Chapter 6
I thought the two
mages were going to rupture something trying to get to the bag. Mac
beat his buddy, but only because he was closer and Pritkin’s
unzipped pants tried to fall down on the way. I watched him zip up
with some disappointment, then gave myself a mental slap. At the
rate things were going, I was going to need therapy.
Mac started setting
items on the top of the fridge, one by one. His actions were
reverent, like someone handling nitroglycerine. The two null bombs
gleamed softly silver under the overhead lights. Behind them was
the insignificant-looking box that had housed the Graeae for who
knew how many centuries. Finally, Mac fished out the velvet pouch
and carefully, one at a time, set the rune stones in front of the
rest of the items.
It took him several
tries to find his voice. “Quite a collection, ” he said,
breathlessly. The wolf totem tattooed on his back stopped in
midhowl and peeked over his shoulder to see what all the fuss was
about.
“Was this
everything?” Pritkin asked. “Did you take all the Senate
had?”
“Of course not! I
know there’s a war on—I was there when it started,
remember?”
“What else do they
have?” Pritkin inquired, while Mac stood and drooled at the items
on his fridge.
“None of your
business.” I decided to let him think I’d been daring enough to
carry out a highly dangerous raid on the Senate—it sounded better
than the truth. In fact, I’d returned from a trip to the past with
Mircea only to find the Consul waiting for us. She’d reached for
me, I had instinctively jerked back and, thanks to my unpredictable
new power, ended up three days in the past. I had shifted in time,
but not in space, so I was still in the inner sanctum of the vamp
portion of MAGIC. Since their cache of magical goodies was
literally right in front of my face, I’d decided to help myself to
a few items before making my getaway.
I’d been in a hurry
because their wards had almost certainly informed them I was there.
I paused only long enough to grab the stuff from one shelf and
barely even noticed the rest. But since the unit housing the vamp’s
treasure trove was taller than me, there was a good bet I hadn’t
left them defenseless.
“We will need help in
Faerie,” Pritkin pointed out, making an obvious attempt to hold on
to his temper. “If you stole these things, you could get
others.”
“I’m not going to
take the rest of their weapons! They’re at war!” I might be pissed
at Mircea, but leaving him at the mercy of Rasputin and his allies
wasn’t in my plans. Not to mention that my old friend Rafe was with
him. There were plenty of nasty vamps out there, but they weren’t
all tarred with the same brush, no matter what Pritkin liked to
think. “Anyway, I couldn’t get back in there without using my
power, and I’m trying to avoid that.”
“Why?” He looked
genuinely puzzled. “It is the best weapon you have.”
“It’s also the
scariest. As you pointed out, I don’t know what I’m doing. And if I
mess up, it could get a lot of people killed.”
“Is that why you
wouldn’t shift us out of Dante’s?” he demanded. When I nodded, an
expression crossed his face that managed to be both puzzled and
angry at the same time. “That makes no sense. You took us to the
nineteenth century earlier, trying to get away from
me!”
“I did
not!”
“I was there, if you
recall,” he retorted angrily. “Your lover almost killed
me.”
Unless you counted
one out-of-body experience, Mircea and I weren’t lovers. And thanks
to the geis, I couldn’t risk us ever
being so. However, I didn’t intend to explain that to Pritkin. It
wasn’t his business, and I was sick of feeling like I was
constantly on trial with him as judge, jury and, possibly,
executioner.
“I don’t care whether
you believe this or not,” I said, as calmly as I could manage. “But
I didn’t have anything to do with us ending up at that play. The
power just flared—I don’t know why. The only thing I did was to get
us out of there as quickly as possible.”
“The Pythia controls
the power, not the reverse,” Pritkin said, calling me a
liar.
“Believe what you
want,” I said, suddenly weary. Fighting with him got old fast
because it never seemed to solve anything. “If what you said
earlier about us needing every advantage is true, I have a job for
Mac.”
