Silver at Midnight: A Paranormal Romance Urban Fantasy (The Keepers of Knowledge Series Book 5) by Bridgette O'Hare (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📗

and others embrace their light. Grams encouraged me to make a conscious effort to surround myself with light bearers and to never take my ability for granted so that I wouldn’t be susceptible to the darkness, because none were impervious to the sway of darkness.

She had once said, “We all have cracks in our armor, my dear. You’d rather light spill out through the cracks, than darkness to slither in. Stay vigilant, my girl.”

Grams and Mom also had the ability to look into the souls of others. It passed through the women of our bloodline. It’s a gift that had served me well through the years. Especially in my line of chosen occupation. It’s always helpful to be privy to who the bad guys really are.

But this guy . . . this guy was an enigma. I could not see this man’s true intentions at a soul level. It was as though he had a wall constructed around the essence of his soul, and that disturbed me. I also wasn’t able to identify his race. I knew without a doubt he was a Supernatural, but everything I would normally glean from someone new, to understand what I was up against, he had somehow shrouded.

“Ahh, you’ve been talkin’ t’ Nira. She must’ve liked ya. She doesn’t tell just anyone about the Columbian Special.”

I picked up the menu as I kept the conversation going. “Oh? And why might that be?”

“Because then it wouldn’t be so special, now, would it?” he winked at me and flashed a crooked, heart stopping smile.

I looked away, but I could feel his stare on me, boring into me in a way I’d never felt before. I zeroed in on the daily soup specials the menu had to offer as a distraction. And for a moment, I had to stop and think about what day it was. Get it together, Aish. Don’t let your guard down, I reminded myself.

“So, the chicken and gnocchi,” I started without taking my eyes off the menu. “Can ya add some red pepper flakes t’ that?”

A snicker slipped from his throat and I looked up. I shouldn’t have, but it was instinctual.

“What? Why’s that funny? Are red pepper flakes frowned upon in Pyreshore?” I asked.

An appreciative chuckle was followed by, “No. No. Not frowned upon at all, well, unless you’re Old Man Staverton. But he orders everything completely flavorless. I’m quite sure he eats cardboard for breakfast, so I’m not going to count his opinion. It’s just, that’s how I like it too—with red pepper. I prefer everything with a bit o’ spiciness.”

I tried to stifle my amusement, but I failed.

“Ahh. She laughs. Progress, ladies and gents. I was beginning t’ wonder if ya might be one of those hard-nosed, all-business, no-fun types. Glad t’ see ya aren’t.”

Okay, sue me. He was charming, attractive, and had a personality. Trifecta. There’s only so much disinterest a girl can feign regardless of soul color. Besides, not knowing which side of the fence Super Attractive Guy 2.0 might be on meant I had to play this down the middle to be safe.

“Aye. I can laugh with the best of ‘em,” I assured him, trying to be friendly but not too friendly. “So, it seems I’m not going t’ get that Columbian Special with my soup tonight. Do ya know when Cian might be working over the next few days? Nira really got my hopes up.”

He chuckled again.

“Well, now what’s so funny?” I slid the menu back across the bar.

He took a step toward me, with what I thought to be the intentions of taking the menu. Instead, he reached his hand across the bar. “Cian McCallister. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss—” he ended the sentence like it was a question and offered a smirk that twisted to one side.

“Hmmph,” I responded, hesitating before extending my arm. “Aisling O’Cléirigh,” I replied only a moment before I slipped my hand into his and things got exceedingly interesting.

A jolt of magic surged through me. Fae magic. Every cell in my body tingled with energy. His eyes caught mine and held them, and my pulse quickened. The sensation only lasted a few seconds, but they were the longest seconds of my existence. When the energy dissipated, I was left staring into a pair of bewildered ocean blue eyes and holding onto the hand of the most mystifying man I had ever had the pleasure of encountering. Or maybe it would prove to be the displeasure of encountering. Time would tell.

“Umm . . . pleased t’ meet you,” I crooked my head and uttered slowly, assessing him further. And though something within me rebelled against the action, I slid my hand from his, breaking the connection.

He maintained his fixed stare.

I studied his face—the tension in his jawline, the furrow of his brows, the confusion in the squint of his eyes.

He regarded me with a strange expression, and then mumbled, “Y-you’re Aisling O’Cléirigh?”

I settled against the back of the barstool and attempted to steady my breathing. “I . . . I am.” I tried to mask my own uncertainty surrounding the situation.

He raked a hand through his untamed dark hair and leaned back against the wall behind him. That’s when I saw it—the jagged scar just to the side of his right eye.

Super Attractive Guy—the original. The one and only, it would seem.

Question now was, if this was Super Attractive Guy, and he had been at my flat two days before, how did he not know who I was already? He was genuinely surprised to hear the name Aisling O’Cléirigh spill from my lips. And while I have seen some decent acting in my line of work, I’ve seen nothing as Oscar worthy as what he had just delivered, if he was, in fact, acting.

He continued to stare at me as though he’d seen a ghost—assuming ghosts actually existed, that is.

“Well, if you are here, then—” his voice trailed off and his expression shifted from surprised to contemplative.

“I feel as though