And yes.
You guessed it.
I not only wished I’d never witnessed that smile on his fabulous lips, I also wished I’d see it again and again and again, all those times aimed at me.
“It’s like you agree with her, Battie,” Chastity whisper-rebuked his magnificent smile.
“I do agree with her, Chassie,” he replied.
“You do?” Prudence asked.
“Men wouldn’t have put so much effort into holding women down over the millennium if we actually thought you were the weaker sex,” Battle stated. “They did it because they knew women would do a better job if they had the running of the world, and one thing a man’s ego can’t abide is anyone doing a better job than him.”
Oh crap.
Was I going to have to like this guy?
“I adore you,” Temperance cooed at her brother.
“Only when I agree with you,” he replied.
“Indeed.” Temperance smiled an icy-cool, but somehow genuinely loving smile.
No question, I totally liked Temperance.
In order to guide myself out of the zone of Battle (maybe) making me like him, or at least tolerate him, I addressed Prudence, “So tomorrow, tour of The Downs and having a look at the attics, then you’ll show me the studio?”
“That sounds perfect,” she chirruped.
“Then, I’d like to get into what you’ve uncovered, get a plan to organize it. Could you give me a day or two with that, and after I feel I have a handle on it, we can head to Glastonbury?”
That weird static feeling came back to the air after I said this.
But Prudence suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “Well, about that?—”
After what Battle told me, I wasn’t going to let her wheedle out of it.
“Or, we could go the day after tomorrow,” I suggested. “Before I get stuck in.”
Heading off Prudence’s response, Temperance said, “I say you go then. You’re in danger of running into a town overflowing with weekend-tripper flower children, white witches and Druids if you wait much past that.”
I started laughing. “Druids?”
“It’s supposedly a mystical place,” Prudence said.
“I know that, my lovely,” I replied. “But Druids?”
“They’re still a thing,” Prudence shared.
“They’re essentially hippies who wear white robes,” Temperance put in. “Or is it witches who wear white robes? Don’t answer. I don’t care to know the distinction.”
“Maybe Ravenna will want to come with us to Glastonbury,” Prudence suggested while I took a sip of soup.
At this proposal, I nearly choked, and for some insane reason my gaze flew to Battle.
He was scowling at me.
How I knew what his scowl was saying, I couldn’t tell you.
