“Is that a new table?” Weylyn asked. Orin choked back a laugh.
“No! It’s the same one!” Keegan yelled from the kitchen.
Patrick began asking about each of the men with carefully-tailored concern. Clearly, he cared about each like a son. He was short in stature, but enormous in heart. With his neatly combed salt and pepper hair, Patrick was impeccably put-together. He wore a long mustache with his beard. His face showed well-earned wrinkles, but his light brown eyes sparkled with vigor. His stories boomed with laughter and affection. He was polite, organized, and posh – in other words, the polar opposite of his son Keegan.
“I’m glad you’ll stay on in Westhaven, Keira.” Patrick smiled. “You’re surrounded by good men, except maybe for that mug in the kitchen.
“I heard that old man,” Keegan bellowed.
“Simply saving the best for last, sonny dear!” Patrick laughed, turning to me. “I want you to know you’re in good hands.”
Suddenly, and with his usual fanfare, Keegan entered the dining room carrying plates like a waiter. “Welcome to McDonough’s! The special today is breaded chicken, with sides of veggies!”
“So. Chicken tenders again!” Orin needled.
“Well, you lot!” Patrick rubber his hands together. “Tell me how things have gone since Keira’s arrival? No bending details, now.”
They all responded, taking turns. When they got to our fight against the Brothers Grim and Evil, Patrick became fixated on his drink. Not just his drink, but specifically on the ice inside it. I couldn’t help but find this odd. “Um, Patrick? You okay?”
“Thinking,” Patrick said. He sipped his whiskey, gently swirling the single ice cube. Suddenly; his eyes widened in a strange eureka moment. “That’s it,” he yelled, as he pulled the single ice cube out, stared at it, then dropped it on the table.
I gave Keegan a ‘what the hell just happened’ look, but he just shrugged. “I’m just as confused at you,” he whispered.
Patrick got up, went to a nearby bookshelf, and pulled out a book (with no hesitation; he must have known where it was right away). “Here we are,” Patrick flipped to somewhere in the middle of the book. “Ah, yes. Can’t always trust an old man’s memory, but do not doubt the book.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “So? What the hell does it say?”
“Before the Tuath Dé Danann came to Ireland, these lands were inhabited by a strange race, known as the Fomorians. Monstrous creatures they were, and filled with chaos and darkness. Their ruler was the tyrant king, Balor the Giant. His magic so black, he could kill with the stare of his malocchio.”
“Oh, I love Italian ice. Like Gelato?” I’m ready for some dessert.
“It means, the Evil Eye,” Brann whispered.
“Balor’s Fomorians were the sworn enemies of Tuath Dé Danann – your ancestors, Keira. The Second Battle of Mag Tuireadh was an epic fight between Balor the Giant and his grandson Lugh. Balor killed the Tuath Dé Danann’s leader, Nuada, with his evil eye. But Lugh turned on Balor, and took the lead of the Tuath himself.”
Keegan blurted “Lugh defeated Balor with a simple slingshot.”
“Sounds like the old David and Goliath thing,” I replied.
“Actually,” Brann had to add, “Giant killing remains a common motif across many cultural—”
“As I was saying…” Patrick gave them a look for interrupting. “Lugh fired a rock that pushed Balor’s evil eye through the back of his head.”
Then, Orin jumped in as well. “With Balor dead, the Fomorians were driven into the sea.”
“…and became sea raiders.” Weylyn said, taking his turn to cut in. “But what does that have to do with us and the brothers?”
Patrick looked around the table. “Have the lot of you interrupted your lesson so often you don’t know the fate of the sea bound Fomorians?”
“Are you saying we have to drown them?” I squeaked out.
“Not quite, little Morrigan.” He tapped the book again. “The few Fomorians survivors went in search of the island home of Tuath Dé Danann. Legend has it the Tuath Dé Danann left behind a magical item there. Something so powerful, it could strip the Fomorians of all their power, making them human enough that anyone could kill them.”
“And what is this item?” Brann asked, as he took the book from Patrick and began scanning the pages.
“Ah, don’t I wish I knew?” Patrick said with a slight sparkle in his eye. “But, whatever it is, it’s as ancient as the Danu and the Fomorians. And, it might be exactly what you need to turn the tide in this fight.”
“And... you got all that from staring at an ice cube?”
“That’s my old man for you!” Keegan boasted.
“Or maybe it was the whiskey,” Weylyn said. “A fine source of inspiration.”
“It’s an interesting connection,” Brann said. “Might I borrow that book for a time, Patrick? I’d like to dig into this for myself.”
“Of course, my young scholar,” Patrick replied.
I stared at the melting ice cube, and tuned out all the voices around me. Nothing surprises me anymore. I’m almost used to having every Goddamn thing in my life somehow devolve into random cryptic bullshit. Finding this particular cowpat of cryptic bullshit wasn’t going to be easy, but it was the best lead we’d come across yet. And it wasn’t in my own big dark book of family skeletons.
Before anyone could discuss the matter further, the door banged open. By reflex, Orin and Weylyn’s hands curled into fists. Fortunately, Katie’s voice rang out and effectively disarmed everyone. “Good evening, fellow patrons of Patrick McDonough’s renowned hospitality!”
“Katie!” I squealed, but Keegan wasn’t about to let Katie get off scot free. “Jaysus and the Twelve Apostles, Katie, and stop with the, ‘patrons’? Quit throwing shade, all high and mighty!”
Katie disregarded his scorn, and took a seat at the table, picking at the left-over food. I gave her gentle smack on the arm. “Always have to make a grand entrance, don’t you?”
“Would you expect anything less?”
“Where have you been?” Orin asked incredulously.
“Yes, do tell us.” Patrick said nonchalantly, “For I’ve a feeling you haven’t been anywhere in town… nor in