Mac glanced up, still
looking dazed. “What?”
“My ward,” I said,
tugging down the back of my tank to show him the top of the
pentagram. “Pritkin said the Circle deactivated it. Can you fix
it?”
“I did not say
‘deactivate.’ That would be impossible,” Pritkin corrected as Mac
moved to take a look. “From a distance, the Circle can only block
it, which they almost certainly did for fear that you would use it
against them. They would not have closed the connection
otherwise—whenever it flared, it gave them an approximation of your
location and they want to find you badly.” Pritkin suddenly moved
forward until he invaded my personal space. “Your explanation of
the power’s actions makes no sense,” he said, his voice harsh. “Not
if you truly are Pythia.”
I suppose he was
trying to be intimidating, but it didn’t work out quite that way.
He had stopped about an inch from me with his bare chest right in
my line of vision. It was lightly furred over muscles that were
hard and sleekly defined, and the inadequate air-conditioning had
caused rivulets of sweat to run in fascinating ways through all
that hair. The only men I’d ever touched had been smooth, or almost
so, and I had the insane desire to run my hands through those damp
blond curls to see what patterns I could make with my
fingers.
I didn’t know why the
mage, whom I didn’t like in the least, was affecting me like this,
but I felt like someone who’s been on a starvation diet for weeks
and just caught sight of an ice cream sundae. My hands were sweaty
and my breath was coming faster, to the point that I’d be panting
in a minute. I tore my eyes away from his torso before I lost
control, but that didn’t help since they only drifted lower, to
what was concealed by that infuriating expanse of tight denim. I
swallowed and struggled to get a grip before I gave in to the
burning desire to rip the jeans off him.
I had almost
succeeded in talking myself into stepping back, even if it meant
letting him think he’d intimidated me. That would, after all, be
better than the truth. But then I made the mistake of looking him
in the eyes. I finally figured out why he had always appeared a
little odd: his sandy lashes and eyebrows were so close to his skin
tone that, from a distance, he didn’t appear to have any. This
close, I could see that his lashes were actually long and thick,
and that they framed clear green eyes—the rare kind with no hint of
any other color.
Despite strict orders
to the contrary, my hands were on him, tracing the muscles in his
chest. His pupils expanded to the point that his eyes turned almost
black and a shocked look crossed his face, probably more so than
would have been true if I’d slapped him. But he didn’t pull away.
There was an odd tingle in my hands where they pressed against his
pecs, and his skin felt warmer than it should have even with the
shop’s lousy air-conditioning. Or maybe that was me. I didn’t care:
very little thought was happening in my mind, except how to get
that damned zipper down.
Before I could act on
that plan, Pritkin grabbed my wrists. I’m not sure whether he meant
to push me away or to pull me closer, and judging by the look on
his face, I don’t think he did, either. But neither of us had the
chance to find out.
It suddenly felt like
someone had doused me in gasoline and thrown on a match. It wasn’t
pain that flared through me; it was agony, and it seemed to spear
every cell in my body simultaneously. I screamed and jumped back,
hitting Mac and taking us both to the floor. Pritkin followed us
down because he still had hold of my wrists, and I vaguely heard
Mac yelling something at him, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to
understand. I arched my back and began convulsing like a fish out
of water, only what I wanted wasn’t air but relief from the
excruciating pain.
I gained a real
understanding of what it must feel like to burn alive, fire ripping
its way up my spine, every nerve ending exploding with white-hot
agony. I forgot where I was, forgot my problems, which suddenly
appeared trivial to the point of absurdity next to the torture I
was undergoing. I think I would have forgotten my name in another
few seconds, but then, as abruptly as it had come, the pain was
gone.
I found myself on the
linoleum floor of Mac’s workroom, trying to relearn how to breathe.
I looked up to see him holding Pritkin’s wrists captive. He’d
obviously pulled him off me, and for that I could have kissed him,
if I hadn’t been shaking too hard to even sit up. Once he’d solved
the immediate problem, Mac dropped Pritkin’s hands and turned to
me.
