"A mob boss, ya mean." Bronwyn said. She had heard there was an Irish mob operating somewhere in Louisiana, and it didn't surprise her that it was in New Orleans.<br/>"Yeah, something like that." Tara agreed.<br/>"An' that's why ya got twitchy when the two left. They were part o' yer 'family' that needed cooperation."<br/>"Yeah." Tara sighed and set her water bottle down. "I'm really in the mood for something stronger than water. How about you guys?" She stood and walked into the kitchen without waiting for an answer.<br/>Bronwyn shrugged and glanced at Malachai, who was standing with his back to the wall, facing the window and the door. Bronwyn recognized the stance, she had seen it in many military personnel and many who had been hunted. In Malachai's case, it was both.<br/>"Who are you?" Malachai asked her suddenly. "I feel as if I've known you for a long time, your face is almost more familiar than my own, you obviously know me, and yet you give me no information. You could explain everything, I know it. Why won't you?"<br/>"Yer sufferin' from amnesia, isn' that right?" Bronwyn asked.<br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Yes</span>." Malachai said, frustration evident in his voice.<br/>"Human minds revert t'amnesia for a reason." Bronwyn said quietly. "Yer mind can't handle the reality o' yer past, which is why ya've blocked it out. I would be doin' ya no favors by explainin' things ya can't understand yet."<br/>Malachai's face clouded with anger and frustration. "I don't understand-"<br/>"Ya will." Bronwyn cut him off as Tara came back into the room holding three longnecks. She passed one to Bronwyn and Malachai each before tipping her own back and swallowing.