Wicked As You Wish (A Hundred Names for Magic #1) - Rin Chupeco Page 0,132
I was quoting.”
“I like them well enough.” Again that faint hesitation. “’Sides, you seem like an Audrey Hepburn kind of girl.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean that you’re an old-school nerd.”
Zoe scowled. “Well, you don’t strike me as a Roman Holiday kind of guy.”
“What movie kind of guy am I, then?”
It Happened One Night was the obvious choice to Zoe’s literary brain. Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, hiking through the middle of nowhere and annoying the hell out of each other. No, wait, they’d eloped in the end, didn’t they? Not that, then. Rebel Without a Cause? No, that would make it a compliment. “I was thinking Swamp Thing,” she retorted.
A faint chuckle was his reply.
The farm was the first sign of civilization they had seen since leaving the marshlands. Zoe had been tempted to spend a few more nights at the infinitely more comfortable barn, but she knew they would lose valuable hours and miles doing so.
She was all for reimbursing the owners for every item they took away, while Cole had been just as adamant against spending coin when the priority was their survival. Not for the first time, Zoe wondered crabbily if Cole argued with her just for the sheer pleasure of contradicting her at every chance he could.
She was almost relieved they’d gone back to fighting again. Since escaping the marshes, it felt odd not to be bickering constantly with him. That he could quote from old movies was a mild shock, but she was honest enough to admit that he was smart, and that was part of what made him so irritating. That he knew enough to argue with her in advanced literature class regarding Heart of Darkness or The Fifth Season or virtually every other book in existence back in Cerridwen had been proof of that. Cole always had the uncanny ability to get under Zoe’s skin without ever needing to say a word.
On the other hand, Zoe felt that she, too, was exercising a goodly amount of self-control. She hadn’t thrown anything at him yet, for instance. Maybe it was guilt, she conceded, because he’d hurt himself worse for her, and because Zoe didn’t want to know what might have happened if he hadn’t made the attempt.
“At least the truck still works.” Nottingham’s voice was dry. “But we’ll be lucky if it doesn’t die before we reach Maidenkeep. Walking’s still an option.”
“Absolutely not.” Zoe pointed to her stores. “No way we can carry all this on foot.”
“We’re not going to be able to eat all of this, no matter how hungry we are.”
“We don’t know the state of Maidenkeep’s pantry. Besides, once the others reach Lyonesse, they’ll be starved too. Think on the bright side, I doubt any farm horse is going to let someone like you climb onto its back. Or were you planning on running the rest of the way?”
Cole grunted and slammed the hood down on the truck.
“Wait, you can drive, can’t you? Because I haven’t taken driver’s ed yet.”
“I can drive. I’m no expert on trucks, but there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with this one, other than not being maintained in a while. Someone made the effort to add fireproof spells to keep the fuel tank straps from corroding, and the ball joints have been treated with anti-freezing spelltech.”
“Didn’t you just say you’re not an expert?”
“I’m not. My dad does custom work.”
“Your dad?” Cole hadn’t taken his father’s name, but that was no surprise; in old families like the Nottinghams, the more illustrious name was often the one adopted. But while the family was frequently in the news—William Nottingham, the family patriarch and Cole’s grandfather, was a peer of the realm—Zoe didn’t recall any mentions of his father. With his darker skin, Cole didn’t resemble his mother, a blue-eyed blond, in the least, though he did have William Nottingham’s steel-gray eyes.
She knew Cole was seventeen, only a year older than she was. And while everyone knew William, Zoe knew very little of his daughter and Cole’s mother, Lady Sarah Nottingham, who rumors said was something of a recluse and was rarely seen at the elite society galas Zoe’s own mother was so fond of.
“My father,” Cole said brusquely, his tone quickly stamping out Zoe’s burgeoning curiosity. Zoe retreated. She could understand; she wouldn’t want anyone being inquisitive about her own parents either.
The chicken had been in storage for at least a year. The freezer had broken down long before they’d arrived, but it was so cold, it