Morrigan's Cross
Page 71

“Thanks for the kind invitation, in my own bloody house. But I just came down for another bottle.” He shook the one he held. “Someone appears to have made off with this one.”
“Drink yourself sick if you want to be stupid about it. But you might as well eat something. I know you eat, I’ve seen you. I’ve gone to the trouble to make it.”
He glanced at the counter, smirked. “You opened a tin.”
“It’s sorry I am I didn’t have time to kill the fatted calf. So you’ll make do.”
She turned around to busy herself, then went very still when she felt him behind her. His fingers skimmed the side of her throat, light as a moth’s wings.
“I’d have thought you tasty once upon a time.”
Drunk, angry, grieving, she thought. All of those made him dangerous. If she showed him her fear, he’d only be more so. “You’re in my way.”
“Not yet.”
“I don’t have time for drunkards. Maybe you don’t want food, but Glenna needs it, for healing strength.”
“I’d say she’s feeling strong enough.” Bitterness edged his tone as he glanced up. “Didn’t you see the lights brighten a bit ago?”
“I did. I don’t know what that has to do with Glenna.”
“It means she and my brother are having a go at each other. Sex,” he said when she looked blank. “A bit of naked, sweaty sex to top off the evening. Ah, she blushes.” He laughed, moved closer. “All that pretty blood just under the skin. Delicious.”
“Stop.”
“I used to like when they trembled, the way you are. It makes the blood hotter, and it adds to the thrill. I’d nearly forgotten.”
“You smell of the whiskey. This is hot enough now. Sit down, and I’ll make a bowl for you.”
“I don’t want the f**king soup. Wouldn’t mind that hot, sweaty sex, but likely I’m too drunk to manage it. Well then, I’ll just get that fresh bottle, and finish the job.”
“Cian. Cian, people turn to each other for comfort when death’s come. It isn’t disrespect, but need.”
“You don’t want to lecture me on sex. I know more of it than you could ever imagine. Of its pleasures and its pain and its purposes.”
“People turn to drink as well, but it’s not as healthy. I know what he was to you.”
“You don’t.”
“He talked to me, more than the others, I think, because I like to listen. He told me how you found him, all those years ago, what you did for him.”
“I amused myself.”
“Stop it.” The tone of command, bred into her bones, snapped into her voice. “Now it’s disrespect you’re showing for a man who was a friend to me. And he was a son to you. A friend and a brother. All of that. I want to put a stone up for him tomorrow. It could wait until sunset, until you could go out and—”
“What do I care for stones?” he said, and left her.
Glenna was so grateful for the sun she could have wept. There were clouds, but they were thin and the beams burst through them to toss light and shadows on the ground.
She hurt still, heart and body. But she would deal with it. For now, she took one of her cameras and she stepped outside to let the sun bathe her face. Charmed by the music of it, she walked to the stream. Then just laid down on its bank and basked.
Birds sang, pouring joy into air that was fragrant with flowers. She could see foxglove dancing lightly in the breeze. For a moment she felt the earth beneath her sigh and whisper with the pleasure of a new day.
Grief would come and go, she knew. But today there was light, and work. And there was still magic in the world.
When a shadow fell over her, she turned her head, smiled at Moira.
“How are you this morning?”
“Better,” Glenna told her. “I’m better. Sore and stiff, maybe a little wobbly yet, but better.”
She turned a bit more to study Moira’s tunic and rough pants. “We need to get you some clothes.”
“These do well enough.”
“Maybe we’ll go into town, see what we can find.”
“I have nothing to trade. I can’t pay.”
“That’s what Visa’s for. It’ll be my treat.” She lay flat, closed her eyes again. “I didn’t think anyone else was up.”
“Larkin’s taken the horse for a run. It should do both of them good. I don’t think he slept at all.”
“I doubt any of us did, really. It doesn’t seem real does it, not in the light of day with the sun showering down and the birds singing?”
“It seems more real to me,” Moira said as she sat. “It shows what we have to lose. I have a stone,” she continued, brushing her hand through the grass. “I thought when Larkin comes back we could go to where the graves are, make one for King.”
Glenna kept her eyes closed, but reached out a hand for Moira’s. “You have a good heart,” she told her. “Yes, we’ll make a grave for King.”
Her injuries prevented her from training, but it didn’t stop Glenna from working. She spent the next two days preparing food, shopping for supplies, researching magic.
She took photographs.
More than busy work, she told herself. It was practical, and organizational. And the photos were—would be—a kind of documentation, a kind of tribute.
Most of all it helped keep her from feeling useless while the others worked up a sweat with swords and hand-to-hand.
She learned the roads, committing various routes to memory. Her driving skills were rusty, so she honed them, maneuvering the van on snaking roads, skimming the hedgerows on turns, zooming through roundabouts as her confidence built.
She pored through spell books, searching for offense and defense. For solutions. She couldn’t bring King back, but she would do everything in her power to safeguard those who were left.
Then she got the bright idea that every member of the team should be able to handle the van. She started with Hoyt.
She sat beside him as he drove the van at a creeping pace up and down the lane.
“There are better uses for my time.”
“That may be.” And at this rate, she thought, they’d be a millennium before he got over five miles an hour. “But every one of us should be able to take the wheel if necessary.”