“You’ve never been quite fast enough.” His aunt’s grin blossomed as footsteps reached the top of the stairs. “Drink it all up, and I might bring you a nice bit of tea with whiskey.”

“I’m not a small boy who needs bribing.”

“No. You’re a man who needs his strength. You’ve a message to consider.”

His brain was less wobbly now. The dead didn’t speak-and they didn’t talk to escaped infomercial actresses. Someone had simply gotten lucky.

He didn’t have to look to feel Moira’s eyes piercing his head-she’d always been able to do that, too. And her Irish was back to full strength. “Sometimes messages come in strange packages. It doesn’t make their contents any less important.”

She had a special talent for making him feel like a small boy again-and a badly behaved one. “You think Evan reached across forty years to help me find a toy soldier?”

“No.” Her voice was drizzled with the sense of humor that was one of her greatest gifts. “But you could start there.”

Right. He’d get on that-right after he dealt with whatever vile concoction was about to walk through his door. Lizzie’s mind practically overflowed with glee-and the whispers outside the door suggested she had company.

His kingdom for a remote cave.

Chapter 3

“Did Uncle Marcus really break Gran’s favorite teacup?” Sean grinned at Lizzie, eyes hopeful.

Sophie, inventorying her herbs at the kitchen table, chuckled quietly. He was hoping for someone to displace him as Aunt Moira’s current favorite cauldron scrubber-leaving his toy snake collection in her hot tub hadn’t been his smartest move ever.

“Uh, huh.” Lizzie was puffed up with the importance of the bedtime story she had to tell. “And then he fell on the floor and didn’t move for hours and hours. Or at least ten minutes.”