“Are you all right?
Cassie, can you hear me?” I nodded, unable to do more at the
moment. “Right.” He looked freaked out, his usually laid-back,
G’day, mate, attitude entirely gone.
“Stay where you are and I’ll be right back. Whatever you do, no
touching!”
Mac disappeared
through a door that led off from his workroom, and I heard water
running. The pain had receded, but the memory of it was burned into
my body the way an afterimage of a blinding light damages a retina.
My nerve endings pulsed with vivid recall and, although I was no
longer convulsing, a light tremor seemed to have settled in for
good. I was terrified to move, afraid that I might accidentally
trigger it again.
I vaguely realized
that the gasping breaths I was hearing weren’t all mine, and
shifted my eyes to the side without moving my head. I got a glimpse
of Pritkin, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with eyes
that showed white all around. His face was flushed, his muscles
corded, and his breathing was as shallow as mine. It occurred to me
that maybe I hadn’t been the only one affected.
Mac returned with a
damp washcloth, which he put on my forehead. I was about to tell
him that I needed a bit more than that, like a shot of codeine or a
bottle of whiskey, but the small gesture did seem to help. I
watched a moth circle the halogen light overhead and tried to
regain motor control. The very idea of sitting up sounded insane,
so while Mac tended to Pritkin, I lay there and thought. I had been
having what qualified, even after some memorable experiences in the
past, as a crazy day. So maybe it was understandable that it would
take me this long to figure something out.
I’d been reacting
strangely all day around men. Normally, I noticed attractive guys
as much as the next woman, but I’d had years to learn how to admire
in a detached sort of way and then move on. Living on the run meant
that any guy I became involved with got the added bonus of a death
threat. Not wanting to get anyone killed, I’d made sure to keep my
distance, and practice, as they say, makes perfect.
I’d found it hard to
concentrate around Casanova and Chavez, but come on. They were both
drop-dead gorgeous, not to mention being possessed by incubi. I’d
assumed I was having the reaction any heterosexual female could
expect around them, and had just been grateful that I hadn’t
dragged one or both into the nearest closet. But Pritkin was
another matter.
Not only did I find
him completely insufferable, and had ever since we met, but I’d
also never thought him particularly attractive before today. Okay,
I was willing to admit that his body was pretty good and that his
face wasn’t that bad, when it wasn’t wearing its usual sneer. His
hair was unfortunate, looking like it had been styled with a Weed
Eater, but nobody was perfect. But Pritkin definitely wasn’t my
type. I’ve never been attracted to blonds, especially homicidal
ones who probably have my name on their target list. Yet all of a
sudden I was seriously lusting after him.
I abruptly sat up,
feeling sick, and barely managed to grab the damp cloth before it
fell in my lap. What if Mircea was fiddling around with the
geis, trying to force me to finish the
ritual? I knew he could do it, since he’d modified it once before
to accept Tomas in his place. Maybe he could alter it to
accommodate even more partners—a lot more, if today was anything to
go on. I covered my eyes with my palms, pain of a different kind
lancing through me. The idea that Mircea might not care who
completed the rite, just so long as I ended up Pythia for good, was
like a cold fist to the chest.
After a few minutes,
I hauled myself up from the floor, using the tattoo table for
leverage. Surprisingly, my body didn’t protest. “Could Mircea have
altered the geis?” I asked. I was proud
of the fact that I managed to keep my voice steady.
Pritkin had also
regained his feet and as an added bonus had put his shirt back on.
He glanced at me, then quickly looked away.
“Unlikely.”
“Would somebody
please tell me what the hell just happened here?” Mac
asked.
“Then why am I
suddenly lusting after every guy I meet?”
Pritkin was staring
intently at the wall behind the fridge, and after I found myself
starting to focus on the front of his jeans, I decided to do the
same. “The pain was the geis defending
you against an unauthorized partner,” he told me. “It would not
draw you to one.”
