“Ask away.”

“How come you didn’t just tear into the dummy with magic?”

“Magic takes focus and concentration. I think I could use some in a fight—I think I could. But most of me is channelled into handling the sword or the stake, particularly since I’m not used to handling either. If I wasn’t centered, I could just send my own weapon flying out of my hand, missing the mark. It’s something I’ll work on.”

She glanced around to make sure Hoyt wasn’t anywhere within earshot. “Generally, I need tools, chants, certain rituals. I can do this.” She opened her palm, focused, and brought out the ball of fire.

Curious, he poked at it. And snatched back his singed finger, sucked on it. “Hell of a trick.”

“Fire is elemental, like air, earth, water. But if I pulled this out during a battle, tossed it at an enemy, it might hit one of us instead, or as well as.”

He studied the shimmering ball with his odd eyes. “Like pointing a gun if you don’t know how to shoot. Can’t be sure who’s going to get the bullet. Or if you’d just end up shooting yourself in your own damn foot.”

“Something like that.” She vanished the fire. “But it’s nice to have it in reserve.”

“You go ahead, take a break, Red, before you hurt somebody.”

“No argument.” She sailed into the house, intending to drink a gallon of water and put together some food. She nearly walked straight into Cian.

“Didn’t know you were up and around.”

He stood back from the sunlight that filtered through the windows, but she saw he had a full view of the outdoor activities.

“What do you think?” she asked him. “How are we doing?”

“If they came for you now, they’d snack on you like chicken at a picnic.”

“I know. We’re clumsy, and there’s no sense of unity. But we’ll get better.”

“You’ll need to.”

“Well, you’re full of cheer and encouragement this afternoon. We’ve been at it over two hours, and none of us is used to this kind of thing. Larkin’s the closest King’s got to a warrior, and he’s green yet.”

Cian merely glanced at her. “Ripen or die.”

Fatigue was one thing, she thought, and she would deal with the sweat and the effort. But now she was flat-out insulted. “It’s hard enough to do what we’re doing without one of us being a complete ass**le.”

“Is that your term for realist?”

“Screw it, and you with it.” She stalked around the kitchen, tossed some fruit, some bread, some bottled water into a basket. She hauled it out, ignoring Cian as she passed by.

Outside she dumped the basket on the table King had carried out to hold weapons.

“Food!” Larkin pounced like a starving man. “Bless you down to the soles of your feet, Glenna. I was wasting away here.”

“Since it’s been two hours for certain since you last stuffed your face,” Moira put in.

“The master of doom doesn’t think we’re working hard enough, and equates us to chicken at a picnic for the vampires.” Glenna took an apple for herself, bit in. “I say we show him different.”

She took another bite, then whipped around toward the newly stuffed dummy. She focused in, visualized, then hurled the apple. It flew toward the dummy, and as it flew it became a stake. And that stake pierced cloth and straw.

“Oh, that was fine,” Moira breathed. “That was brilliant.”

“Sometimes temper gives the magic a boost.”

The stake slid out again, and splatted as an apple to the ground. She sent Hoyt a look. “Something to work out.”

“We need something to unify us, to hold us together,” she told Hoyt later. She sat in the tower, rubbing balm into bruises while he pored through the pages of a spellbook. “Teams wear uniforms, or have fight songs.”

“Songs? Now we should sing? Or maybe just find a bloody harper.”

Sarcasm, she decided, was something the brothers shared as well as their looks. “We need something. Look at us, even now. You and I up here, Moira and Larkin off together. King and Cian in the training room, devising new miseries for us all. It’s fine and good to have the whole of the team split into smaller teams, working on their own projects. But we haven’t become a whole team yet.”

“So we drag out the harp and sing? We’ve serious work to do, Glenna.”

“You’re not following me.” Patience, she reminded herself. He’d worked as hard as she had today, and was just as tired. “It’s about symbolism. We have the same foe, yes, but not the same purpose.” She walked to the window, and saw how long the shadows had grown, and how low the sun hung in the sky.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Her fingers groped for her pendant. It struck her then, so simple, so obvious.

“You were looking for a shield for Cian, because he can’t go out in the day. But what about us? We can’t risk going out after sundown. And even inside, we know she can get to us, get inside us. What about our shield, Hoyt? What shields us against the vampire?”

“The light.”

“Yes, yes, but what symbol? A cross. We need to make crosses, and we need to put magic into them. Not only shield, but weapon, Hoyt.”

He thought of the crosses Morrigan had given him for his family. But even his powers, even combined with Glenna’s fell short of the gods.

Still...

“Silver,” he mumbled. “Silver would be best.”

“With red jasper, for night protection. We need some garlic, some sage.” She began going through her case of dried herbs and roots. “I’ll start on the potion.” She grabbed one of her books, began flipping through. “Any idea where we can get our hands on the silver?”

“Aye.”

He left her, went down to the first level of the house and into what was now the dining room. The furnishings were new—to him, at least. Tables of dark, heavy wood, chairs with high backs and ornate carving. The drapes that were pulled over the windows were a deep green, like forest shadows, and made of a thick and weighty silk.

There was art, all of them night scenes of forests and glades and cliffs. Even here, he thought, his brother shunned the light. Or did he prefer the dark, even in paintings?