Morrigan's Cross (Circle Trilogy 1)

“You’re right. I will.” She watched him pour the contents in a thick glass, then set it in the microwave to heat. This time it was a snicker she couldn’t smother. “Sorry. But it’s just so damn odd.”

He studied her, obviously saw no rancor, and relaxed. “Want some wine?”

“Sure, thanks. We need to go to Ireland.”

“So I’m told.”

“No. Now. As soon as it can be arranged. I’ve got a passport, but we have to figure out how to get Hoyt out of this country and into another. And we’ll need a place to set up, to stay and to, well, train and practice.”

“Peas in a pod,” Cian muttered, pouring her a glass of wine. “It’s not a simple matter, you know, to delegate responsibilities for my businesses, particularly since the man I trust to run the club downstairs is bound and determined to join Hoyt’s holy army.”

“Look, I spent a lot of my time today packing, transferring my rather limited funds so I could pay the rent on my place through October, cancelling appointments and handing off a couple of what would be fairly lucrative jobs to an associate. You’ll just have to manage.”

He retrieved his own glass. “And what is it you do? These fairly lucrative jobs?”

“Greeting card art, of the mystical variety. I paint. And do some photography.”

“You any good?”

“No, I suck. Of course I’m good. The paying photography is mostly weddings. More arty stuff for my own pleasure and the occasional sale. I’m adaptable at keeping the wolf from the door.” She lifted her wine. “How about you?”

“Can’t survive a millennium otherwise. So, we’ll leave tonight.”

“Tonight? We can’t possibly—”

“Adapt,” he said simply and drank.

“We need to check on flights, buy tickets—”

“I have my own plane. I’m a licensed pilot.”

“Oh.”

“A good one,” he assured her. “I’ve several decades of air time, so you needn’t worry on that score.”

Vampires who drank blood out of pricey stemware and owned planes. No, what did she have to worry about? “Hoyt doesn’t have any identification, no passport, no papers. I can work a charm to get him through Customs, but—”

“No need.” He crossed the room, opened a panel on the wall she hadn’t detected, and revealed a safe.

Once he’d unlocked it, he took out a lock box, and coming back set it on the counter and flipped the combination. “He can take his choice,” Cian said and pulled out a half a dozen passports.

“Well, wow.” She plucked one, opened it, studied the picture. “Handy you look so much alike. The serious lack of mirrors in this place tells me the lore about no reflections hangs true. No problem being photographed?”

“If you’re using a reflector camera, you’d have a moment, when the mirror engages when you’d be very puzzled. Then it disengages as you shoot—and there I am.”

“Interesting. I brought my cameras. I’d like to try some pictures, when there’s time.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She tossed the passport down. “I hope that plane of yours has plenty of cargo space, because I’m loaded.”

“We’ll manage. I’ve calls to make, and packing of my own to see to.”

“Wait. We don’t have a place to stay.”

“It won’t be a problem,” he said as he left the room. “I’ve something that will suit.”

Glenna blew out a breath, looked back at the pot on the stove. “Well, at least we’ll get in a good meal first.”