I felt a sudden surge
of relief, strong enough to make me weak in the knees. I clutched
the table with both hands and fought not to grin like an idiot.
After a few seconds, I managed to tamp it down. Maybe Mircea hadn’t
set me up—this time—but I obviously still had a problem. “So what
is going on?”
“I . . . am not
sure.” Pritkin took in a ragged breath and closed his eyes. After a
moment the flush in his cheeks faded a little. “Did anything go
wrong during the ritual?”
“What ritual?” Mac
was trying to catch up but not doing real well. I’d felt the same
way all day.
“The transfer
ritual,” I clarified, “the one required to become Pythia. I don’t
know what it’s called. Agnes started it but she said that I had to,
uh . . .” I trailed off in deference to Mac’s old-fashioned
sensibilities.
“But Mircea took care
of that,” Pritkin said.
“Not exactly.” I
could understand his confusion. Other than for the play interlude,
the last time he’d seen Mircea and me together we’d been nude and
sweaty. Well, technically I’d been wrapped in a blanket, but you
get the idea. “We were interrupted. Rasputin attacked,
remember?”
“Vividly.” Pritkin
wrinkled his brow as if trying to get his mind around a difficult
concept. “You’re saying that you are still a virgin?” he asked
bluntly. His voice held the same level of incredulity anyone else
would use if told that a spaceship had landed on the White House
lawn. Like something barely possible but highly
unlikely.
I stopped looking at
the wall to glare at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but
yes!”
He shook his head in
disbelief. “I would never have considered that.”
I was getting ready
to become seriously annoyed when I found myself admiring the way
the damp hair at the base of his neck curled up. Damn, damn, damn!
“Do you have a theory or not?”
“The most likely
explanation is that the Pythian Rites are trying to complete
themselves.”
I stared at him
blankly for a moment. He didn’t notice, being too busy counting
bricks in the wall. “Let me get this straight,” I finally said,
sounding a little strangled despite my best efforts. “Since Mircea
isn’t here, the unfinished ritual is starting to draw me to other
men to complete itself. But the geis
doesn’t like that, and it’s making its feelings known by torturing
me and anybody who gets near me. Is that right? And more
importantly, is it going to keep happening?”
“What geis? You’re under a geis?” Mac asked.
“Her vampire master
put her under a dúthracht. It is
conflicting with the Pythian Rites, which have yet to be completed,
” Pritkin said curtly.
“Oh, bloody hell.”
Mac sat down on his stool, looking shell-shocked.
“Answer me!” If I’d
dared to touch Pritkin, I’d have shaken him within an inch of his
life.
“I don’t know enough
about the rites to say for certain if there is a way out at this
point,” he said unhelpfully. “The ceremonies are held within the
Pythia’s court, and there are few records kept on anything
connected to the office.”
“What about
witnesses?” I hoped I didn’t sound as frantic as I felt. “The
ritual was done for Agnes once, right?”
“That was more than
eighty years ago. And even if any witnesses still live, they would
be of little use. Most of the ritual is carried out privately. The
only people who know the complete procedure are the Pythia and her
designated heir.”
“Myra.” Great, I was
back where I’d started. “What about the geis then?”
“You are already
doing what you can by staying away from Mircea. That will at least
slow down the process. There is no other remedy, other than having
it removed.”
“Then how do I do
that?”
“You
don’t.”
“Don’t give me that!
There has to be a way.”
“If there is, I don’t
know it,” he told me, sounding tired. “If I did, I would tell you.
Unless the ritual is completed, it will continue to draw you to
men, but the geis will oppose any
except Mircea. And it will likely grow worse over time. The
dúthracht is spiteful when it’s
opposed.”
“But . . . but what
about Chavez?” I asked desperately. “He touched me and nothing
happened. I didn’t go writhing all over the ice rink!”
