Battle Ground

cup.



Murphy came limping up the stairway from belowdecks and eased into the wheelhouse with me. I was about six eight or six nine, depending on my shoes, and Murph had to wear thick socks to break five feet even, so I took up a little more space than she did.



But even so, she slipped up next to me and pressed herself against my side.



I put my arm around her and closed my eyes for a second and focused on nothing but the feel of her against me. Granted, the battle harness and the P90 she carried (illegally, if that mattered at this point) made her a little lumpier and pointier than the dictates of romance typically mandated for a love interest, but all things considered, I didn't mind. She was also warm and soft and tense and alert beside me.



I trusted her. Whatever was coming, she'd have my back, and she was tough and smart.



(And wounded, whispered some doubting part of me. And vulnerable.)



Shut up, me.



"How much longer?" Murphy asked.



"If any of the lights were on, we'd be able to see the skyline by now," I said. "How are our guests?"



"Worried," she said.



"Good," I said. "They should be." I looked down at her and said, "If anything happens, it will be near shore," I said. "Makes the most sense for the enemy to post their people or whatever there. Better tell everyone to be ready."



Murphy frowned at me and nodded. "You expecting trouble? I thought this Titan lady-"



"Ethniu," I supplied.



"Ethniu," she continued, without perturbation, "said she wasn't showing up until the witching hour. But it's after midnight."



"For practitioners, the witching hour is between two and three in the morning. And besides. I think a revenge-obsessed goddess might not make the most reliable newspaper or clock," I said. "I think the Fomor are an aquatic nation. I think if she's really bringing an army in, she'll have scouts and troublemakers already in position. And I