His scowl wouldn’t have scared a newborn mouse. “You delivered a message of nonsense from someone dressed like Lizzie last Hallow’s Eve.”

Lizzie had been a green caterpillar last Halloween. Moira sighed. Every battle had its time and place. “Nonsense wouldn’t have landed you unconscious on the floor or broken one of my favorite teacups.”

“Spew enough garbage and something’s bound to be true.” Marcus waved his hand in weak dismissal. “It reminded me of something, that’s all. If someone will bring me the teacup’s remains, I’ll see that it’s repaired.”

Idiot. Moira looked at Sophie-it was always good to check in with the healer before you hammered her patient.

Sophie nodded. Hammer away.

“You great, clodding imbecile of a man.” Moira let her Irish free. Not that it ever managed to dent Marcus’s hard skull, but it would make her feel better-he had scared her silly crashing to the floor like that. “I’m neither fool nor patsy, and you’ll be telling me what you know about soldiers and church steps or I’ll be putting that frying pan of yours to another purpose.” It was a heavy cast-iron one-she’d added it to his kitchen herself.

It was a good and proper rant-the kind that put snap back in her nephew’s eyes and color in his cheeks. “I’m not a small boy anymore. I’ve a right to the privacy of my own head, and I’ll ask you to leave now and take this noisy gaggle of witches with you.” Marcus stared pointedly out the window.

He’d always been able to punish with silence. Moira felt the scars rip anew-and fought against the tears. They wouldn’t help her now. Or him.

It shocked her to the core when Sophie reached out, healing power turned on full force, and drilled an angry palm into Marcus’s chest. “Is this the crap everyone’s been taking from you all these years?” Electricity snapped in Sophie’s eyes and ran straight out her fingers. “You take love when you want, and send it to hell the rest of the time?”