“You were at the ice
rink? Why?” Pritkin was back to looking pissed. I couldn’t have
cared less.
“To get that.” I
gestured at the duffle. “I didn’t want to take it into
Dante’s.”
“So you left it
unattended in a public arena, where anyone might pick it
up?!”
“It was in a locker,”
I said sullenly. “And can we get back to the point? I felt
something start to build when Casanova touched me. It was nothing
like what just happened, but it felt—I don’t know. Like it could
get bad fast. Only he dropped my hand before it flared. But Chavez
didn’t affect me at all, and that was later. So if you’re right and
the reaction is strengthening, shouldn’t it have been
worse?”
Pritkin looked
uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
“The only reason I
can think of,” Mac mused, “is that the geis determines the amount of threat by reading the
interest level of any prospective partners, and reacts accordingly.
Casanova was likely somewhat attracted to you and this Chavez
wasn’t. Casanova was therefore identified by the geis as the wrong match and as a potential problem,
and warned off. But Chavez, although also the wrong one to complete
the bond, was not interested in you, and therefore was not
perceived as a danger.”
Mac looked pleased
with himself, while Pritkin and I stared at each other in mounting
panic. As if by mutual consent, neither of us made the obvious
connection. I did not want to go there.
Ever.
“Of course,” Mac
continued obliviously, “when there’s a mutual attraction, the
reaction is stronger because the warning is going both ways . . .”
He trailed off awkwardly.
“Okay.” I put a hand
to my head, which had started throbbing in time with my pulse. At
this rate, I was going to be the youngest person ever to die from a
stress-induced stroke. “How do I deal with this thing?” I asked
Mac, because Pritkin was busy trying not to look
horrified.
Mac scratched his
stubble-coated chin. “Usually, there’s a way out built into these
things, especially the dúthracht. It
has a habit of causing chaos, and I can’t imagine anyone putting it
in place and not giving himself an escape route. But only two
people are likely to know what the safety net is.”
“Mircea and whoever
cast the spell.”
He nodded. “And the
mage was doubtless someone disavowed who was under the vamp’s
protection. He isn’t going to risk losing that to help you, even if
we could figure out which of the hundreds of rogue mages—and that’s
just the ones in this country—Mircea used. Of course, there aren’t
a lot with that kind of skill, outside of the Black Circle. But
that doesn’t help greatly. Say we could narrow it down to a few
dozen, we’d still have to find him or her, and if that was easy it
would have been done long ago.”
“Is there anything
that can slow this thing down, make the reaction less . . .
extreme?” I asked Mac, but it was Pritkin who
answered.
“Once we cross into
Faerie, it may not be an issue. Like the rest of our magic, the
geis should not work well there.” He
was still apparently admiring the blank wall. “I, er, think this
would go more smoothly if you waited elsewhere. Mac can look at
your ward when he finishes with me.”
I didn’t argue. I
grabbed another Coke, scooped my weapons into the duffle and left,
taking it with me. It was a measure of how shaken Pritkin was that
he didn’t object.
I sat on a rickety
stool at the counter and thought things over. There was little I
could do, except to avoid attractive men until I could get into
Faerie. I hoped Pritkin was right and the effects would be less
there, maybe enough to buy me time to find Myra. It wasn’t a great
plan, but it was the best I could do. I drank my soda and looked
around for something, anything, to keep my mind off the image of a
mostly naked Pritkin getting a sword carved into his taut gold
skin.
I sat out front for
more than an hour, leafing through a couple of huge black binders
filled with tattoo designs. There was everything from voodoo veves
to Indonesian tribal designs, but most were traditional magical
symbols and Native American totems. I figured out pretty fast from
the descriptions under the photos that all of Mac’s designs came
with some sort of supernatural benefit. I didn’t see the sword he
was doing for Pritkin among them, but maybe it was a special
order.
