Morrigan's Cross
Page 26

It wasn’t a simple matter, even with Cian’s money and connections laying a path. The luggage and cargo had to be transported the ordinary and laborious way this time. She could see all three of the men she’d hooked her fate with looking for a way to cut down on her load. She cut that route off with a firm: It all goes—and left it at that.
She had no idea what Cian had in the single suitcase or the two large metal chests he packed.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
She couldn’t imagine what they must have looked like, the two tall, dark men, the enormous black man, and the redhead with enough luggage to resink the Titanic.
She enjoyed the privilege of being female, and left it to the men to do the loading, while she explored Cian’s sleek and elegantly appointed private jet.
He wasn’t afraid of color, or of spending his money, she had to give him credit for that. The seats were a deep, rich blue in buttery leather, and generous enough to be comfortable for even a man of King’s proportions. The carpet was thick enough to sleep on.
It boasted a small, efficient conference room, two sophisticated bathrooms, and what she initially took to be a cozy bedroom. More than that, she realized when she noted it had no windows, no mirrors, and its own half bath. A safe room.
She wandered into the galley, approved it, and appreciated the fact that Cian had already called ahead to have it stocked. They wouldn’t starve on the flight to Europe.
Europe. She trailed her finger over one of the fully reclining seats. She’d always planned to go, to spend as much as a month. Painting, taking photographs, exploring. Visiting the ancient sites, shopping.
Now she was going, and getting there well above the first-class level. But she wouldn’t be wandering the hills and the sacred grounds at her leisure.
“Well, you wanted adventure in your life,” she reminded herself. “Now you’ve got it.” She closed a hand around the pendant she wore and prayed she’d have not only the strength but also the wits to survive it.
She was seated when the men boarded, and making a show out of enjoying a glass of champagne.
“I popped the cork,” she said to Cian. “I hope you don’t mind. It seemed appropriate.”
“Sláinte.” He moved directly to the cockpit.
“Want the two-dollar tour?” she asked Hoyt. “Want to look around?” she explained. “I imagine King’s flown in this little beauty before and is thoroughly jaded.”
“Beats the hell out of commercial,” King agreed, and got himself a beer in lieu of champagne. “The boss knows how to handle this bird.” He gave Hoyt a slap on the shoulder. “No worries.”
Because he looked far from convinced, Glenna rose and poured another glass of champagne. “Here, drink, relax. We’re going to be in here all night.”
“In a bird made out of metal and cloth. A flying machine.” Hoyt nodded, and because it was in his hand, sipped the bubbling wine. “It’s a matter of science and mechanics.”
He’d spent two full hours reading of the history and technology of aircraft. “Aerodynamics.”
“Exactly.” King tapped the beer bottle to Hoyt’s glass, then Glenna’s. “Here’s to kicking some ass.”
“You look like you’re looking forward to it,” Glenna commented.
“Damn straight. Who wouldn’t? We get to save the frigging world. The boss? He’s been restless the last few weeks. He gets restless, I get restless. Ask me, this is just what the doctor ordered.”
“And dying doesn’t worry you?”
“Everybody dies.” He glanced toward the cockpit. “One way or another. ’Sides, a big bastard like me doesn’t go down easy.”
Cian strolled in. “We’re cleared, boys and girls. Have a seat, strap in.”
“Got your back, Captain.” King followed Cian back into the cockpit.
Glenna sat, offered a smile as she patted the seat beside hers. She was prepared to soothe Hoyt through his first flight. “You’ll need your seat belt. Let me show you how it works.”
“I know how it works. I read of it.” He studied the metal for a moment, then locked the pieces together. “In the event there is turbulence. Pockets of air.”
“You’re not the least bit nervous.”
“I came through a time portal,” he reminded her. He began to play with the control panel, amusement crossing his face when the back reclined, came up again. “I think I’ll be enjoying this trip. Bloody shame it’s got to be done over water.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot.” She dug into her purse, pulled out a vial. “Drink this. It’ll help. Drink it,” she repeated when he frowned at the vial. “It’s herbs and some powdered crystals. Nothing harmful. It may help the queasiness.”
The reluctance was clear on his face, but he downed it. “You have a heavy hand with the cloves.”
“You can thank me when you don’t have to use the barf bag.”
She heard the engines hum, felt the vibration beneath her. “Spirits of the night, give us wings to take this flight. Hold us safe within your hand until we touch upon the land.” She slid her eyes to Hoyt. “It never hurts.”
He wasn’t ill, but she could see that her potion and his will were fighting a hard battle to keep his system steady. She made him tea, brought him a blanket, then reclined his seat, brought up the footrest herself.
“Try to sleep a little.”
Too ill to argue, he nodded, closed his eyes. When she was sure he was as comfortable as she could make him, she moved forward to join the others in the cockpit.
There was music playing. Nine Inch Nails, she recognized. In the copilot’s seat, King had kicked back and was snoring along with the beat. Glenna looked through the windscreen and felt her heart do a little dance of its own.
There was nothing but the black.
“I’ve never been in a cockpit before. Awesome view.”
“I can kick that one out of here if you want his seat for a bit.”
“No. I’m fine. Your brother’s trying to sleep. He’s not feeling very well.”
“He used to turn green crossing the Shannon. I imagine he’s sick as a dog by now.”
“No, just queasy. I gave him something at takeoff, and he’s got an iron will to add to it. Do you want anything?”