Chapter 23

23

Of the four girls, Rory was the most difficult to pack up and bundle off out of the tavern. She didn’t throw a tantrum or lock herself away, but it took hours of coaxing to finally get her out of her room and into the care of Mayor Doherty’s eldest daughter, Glenda.

Over the three days it took to get the girls sorted and settled, Molly cried every night, her heart breaking for what had to be done. Although their father and the tavern were often horrible, it was what the girls knew. Molly well understood that the most terrifying thing was the unknown—when she’d left her village at the age of ten, part of her had wanted to run back to the cottage she’d been trapped in with her deceased parents because it was all she knew. The prospect of going to a new place, a city, where the only person she knew was Brom had terrified her more than plague.

Ripping the girls away from the familiar was best for them, but Molly still had to remind herself of it almost minute by minute.

Bryan and Nora’s mother hadn’t been seen in Dundúran in years. After a few cursory visits to her children once she’d left Brom, the woman hadn’t bothered coming back. Molly had requested that inquiries be made, but that was only really to let her know where Nora would end up. Her best guess was that the woman was in Gleanná and so sent messages along to Bryan, too, about what was happening.

Merry and Rory’s mother had died of drink years ago, before poor Rory could really get to know her. Her sister, however, the girls’ aunt, had always hung about on the periphery, contacting Molly a few times about the girls. Molly was sure to update their aunt to tell them where the girls would be and encouraging her that, without Brom’s influence, the girls would likely welcome her.

Little Oona’s mother had been trying to claim her for years, and Brom, with more means and friends, had delighted in keeping her away from the girl. She too was with the extended Doherty clan now, and the plan was to help get her established so that she could take all the girls, with the help of Merry and Rory’s aunt.

It was hard to explain all this to the girls, that a community had rallied around them. Dozens of neighbors came to help. Meals, foodstuffs, and clothing flowed into Glenda’s home to help support her new charges, and Molly took such relief in seeing them all fed, bathed, and clothed.

Getting the girls back into school helped in establishing routine, and as they attended lessons during the day, Molly worked with Glenda and the other women to ensure that all the records were secured, all the necessary documents signed, and all the notifications sent. Her wrist ached from all the documents she messily signed, including a long written account of her own life with Brom and everything she’d witnessed.

Detailing her life at the tavern wasn’t painful, per se, but Molly didn’t look upon the memories fondly. There had been bright spots, of course, as in any life, but there were also a multitude of times that Brom neglected her, abused her, or otherwise made her life more difficult. Writing them down, seeing how the list grew and grew, was devastating in a way that Molly had tried to avoid all her life. Sometimes the hardest thing to endure about brutality was the acknowledgement of it.

Indignation kept her going through it all, the heat of her anger hardening her to the girls’ sadness. Unlike her normal temper that burst in bright flashes, this anger burned coldly, a blue flame of rage that rendered and sharpened her determination. The girls wouldn’t have lists like hers.

For once, Allarion had been the one to explode with anger. She’d made the mistake of taking the document back with her in the evening to finish, and while she prepared for bed, he’d stolen a glance at it.

The flames in the hearth exploded, a burst of energy lifting the coverlet and every small item in the room. They all clattered to the floor as the fire sizzled and wheezed.

“Say the word, sweetling,” he’d hissed in a deceptively low, calm tone, “tell me yes, and I will obliterate him.”

Watching Allarion seethe for her, his magic whipping in unseen whirls around his head and filling the air with the smell of petrichor, had offered her her own kind of calm. One of a coiled snake, about to strike.

Padding to him, she’d taken his face in her hands. “He’s not worth it,” she told him, “not anymore.”

And for the most part, Molly meant it. Brom was, at his core, a coward. Dismantling his life, taking away any trappings of success or control, would hurt him most.

“Am I bad for enjoying it?” she whispered later, when the night was darkest and Allarion held her in the bed they shared.

“You’re too kind. You would burn down his life, whereas I would incinerate the man himself. Let me bring you his cinders.”

The vicious promise had finally lulled Molly to sleep, comforted in knowing that if she was bad for enjoying someone else’s pain, at least she was bad with her fae.

Molly set out to do for her cousins what she wished someone had done for her. What could have taken months, if not years, was handled within days with the full weight of the Darrows’ and mayor’s support—and, perhaps most importantly, the support of the community, who knew the kind of man Brom Dunne was.

But there was one final thing she had to do on her own—even if her fae, the mayor, and his daughter all warned her against it. Well, all right, not entirely alone. She agreed to bring Bellarand before her fae had the closest she’d ever seen to an outright conniption.

The girls were in school and comfortable if still adjusting with Glenda. Every document and message had been signed and sent. There was nothing left for Molly to do but hand Brom his copies of all the writs and protective orders, declaring his limited rights to see the girls under supervision.

Molly walked into that tavern for the last time, a packet of papers filling one hand and her cold rage making her brave.

The space was quiet, every chair and table empty. Although the sun was high in the cold winter sky, little light penetrated inside, and only a few of the braziers had been lit near the bar. They illuminated the hulking form of Brom behind the bar, and even from across the room, Molly could smell the stale stench of him.

He looked up, eyes bleary and bloodshot, at the sound of the door opening. Seeing her, he sneered.