The two volumes were
divided into categories and levels. First, someone selected the
main thing they wanted the tattoo to do. Some were for protection,
with specialties for cuts and abrasions, blood loss, fire damage,
head trauma, poison and frostbite, among others. The length of the
list made me wonder why anyone wanted to be a war mage. It also
made me curious why, before today, Pritkin hadn’t had any tattoos.
There were some that sped up healing, but although I’d seen him
heal almost as fast as a vamp, he hadn’t been wearing them. Unless
they were somewhere I hadn’t seen. I dragged my mind away from that
image and quickly flipped over a few more pages.
There were also a lot
of offensive spells, with a division between stuff like better
vision and enhanced hearing and a whole list of nasty things to do
to your enemies. I didn’t linger over that section, not wanting to
know what the Circle’s war mages had in mind for me. I also found
out that not everyone could get every tattoo. What kind and how
many you could have depended on your level of magical ability. The
images drew their power partly from the natural world, so they
worked to a limited degree like talismans, but they also fed off a
person’s innate magic. It sounded sort of like a hybrid car that
used electricity to extend the gas mileage. There was a long,
complex chart in the back of the books for assigning yourself a
range from which to choose. I didn’t completely understand it
because I’d never been tested for that sort of thing. Magical
children are usually graded by ability early, so they can be
shunted towards an appropriate apprenticeship, but of course, Tony
had already known what he had planned for me.
I discovered that
there were limits to what even a powerful mage could support.
Someone with a snow leopard tattoo to aid her in moving silently
and a spider for help in weaving illusions, for example, had to
subtract a certain number of points from her powerbase for the
energy those two enhancements used up. Unless she was very strong,
she probably wouldn’t be able to support another major improvement.
It was all very complicated, even with the chart, and I finally
lost interest. None of this helped me figure out how to get past
whatever block the Circle had put on my ward.
Pritkin finally
emerged, looking pale and a little ill, and I took his place in
back. I didn’t mind Mac checking on my problematic protection. He
and Pritkin needed me alive until they reeled in Myra, so he had a
vested interest in fixing it if he could. I was a little worried
about the geis acting up, but
apparently I wasn’t Mac’s type. I didn’t get so much as a twinge
from the hellish thing, even when I removed my tank top. I wasn’t
wearing a bra, but I held the shirt in front of me and Mac’s hands
were as impersonal as a doctor’s.
“Can I ask you a
question?” He was poking at my back with something that resembled
an extremely fuzzy pipe cleaner. It didn’t hurt, but it made my
aura itch.
I repressed the urge
to wiggle. “Sure.”
“Why are you doing
this? You seem . . . that is, you don’t strike me as particularly
vindictive.”
I glanced at him over
my shoulder. “What am I supposed to be vindictive
about?”
He shrugged. “John
said you plan to kill this vampire, Antonio. I’m assuming he
deserves it, but . . .”
“I don’t strike you
as a homicidal nut?”
He laughed.
“Something like that. If you don’t mind my asking, what did he do
to you?”
I thought about it
while he changed instruments. The easy answer was “everything,” but
I didn’t want to get into a long conversation on a topic that, even
on a good day, managed to depress me. But avoiding it entirely
might not be smart either. I didn’t need Pritkin to get any hints
that Myra interested me a lot more than Tony at the moment. I
decided on a partial truth. It wasn’t like I didn’t have plenty of
legitimate grievances against the fat man.
“Revenge isn’t my
main goal. I guess you could say that I want to retrieve some
personal property.” I jumped as a spark suddenly arced over my
skin. Mac’s new instrument made my aura crackle, like it was filled
with static. I sat very still to avoid shocking myself
again.
“He stole something
from you?”
I repressed a sigh.
