Morrigan's Cross (Circle Trilogy 1)

He lost the war of silence. In Hoyt’s experience, men always did.

“What are you brewing?”

She simply poured the black liquid from carafe to cup, then turned, watching him with chilly green eyes over the rim as she sipped.

To satisfy himself, he got up, walked into the kitchen and took a second cup down. He poured the liquid as she had, sniffed—detected no poisons—then sipped.

It was electric. Like a quick jolt of power, both strong and rich. Potent, like the drink—the martini—from the night before. But different.

“It’s very good,” he said then took a deeper drink.

In response, she skirted around him, crossed the room and went back through the doorway of the guest room.

Hoyt lifted his gaze to the gods. Would he be plagued by bad tempers and sulks from both this woman and his brother? “How?” he asked. “How am I to do what must be done if already we fight among ourselves?”

“While you’re at it, why don’t you ask your goddess to tell you what she thinks about you slapping at me that way.” Glenna came back in, wearing the shoes, and carrying the satchel he’d seen her with the evening before.

“It’s a defense against what seems to be your argumentative nature.”

“I like to argu

e. And I don’t expect you to flick at me whenever you don’t like what I have to say. Do it again, and I’ll hit back. I have a policy against using magic as a weapon. But I’ll break it in your case.”

She had the right of it, which was only more annoying. “What is this brew?”

She heaved a breath. “It’s coffee. You’ve had coffee before, I imagine. The Egyptians had coffee. I think.”

“Not the like of this,” he replied.

And because she smiled, he assumed the worst of it was over. “I’m ready to go, as soon as you apologize.”

He should have known better. Such was the way of females. “I’m sorry I was forced to use my will to stop you from arguing the morning away.”

“So, you can be a smart-ass. This once, I’ll accept that. Let’s get moving.” She walked to the elevator, pushed its button.

“Is it the fashion for women of this time to be aggressive and sharp-tongued, or is it only you?”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “I’m the only one you have to worry about right now.” She stepped into the elevator, held the door. “Coming?”

She’d worked out a basic strategy. First, she was going to have to spring for a cab. Whatever the conversation, however strangely Hoyt might behave, a New York City cabbie would have seen and heard it all before.

Added to that, her courage wasn’t quite back up to the level to let her ride the subway again.

As she’d anticipated, the minute they were out of the building, Hoyt stopped. And stared. He looked everywhere, up, down, right, left. He studied the traffic, the pedestrians, the buildings.

No one would pay any attention to him, and if they did, they’d mark him as a tourist.

When he opened his mouth to speak, she tapped a finger on her lips. “You’re going to have a million questions. So why don’t you just line them up and file them? We’ll get to them all eventually. For now, I’m going to hail us a cab. Once we’re inside, try not to say anything too outrageous.”

Questions might have been scrambling in his mind like ants, but he cloaked himself in dignity. “I’m not a fool. I know very well I’m out of place here.”

No, he wasn’t a fool, Glenna thought as she stepped to the curb, held up a hand. And he was no coward either. She’d expected him to gawk, but with having the rush and noise and crowds of the city thrust on him, she’d also expected to see some fear, and there was none. Just curiosity, a dose of fascination and a bit of disapproval.

“I don’t like the way the air smells.”

She nudged him back when he joined her at the curb. “You get used to it.” When a cab cruised up to the curb, she whispered to Hoyt as she opened the door. “Get in the way I do, and just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Inside, she reached over him to pull the door shut and gave the cabbie her address. When the cabbie shot back out into traffic, Hoyt’s eyes widened.