“Wha’ you want?” he slurred.

Molly watched in disgust as he took a hearty swig from an open liquor bottle. It seemed, without customers, Brom had decided to drink the stock. One of the mayor’s assistants, the acting city treasurer, had warned Molly that all this would likely mean the collapse of Brom’s business. The tavern would go under.

“He’ll lose everything,” the treasurer had told her carefully.

Molly hadn’t been moved.

“Perhaps if he hadn’t lost his family, he wouldn’t lose everything else.”

But that would’ve required Brom Dunne to be a different man—and Molly had learned years ago to stop hoping for that. Her uncle had survived for far too long on his meager charms, handful of friends, and shameless bullying. Perhaps if he’d had consequences along the way, these interventions and the blow they dealt wouldn’t have been so large, but that wasn’t the way of it.

It was time for her uncle to face the hammer blow. What he did afterward with what he had left would decide the man he truly was.

Brom waved a meaty hand around, gesturing at the empty tavern. “Nothin’ left for ya to take, s’ don’t darken my door. Get out.”

Stiffening her spine, Molly strode across the tavern to lay the packet of papers on the bar. Brom scowled at it and didn’t move to open or read it.

“What’s that?” he sneered. “Snatching the deed from me? You selling me off? Or are they more of your stupid lies?”

“You’ll find everything written here. It’s all official,” Molly said, working to keep her voice even. “Your first sanctioned visit with the girls is next week at Town Hall. It’ll be supervised by the mayor himself, so I’d take a bath and look presentable.”

Brom snorted derisively. “Don’t need the mayor to see my own girls.”

“You do now. That’s what happens when you don’t take care of your children.” The venom in her voice was biting, and even Brom heard it through his belligerent drunkenness.

“They’re my girls! You hear me! Mine! ” he roared into her face.

Molly nearly choked on his rancid breath.

“Then do the right thing and be a better man,” she growled. “That’s the only way you’ll be in their lives.”

Having done what she came to do, Molly turned for the door.

She wasn’t expecting, big and drunk as he was, for Brom to be faster than her. She sensed him before she heard him, turning so he caught her shoulder rather than her hair.

Brom jerked her around, grabbing hold of her arm and shaking her.

“This here’s my tavern! I built it, I ran it—you’re not taking it away!”

“Rot in it for all I care!” Molly yelled back, losing her grip on her temper.

The more she pulled to free her arm, the harder his grip became. Dragging her forward into his chest, Brom put his face right in hers.

“You ungrateful bitch. I took you in—fed you, clothed you. I should’ve buried you with your parents.”

Molly’s hand cracked across his face, palm stinging with the smack of skin. “Yeah, you should’ve,” she hissed, and slapped him again.

A bestial growl vibrated from Brom’s chest. She was ready for his fist when it slammed into her jaw, but the impact and pain of his punch sent her reeling. He jerked her back with the hold on her arm, grabbing both her hands in one of his. Like a fish on a hook, he reeled her back just to hit her again.

Brom was beyond words, his face so red it was nearly purple, glowing with rage. Molly’s face smarted and ached with his strikes, but she just turned her face up to snarl and sneer. It hurt, but seeing him unhinged, seeing this animal, gave her such vicious pleasure, she didn’t bother fearing for her own safety. It was stupid, and she could just hear her fae’s hiss of horror, but she got her own unhinged kind of glee seeing Brom reveal just what kind of man he was—and now everyone would see.

They tussled across the tavern, Molly trying to pull herself free and make for the door. She pushed at him, getting him unbalanced, but his big, sweaty hands were always there, grasping and grabbing.

It was when true fear began to trickle past her bravado that the front door, which she’d left ajar, crashed open. The sound thundered through the empty tavern, startling Brom enough to make him look up.

The ominous clop of hooves echoed through the tavern.

You just couldn’t keep things simple, Bellarand grumped. You went and had to get me involved.

Brom visibly quivered when the unicorn lowered his head, pointing that long, sharp horn square at his chest.

Let me do it, Bellarand whispered through her mind, voice almost coaxing, far softer than she’d ever heard before. Let me finish him. His blood will be so warm on my horn.

Molly stamped her foot on Brom’s instep, and finally the brute let her go. She stumbled away, hurrying to stand beside the unicorn.

She spat out a mouthful of blood onto his dirty floor. “Abide by the terms, or else we’ll be back.”

Brom made a noise of disbelief but paled when Bellarand scraped his hoof across the floorboards.

“Goodbye, uncle.”

Grabbing a handful of Bellarand’s mane, she turned to leave.

The sun outside was overbright, and Molly stood in the courtyard blinking for a moment, letting her eyes adjust. She rubbed at them to ease the sting, definitely not to wipe away any tears that weren’t there.

A warm muzzle snuffled at her shoulder.

Are you all right?

“Yeah.” Molly put her hands on her hips and turned her face to the sky. “Thank you for coming to save me.”

It was no trouble. You know how I enjoy inspiring terror.

She went to grin but remembered her bruised jaw. Groaning, she touched a hand to her face, some feeling returning. She definitely had a split lip, and her jaw was sore to the touch.

Bellarand lowered his big head to inspect, and a huffing horsey laugh puffed against her.

Oh, you’re going to be in so much trouble.