Morrigan's Cross
Page 50

“I don’t know if I can say the same.” Cian gestured with his chin toward Hoyt’s face. “Did your magic do that?”
“It’s another result of it.”
“Looks painful.”
“So it is.”
“Well then, that balances the scales somewhat.”
“And this is what we’ve come to, checks and balances.” Hoyt turned to face the room, and the others. “Arguments and resentments. You were right,” he said to Glenna. “A great deal of what you said was right, though I swear you talk too much.”
“Oh, really?”
“We aren’t united, and until we are, we’re hopeless. We could be training and preparing every hour of every day of the time we have left, and never win. Because—this is what you said—we have a common enemy, but not a common purpose.”
“The purpose is to fight them,” Larkin interrupted. “To fight them, and kill them. Kill them all.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re demons.”
“So is he.” Hoyt laid a hand on the back of Cian’s chair.
“But he fights with us. He doesn’t threaten Geall.”
“Geall. You think of Geall, and you,” he said to Moira, “of your mother. King’s here with us because he follows Cian, and in my way, so do I. Cian, why are you here?”
“Because I don’t follow. You or her.”
“Why are you here, Glenna?”
“I’m here because if I didn’t fight, if I didn’t try, everything we have and are and know, every one of us, could be lost. Because what’s inside me demands that I be here. And above all, because good needs soldiers against evil.”
Oh aye, this was a woman, he thought. She put shame to all of them. “The answer. The single one there is, and she’s the only one who knew it. We’re needed. Stronger than valor or vengeance, loyalty or pride. We’re needed. Can we stand with each other and do this thing? Not in a thousand years and with a thousand more of us to fight. We’re the six, the beginning of it. We can’t be strangers any longer.”
He stepped away from Cian’s chair as he reached in his pocket. “Glenna said make a symbol and a shield, a sign of common purpose. That unity of purpose made the strongest magic I’ve ever known. Stronger than I could hold,” he said with a glance at Cian. “I believe they can help protect us, if we remember a shield needs a sword, and we use both with one purpose.”
He drew the crosses out so the silver glinted in the light. He stepped to King, offered one. “Will you wear it?”
King set his drink aside, took the cross and chain. He studied Hoyt’s face as he looped it around his neck. “You could use some ice on that eye.”
“I could use a great deal. And you?” He held a cross out to Moira.
“I’ll work to be worthy of it.” She sent Glenna a look of apology. “I’ve done poorly tonight.”
“So have we all,” Hoyt told her. “Larkin?”
“Not just of Geall,” Larkin said as he took the cross. “Or no longer.”
“And you.” Hoyt started to hand Glenna a cross, then stepped closer, looked into her eyes as he put it around her neck himself. “I think tonight you put us all to shame.”
“I’ll try not to make a habit of it. Here.” She took the last cross, put the chain over his head. Then gently, very gently touched her lips to his battered cheek.
At last, he turned and walked back to Cian.
“If you’re about to ask if I’d wear one of those, you’re wasting your breath.”
“I know you can’t. I know you’re not what we are, and still I’m asking you to stand with us, for this purpose.” He held out a pendant, in the shape of a pentagram much like Glenna’s. “The stone in the center is jasper, like the ones in the crosses. I can’t give you a shield, not yet. So I’m offering you a symbol. Will you take it?”
Saying nothing, Cian held out a hand. When Hoyt poured pendant and chain into it, Cian shook it lightly, as if checking the weight. “Metal and stone don’t make an army.”
“They make weapons.”
“True enough.” Cian slipped the chain over his head. “Now if the ceremony’s finished, could we bloody well get to work?”
Chapter 12
Seeking solitude and occupation, Glenna poured a glass of wine, got out a pad of paper and a pencil and sat down at the kitchen table.
An hour, she thought, of quiet, where she could settle down, make some lists. Then maybe she would sleep.
When she heard someone approaching, her back went up. In a house this size, couldn’t everyone find some place else to be?
But King came in, and stood, shifting his weight, digging his hands into his pockets.
“Well?” was all she said.
“Ah, sorry about breaking Hoyt’s face.”
“It’s his face, you should apologize to him.”
“We know where we stand. Just wanted to clear it with you.” When she said nothing, he scratched the top of his head through his thick hair, and if a man of six six and two hundred and seventy pounds could squirm, King squirmed.
“Listen, I run up, and that light’s blasting, and he’s lying there bleeding and burning. Guy’s my first sorcerer,” King continued after another pause. “I’ve only known him like a week. I’ve known Cian since... a really long time, and I owe him pretty much everything.”
“So when you found him hurt, naturally you assumed his brother tried to kill him.”
“Yeah. Figured you had a part in it, too, but I couldn’t beat the hell out of you.”
“I appreciate the chivalry.”
The sting in her tone made him wince. “You sure got a way of cutting a man down to size.”
“It would take a chain saw to cut you down to size. Oh, stop looking so pitiful and guilty.” With a sigh, she scooped back her hair. “We screwed up, you screwed up, and we’re all goddamn sorry about it. I suppose you want some wine now. Maybe a cookie.”
He had to grin. “I’ll take a beer.” He opened the refrigerator, got one out. “I’ll pass on the cookie. You’re a butt-kicker, Red. Quality I admire in a woman—even if it’s my butt getting the boot.”