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) 📗

I’m at a disadvantage here,” I stated calmly. False calm, but still. “It seems ya know me, but I’m not sure how that might be, and all I know of you is that ya make the best coffee in town.” I knew a bit more, but he didn’t need to know the extent of Libby’s observational skills.

He glanced around the café and, without warning, announced, “Café is closing, ladies and gentlemen. No need t’ settle up, ‘tis on the house. Please come again.” Then his intense stare refocused on me. “We need to talk.”

Six

Cian McCallister locked the doors behind the Witches as they left. The Mimic had apparently slipped out while we were talking earlier. Once he verified the café was secure and we were alone he returned to the bar.

“You’re going t’ need that Columbian Special. I’ll make it a double,” he added.

“Considering I don’t even know what you’re makin’ for me, I s’pose I’ll have t’ take your word on that.”

“Trust me, you’re gonna want the double. Hell, I’ll just keep the Jameson out. Ya might need it straight.”

His tone made me question the direction this night was heading.

“Well, I haven’t eaten since lunch, so if you’re going t’ start getting me liquored up, I’m going t’ need that soup and probably some bread.”

A smile played across his lips. I both hated and loved the way it made his eyes crinkle, and the way his peppered stubble accentuated the dimples I had just noticed for the first time. Libby had been spot on with her physical assessment of Cian McCallister. He was definitely super attractive.

Not being able to read him was driving me a little insane, though. I had so many questions: Why had he been at my flat? Why had he disguised his accent? And how had he gotten back to Pyreshore and settled in so quickly?

I’d never before had to concern myself so much with trying to decide if someone was more likely to be friend or enemy. Up until that moment in time, the inconsistent nature of gray souls had been the greatest challenge I’d had to overcome when determining on which side of the line someone stood.

Free will can be an unpredictable opponent. Life is a continual tradeoff between employing choices we have made, choices that have served us well, and exploring new opportunities that may serve us better. For that reason alone, gray souls could be tricky to make sense of. But at least I had the luxury of a starting point with them. For all I knew, Cian McCallister could have the darkest soul I’ve ever encountered. And there I was, locked in a building with him . . . alone.

I watched as he filled a French coffee press with fresh grounds then poured a dark liquid from an electric kettle over them.

“I’ll let that steep while I get ya something t’ eat,” he said before he disappeared up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I pulled out my phone, contemplating a call to Uncle Lachlan to see what insight or information he might be able to offer me on the mysterious Cian McCallister, but it wasn’t a chance I wanted to take. If Cian wasn’t a light bearing soul, I did not need to tip him off that I was already questioning his character. I knew he was powerful. There was no other conclusion considering he had the ability to block me out and completely mask his supernatural origins. Even after the rush of Fae magic that flashed through me, I couldn’t say with complete certainty that he was Fae. There had been powerful Witches with the ability to mirror Fae magic in small doses. And considering the intensity and potency of what I felt when our hands touched, I would say that no matter which race Cian McCallister hailed from, he was indeed among the most powerful.

Just as I was about to return my phone to the back pocket of my jeans, the text notification dinged. I swiped the screen. Kara. Bollocks.

She was not going to be happy with me for skipping out on our few planned days of hanging out. I knew she’d understand once I explained, but I’d hear about it first.

Kara:       “I found the best margaritas in New York tonight! You are gonna love them!”

Me:       “Don’t hate me, but I’m not going to be there tomorrow. Something came up.”

Kara:       “Umm . . . I’m gonna need some details and I’m gonna need them 2 hours ago for a bombshell like that.”

Me:       “I’m kinda in the middle of something right now. I PROMISE I’ll fill you in ASAP.”

Kara:       “Dang right you will. This better be good if I’m missing out on sushi, the hot Italian waiter, and now margaritas!”

Me:       “It is. Or bad. Jury’s still out.”

Kara:       “I do NOT like the sound of this Aisling O’Cléirigh!”

Me:       “Actually, you can help me out. Find out everything you can on a guy named Cian McCallister. I don’t know his race. About 6’3”. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Probably between 28 and 31 years old.”

Kara:       “You don’t know his race? Have you not met him?”

Me:       “Long story. I’ll call you in the morning and give you all the details. I have to go now. OUT.”

Kara:       “I’ll get what I can. Call me if you need me. For the record, I do NOT like this. OUT.”

Kara and I had a code. We established it the first year of our friendship while working together in the field. Anytime we were ending a conversation, we typed the word OUT in capital letters to let the other know all was well. If either of us ended a conversation with the word OVER, it was a signal that something was wrong, and we needed back up. If we typed OVER & OUT, that meant all hell had broken loose and a full-on rescue mission was required. It was easily explained if we were in a tight spot and someone happened