“Trying to get in your brother’s pants,” Lucky snapped, causing both Marcus and Helen to spit out their noodles. “Do you mind? It was working.”
Kayleigh gaped at him, and he turned back to his own noodles, which were, in a word, delicious. “Sorry, Scout,” he muttered. “I feel bad about that, but she needs to drop it.”
“She does indeed,” Marcus said softly, catching Kayleigh’s eye. “For one thing, her dinner is getting cold, and Scout really outdid himself, Kayleigh. And for another, we have more important things to discuss, but perhaps we can bring them up after dessert? I don’t know if you noticed, but I brought berry shortcake and whipping cream.”
Kayleigh swallowed tightly and sent Lucky a dark look. “I’m just saying, if he hurts my brother, shit’s gonna get real.”
“Why would I hurt your brother?” Lucky asked, puzzled. “He’s been nothing but decent to me.”
“Fine.” And with that Kayleigh took a bite of her noodles, and Lucky could actually see some of the tension drain out of her muscles. “And dinner reallyisgood, Scout. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before.”
“No worries,” Scout said cheerily. “I’m just glad I’m getting better at it!”
“Practice helps,” she said with a small smile. Then she turned to Lucky and made an attempt at civil conversation. “Do you cook?”
Lucky shrugged. “Irish food. I make an amazing corned-beef brisket, and I’m hell on a potato. After that it’s shit like mac and cheese and hot dogs or tuna casserole.” He shuddered. “Everyone’s crazy about tuna casserole—everyone but me. I’m saying, if tuna had been meant to be floating around in cheese and mushroom soup, the ocean would be a very different place.”
Scout wrinkled his nose good-naturedly. “Did we ever have tuna casserole?” he asked Kayleigh.
Kayleigh shuddered. “No, Scout, no we did not. Because Alistair, for all his faults, was never that crazy.”
Marcus chuckled. “That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever heard said about Alistair Quintero.”
Lucky’s eyes popped open. “Quintero. That’s what’s wrong with your name. You changed it!”
“Not much,” Scout said with a lift of his shoulders. “Mostly we didn’t want to bring attention to it—sometimes a whole name, spoken out loud, can call someone from a long ways away. Also, the name scares hedge witches, and it should, because Alistair’s a dick to them, but we don’t want a thing to do with him, so there you go.”
“I didn’t even know there was such thing as hedge witches,” Lucky said curiously.
“That’s funny,” Helen told him. “It sounds like your Auntie Cree was one. Did she ever leave beer for the wee folk?”
“Yeah,” Lucky said, “and a little bit of honey and bread in the corner.”
“Anyone who rubs a stone for luck or knows the names and purposes for flowers has the potential to be a hedge witch,” Helen said. “Sometimes they generate real beliefs, real potions, real magic, and sometimes, just believing they have power over their own destinies is magic enough. And most of the time, hedge witch magic is small and personal and of no consequence to Alistair and his ilk. He’s busy training wizards and mages and breeding more. But that said, if any hedge witch gets above themself and brought to Alistair’s attention, he can make life… uncomfortable for them.”
“What can he do?” Lucky asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
“Well, common practice is to strip a hedge witch’s power,” Helen said grimly, looking at Marcus for confirmation.
Marcus nodded. “Oh yes. It’s cruel. Unnecessarily so.”
“Do they have to do bad shit with it?” Lucky asked. He could see that. If you abuse something special, you shouldn’t get to have it anymore.
“From what I can see,” Scout said glumly, “they mostly just have to bring it to a wizard’s attention.”
“That was rather our take on it too,” Marcus said softly. “Which is one of the reasons Helen and I settled here. The salt water creates a barricade when the tide is up, and something about the island… well, it does rather hide magic users from the mainland.”
Lucky frowned. “Except my magic told me to go here,” he said.
“Ours too,” Scout supplied, and Lucky looked at him sharply, wondering about that story.
“Well, perhaps some of us are invited,” Helen said, giving a smile that was a little too serene.
Lucky scowled at her. He loved the old woman—she was feisty, sarcastic, and he’d once seen her stop a shoplifter in his tracks with a little incantation and a wiggle of her fingers. The guy hit the doorway, started to sob, dropped the paperback he’d tried to pocket, and ran wailing down the street like some asshole had kicked his puppy.
He’d also seen her trip a purse snatcher right on the street.
What she never was—and never had been—was serene.
