in to that fact,” Bran said, halting in front of the porch. Cillian came to a stop beside him, both of them standing in front of Aisling. Seamus and Niamh flanked their little group, looking ready to fight.
“You should have reached out.” Meghan ignored them all in favor of digging through her tote bag, coming up with something that made Bran’s heart nearly stop. “I believe your coven will have use of this.”
In her hand was the Gallagher coven’s grimoire.
“How did you get that?” Bran asked hoarsely, fingernails biting into the palms of his hands.
Meghan arched one perfect eyebrow. “Your mother asked for my help.”
“I don’t believe you.”
