“Borg mind. I was thinking the same. I’ll set the table, and we’ll feast.”
Bollocks let out a bark—not a warning, but a greeting. When she glanced over, she saw Keegan about to knock on the glass door.
She caught just a glimpse of Cróga’s gold-tipped green tail slashing as the dragon rose into the night sky.
She walked, plates in hand, to the door to open it.
“Sorry,” he said straight off. “You’re about to have your meal. I won’t keep you.”
“Hey, come on in,” Marco called from the stove. “Had dinner yet?”
“Ah, no, I was just—”
“You can have dinner with us. I made plenty. Grab another plate, girl, and let’s get the man some wine.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not.” She stepped back. “Marco’s right. He made more than enough.”
“It’s kind of you. It’s smells very good.”
“Hope you like spaghetti marinara.”
“I do. It’s been some time since I’ve had it.”
“You’re in for a treat.” Not quite sure what it meant for the normality of the evening, Breen went back to pour another glass of wine. “Marco’s a terrific cook.”
“I wanted to see that you’d settled in, and that I’d meet you, Breen, as usual tomorrow. It seems I’ve timed myself into a meal.”
“You earned it. Take off that really fine coat I lust for,” Marco told him. “Go ahead and put the salad out, girl. You can light the candles your way. I’m almost sort of used to that.”
Before she did either, she walked to Marco, hugged him hard from behind.
“She worries about me,” he said to Keegan.
“Friends will do that. You look steadied up right enough. Morena said you had. And you met Marg and Sedric.”
“Sedric’s a lucky man. Or cat. Met your sister and her two boys.” At home in the kitchen, Marco poured the pasta into a colander. “Saw some dragons. Don’t know what to think about that yet, but I read in Breen’s journal how she rode on yours.”
“You keep a journal?”
“Yes.” She concentrated on dishing the salad into bowls.
“We’re going to want another bottle of wine,” Marco decided. “How about you open one, Keegan? I’m going to mix the pasta and sauce up family style.”
Marco fussed, as Marco did, with slices of bread, dipping sauce, with placing basil just so on the pasta. When he sat, he lifted his wine. “It’s nice having company for dinner. Back in Philly we didn’t have room for many people, so we mostly hung out at Sally’s.”
“A good place for it.”
“The best.” Marco dug into his salad, sampled it. “Good job here, Breen. So, Keegan, you’re the head guy around here. Or there. Over there.”
“I’m taoiseach.”
“I read in the journal how that’s done. Jumping into the lake and all that. You found the sword, brought it up. And boom. Except you could’ve said, ‘Nah, not me,’ and doggie-paddled right away.”
“It’s a choice.”
“Not an easy one, I bet. And you were just a kid.”
“Old enough.” Keegan shrugged that off. “We’re taught and trained all but from birth to know the duties of taoiseach.”
“And Breen’s training and learning now. But not to be the head guy.”
“If I fall, she could choose to enter the lake and bring up the sword.”
“Don’t talk about falling.”
Keegan spared her a glance. “He asked. That’s the answer.”
“She could do that,” Marco continued, “even though she’s half-human or Earthling or whatever you’d call it.”
“She’s of Talamh as well, carries the blood of the Wise, of the Sidhe. What comes from her mother, her grandfather, is what makes her unique. Not other, if you understand, but—”
“Special.” Marco gave Keegan an approving nod. “I’m always telling her that. Her mom really tried to make her ordinary. Didn’t work.”
Taking it on himself, Marco dished up a huge portion of spaghetti for Keegan’s plate.
“Anyway, I’m glad you came by tonight, because I was going to try to find you tomorrow. Hey, I’m not supposed to call you ‘sir’ or ‘your highness’ or something, am I?”
“No,” Keegan said, with feeling. “Gods no.”