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They were silent for a long moment. Gideon was probably thinking about the changes a new baby would bring to their lives. Maybe he was thinking about having a son. About baseball and football and fixing old cars.
Did Ryder want a son one day? He loved Cassidy, she knew that, but...was it enough? Did he long for more?
“Back to the matter at hand,” Gideon said, all business once again. “Who are you, dammit? Where do you belong? No one can tell you, you have to feel it.”
Feel it. She’d been feeling all her life. Good and bad, traumatic and ecstatic. On occasion she tried to block it all out, but she did know how to feel.
“I want to sing,” she said softly. “I want to make music.”
Gideon nodded. “Good. That’s a start. What kind of music? Where?”
The answer was crystal clear, but it wasn’t going to be easy. Was anything worthwhile ever easy? Wasn’t what she wanted and who she was deep inside worth fighting for?
She turned to look at her cousin, studying his profile for a few seconds before she said, in the most commanding voice she could muster, “Turn the car around.”
* * *
Rye looked toward the table where he’d laid Echo down last night. He wasn’t sure he could ever allow anyone to sit at that table again. It was his. Hers. Theirs. He glanced at the stage where Echo had played and sang on so many nights. The space had never looked so empty to him before.
He’d lied to her about never having music in the pub. There were a couple of decent local bands that performed almost every weekend. One played traditional Irish music, while the other dabbled in soft rock. He’d paid them to back off while she’d been here because he wanted to listen to her sing. He wanted to watch her light up as she sat on that stage with a guitar in her hands.
Last night he’d been so sure he was making the right decision in sending her away, but now...he didn’t know what came next. He didn’t belong here, not when the powers he’d possessed had been stripped away. What if he made them uncomfortable, and they stopped coming to the pub altogether?
It wasn’t as if he had many choices. He couldn’t take Cassidy out into the world, not with puberty and the chaos that would bring to someone so incredibly gifted on the horizon. Her place was here. Somehow, he’d have to make it work. For her.
The pub remained closed. No one felt like celebrating at the moment. Even the grumpy trio of old men who were here six days a week was steering clear of the place. Nevan had called in reinforcements and rid himself of Doyle and his seven hired guns. They were all in a jail cell somewhere. Rye didn’t know where, and he didn’t care. The soldiers would receive treatment for their minor wounds and then they’d have their minds cleared of recent memories before they were dropped off in a big city somewhere in the world. Each of them in a different city, a different country.
Doyle was another matter. His memories had been removed, as well, but he would never go free. Nevan’s word that the man who’d tried to kill Cassidy would never leave his lonely prison was good enough for Rye.
Some of Cloughban’s own had been injured, others were shaken up by the invasion. This was supposed to be a place of safety, of isolation. Soon enough some would need to commiserate, and what better place than the village pub.
The Drunken Stone would come to life again, but it would never be the same.
He needed to find a new cook.
Maybe a waitress.
He’d get a band back for the weekend, but...no, it wouldn’t be the same.
Cassidy, who was not allowed in the pub under normal circumstances, sat with her grandmother in the corner booth. He’d been surprised to see them, but he was also glad of the company. He didn’t need to sit here and feel sorry for himself.
Bryna looked tired, worn out to the bone. Cassidy had bounced back more quickly than any of the adults. Kids were like that. Rye hoped she could forget what had happened to her in the past few days, but he suspected she would not.
“Da, I’m very disappointed in you,” Cassidy said in a put-on grown-up voice.
There were so many reasons for her to be disappointed, but he suspected he knew what hers were. The most magically gifted being in the world, and her father was...
“Not that,” she said with childish disdain.
“It’s rude to read people without their permission.”
“I can’t help it,” she said. “You’re all but shouting. I don’t mind that you don’t have powers. Inside now you’re all blues and greens and lovely yellows. Before there were black spots, but those are gone. You don’t want the black spots, Da. Besides, there are still some little powers in you, some little powers that have been with you since you were born. When you recover from the curse, they’ll come back to you.”
Little powers. Great. His mother had not been satisfied with little powers. Would anyone else be? Would he?
He ignored that part and said, “True, I don’t want black spots. So tell me, why are you disappointed?”
She slipped out of the booth and headed his way. “You let Echo go.”