Apparently, Mac wasn’t going to be satisfied with the short
version. “Twenty years ago, Tony decided he wanted a competent seer
at his court, someone he could trust. But accurate seers are few
and far between, and honest ones aren’t likely to work for a member
of the vampire mafia. He finally decided that what he needed was to
find one he could bring up from childhood to be loyal. And, as luck
would have it, one of his human employees had a young daughter who
seemed perfect for the role. But even though my father had been on
Tony’s payroll for years, he ignored the order to bring me to
court.”
“Your father was a
rogue?” Mac asked. He seemed surprised.
“I don’t know what he
was. I was told he could communicate with ghosts, so I guess he had
some clairvoyant ability. Whether he was a mage or not—” I
shrugged. One of these days, I hoped to ask him—about that and a
lot of other things. “All I know is that he was one of Tony’s
favorite humans. Until he told him no, that is.”
“Surely he must have
known what the vampire’s reaction was likely to be.”
“I assume he planned
to flee with my mother and me, since refusing Tony isn’t considered
healthy, but he never got the chance. And Tony felt that the
betrayal, as he viewed it, deserved more than a mere assassination.
So he paid a mage to construct a magical snare, which he used to
trap my father’s ghost after he rigged my parents’ car to explode.
He’s been using it as a paperweight ever since.”
Mac’s hands had gone
very still on my back. I glanced behind me to see him staring at me
blankly. “You aren’t serious . . . are you?”
I turned back around.
“Yeah. From what I understand, it’s only about the size of a golf
ball, so it could be anywhere. Tony has three houses and more than
a dozen businesses, and those are just the ones I know about. I
don’t feel like searching through them all so I thought I’d let him
tell me where it is.” I actually assumed he had it with him. It
would be Tony’s style to carry his trophies along even when fleeing
for his life.
Mac was just standing
there, his hands on my shoulders. He looked stunned for some
reason. “Haven’t you ever been tempted?” he finally
asked.
“Tempted to do
what?”
“You’re Pythia. You
could go back, change what happened. ” He moved so he could see my
eyes. “You could save your family, Cassie.”
I sighed. Sure I
could. “You don’t know Tony. Besides, I thought the idea was for me
to help guard the timeline, not to interfere with it myself. I
could end up changing something vital and possibly make things even
worse.” Make that probably, with my
luck.
His gaze sharpened.
“But, technically, you could do it.”
“Yeah, I could keep
my parents from getting in the car that Tony rigged to explode, but
if I did, my life would have been completely different, along with
who knows how many other people’s. And, knowing Tony, he’d have
managed to kill them some other way,” I smiled grimly. “He’s
persistent like that.”
Mac regarded me
searchingly, to the point of making me uncomfortable. “Most people
would view the power as a great opportunity to advance themselves,”
he finally said. “It could bring you, well, almost anything you
wanted. Wealth, influence—”
I gave him
exasperated eyes. “The only thing I want is a nice, uncomplicated
life. With no one trying to kill me, manipulate me or betray me.”
And where, if I messed up on the job, I didn’t get anyone killed.
“Somehow, I don’t think the Pythia gig is going to help me with
that!” I was tired of the inquisition and I wanted to get dressed.
“Are you done?”
“Oh, right,” Mac
replaced his instruments in a small case and looked politely away
so I could get dressed. “Do you want the good news or the bad news
first?”
“The good.” Why not
try something different for a change?
“I think I can fix
it.”
I blinked at him in
surprise. I’d been expecting to hear that there was nothing he
could do and that I’d have to go into Faerie with no protection.
“Really? That’s great!”
“Do you know anything
about how your ward works?”
I shook my head. “Not
a lot. My mother somehow transferred it to me, but I don’t even
remember it. I was only four when she died. For years, I thought it
was a regular ward that Tony had put on me as an added
safeguard.”
Mac looked almost
offended. “Regular ward! No, I guarantee you’ll never see another
of the like. It’s hundreds of years old and priceless, one of the
Circle’s real treasures.”
“It’s a tattoo, Mac,
not a work of art.”
“In fact, it’s both.”
