to see. "I can walk her home when we're done."
"I'll take her." Marcus was amazed he could speak at all.
Cass gave him an odd look. "I don't mind."
"I need some air. We'll get you your flowers." Buckets of them. He'd take escape however it came.
"Not alone, you won't." Moira smiled at him sweetly, face all elderly innocence. "I remember the last time I left the Buchanan boys alone in my garden." She reached for Morgan's other hand. "Let's go teach your da how to properly cut a flower stem, shall we?"
Marcus followed where he was led. And felt amusement scattering his embarrassment to the winds. Evan was still getting him into trouble.
And his wise old aunt was still helping him out of it.
A fire crackled in the parlor's ornate fireplace, warming the inn and the two women sitting on the room's most comfortable couch.
One stared into the fire, body language anything but serene, a beautiful piece of digital art in her lap.
The other waited for her new friend to be ready to talk.
"He holds her so tightly."
Sophie wondered if Cass could hear the knots of confusion in her voice. Something was building in their Irish visitor - and Morgan wasn't the main cause. "He has reason to." And clearly she'd been voted the witch to have that conversation.
Green eyes were looking her way now. "Reasons you can talk about?"
Oh, to have a life where the lines were clearer. Sophie fussed with the knitting in her lap, looking for a signpost in the wilderness. "Tell me what you've learned of him so far."
"He's kind." Cass nested deeper into the other end of the couch, tucking a pillow under her knees. The portrait of Nan hadn't budged from her lap. "He's absolutely devoted to Morgan, and Lizzie would follow him to the ends of the earth even though he does nothing but growl most of the time." The words slowed. "And he's known some kind of very great sadness. It's left him bitter, I think. And it made him gentle."
Wow. Marcus would have fits if he knew she read him that well. Sophie weighed the scales a moment longer and made her peace. Cass deserved to know what she flirted with - and perhaps Sophie could lighten his burden by being the one to tell it. "He had a twin brother. They did everything together, every moment of the day. And they both had magic very young. Marcus made storms, and Evan was a fire witch."
Cass winced. Even in Ireland, they knew what that meant. "You must have been very busy."
"It happened before I was born." Sophie swallowed hard - it still hurt terribly to speak of a small boy's loss, whether she'd known him or not. "They were so busy putting out fires that they didn't notice he was an astral traveler as well. One night, his spirit flew to the stars and didn't come back."
Horror hit Cass's eyes.
"Marcus tried to save him - nearly crippled his own channels in the doing." She'd seen the echoes of anguish in the auras of the healers who had spent months nursing the broken boy. They'd repaired what could be mended.
"Oh." The sound whooshed straight out of Cass's heart. "How old were they?"
"Five." Younger than Lizzie - a bright sprite whose biggest worry was a good hiding place for her light saber. Sophie gave up on her knitting and stared at the fire, still trying to make her own peace with unfathomable unfairness.
Cass sat quietly on the other end of the couch, tears tracking slowly down from green eyes. Sorrow for a boy she'd never met. And for the man who had lost him.
Sophie finally choked back her own sadness and looked back over at the witch who had been fetched to be part of this. "He lost half his soul that day. And grew up into a sad, cranky, lonely man."
Cass managed a smile. "He's more than that now. What happened?"
The very best part of the story. One that leavened all their sorrows with giggles and delight. "Evan sent Morgan."
Eyes widened - but not in doubt.
Good. Sophie picked up her knitting again. Breathing deeply, she settled in and began the tale of a small girl with lavender eyes and the two brave men who had fought the universe to keep her safe.
And wondered, even as she wove the tale, how the newest chapter would end.
Moira made her way slowly through the dormant beds and old creeping vines of her garden, happy to keep