Frustrated, he grabbed on the cloth and pulled-the faster he got this over and done with, the sooner he’d be tucked back in bed with whiskey and a good book.

Pulling his knees through, Marcus crouched just inside the small cavern under the steps-and gaped. Flung back in time, his fingers reached out for the pile of shiny rocks. Treasure, painstakingly gathered from the beach. They’d been working on Mom to let them “borrow” her sewing chest.

Evan would have managed it eventually-Aunt Moira had called him her Irish sweet talker.

Marcus picked up a green rock. In the daylight, it would gleam with flecks of gold-and the scorch marks where one determined fire witch had tried to melt the rock and mine the treasure within.

Hand clutched rock-and a wave of grief slammed his heart, raw and fresh. He shouldn’t have come.

Heedless of the close confines, Marcus turned to leave-and saw the swords. Not the tinfoil and cardboard of his boyhood. Fancy made-in-China plastic with flashing lights and Star Wars stickers.

He knew those sabers. Sean and Kevin had loved them mightily two Christmases past. Even grumpy uncles occasionally gave decent gifts.

It had almost been worth the week of swirling nightmares they’d caused-full of swords, evil gray mists, pirate battles, and a brother long gone.

Evan, alive only in his dreams.

And now their lair had been invaded by a new generation. Throat still raw with unshed tears, Marcus reached out to put the shiny rock back on the pile. The boys could keep their treasure. He ran his fingers over the stones one last time, a benediction of sorts.

And then his hand brushed plastic. Mental mists threatening, Marcus hissed into the dark-and dug for the small toy hiding in the rocks.