He stretched out his right arm and pointed to a small brown and
orange hawk near the bend in his elbow. “Watch.” He muttered
something, then took hold of the loose skin in the crease of his
arm and pulled. A second later a small, metallic bird glimmered on
his palm, its wings outstretched in flight like the one on his arm.
It took me a moment to realize that it was the one on his arm, or rather, the one that had
been there. Now there was only a bare, bird-shaped patch of skin. I
picked up the small metal object. The feathers and detail were
gone. It looked and felt like solid gold. For a moment I suspected
sleight of hand or some trick, but after letting me examine it, he
put it back in place and I watched it dissolve into his
skin.
“What is
that?”
“A red-tailed hawk.
It increases the power of observation. Doesn’t help the eyesight,
but if you want to notice more about your surroundings and retain
the knowledge, you can’t do better.”
Something was
bothering me. “The books out front said that there’s a limit to how
many tattoos anyone can support, even the strongest mage, because
each one takes some of your magic to maintain itself, and even more
when it’s used.” I looked him over, almost dizzy with the number of
squirming images all over his body. “How can you wear so
many?”
He grinned. “I’m not
a super-mage, Cassie, if that’s what you’re asking. There are two
types of tattoos. The ones I etch directly into someone’s aura feed
partially off his magic, so of course there’s a limit to how many
anyone can support. But ones like my hawk or your pentagram draw
their power from outside sources, so there is no limit to those.
Except, of course, to your ability to afford them. The enchantment
process for even a small one can take months—I shudder to think
what went into your ward.”
“So you’re an
advertisement for what’s available?” Personally, I’d have made
people flip through the books outside rather than turn myself into
a walking billboard.
“In my case, it isn’t
a choice. To other people these are enhancements—to compensate for
some part of their magic that isn’t as strong as they’d like or to
add power in an often-used area. But to me they’re necessities,
unless I want to retire from our world entirely.” He saw my
confusion and smiled slightly. “I had a run-in a few years back
with a spell that ate through my shields and attacked my aura. The
physical wounds I sustained in that fight healed, but the ones in
my metaphysical skin were permanent. That’s why I didn’t realize
you were under a geis until you told
me. With my own aura so damaged, I have to concentrate to read
other people’s.”
I stared at him,
horrified at what he’d so casually revealed. It wasn’t only what
had happened to Mac that freaked me out, but the knowledge that
there were spells that could actually do something like that. The
more I learned about the mages, the scarier they got.
“But with the wards,
you’re okay, right?” I kept my attention on his face so I wouldn’t
focus on my own aura, to reassure myself it was intact and
undamaged. Under the circumstances, it would have been
tacky.
Mac seemed to
understand where my thoughts were going anyway. He waved a hand in
the air and my bright red and orange flames suddenly sparkled
between us like a cheerful fire on a cold night. “My wards
compensate to a degree, Cassie, but they’ll never again be like
this—a seamless, perfect blanket of protection. Most people
couldn’t get past my defenses, but war mages aren’t most people.
Sooner or later one of the dark ones would have found the chinks in
my man-made armor, the places where the wards don’t overlap
perfectly. I was removed from active duty as soon as anyone
realized what had happened, and told I couldn’t take the field
again.” He saw my expression and grinned. “It’s not all bad. I’m in
much less danger these days!”
He sounded casual,
but there was something in his eyes that told me he wasn’t being
completely truthful. I didn’t know what usually happened to old war
mages, but it was obvious that Mac, at least, wasn’t content to
just fade away. He craved the adrenaline rush of battle, maybe even
the danger.
I decided on a change
of subject. “So, my ward drew its power from the Circle, until they
cut it off.”
He nodded. “Right,
which gave it its strength, but also created a conduit between you.
I suspect that John is right and the council got worried that you’d
figure some way of turning their own magic back on them, so they
shut down the connection.”
“Or they thought I’d
be simpler to kill that way.”
Mac looked
uncomfortable. “Perhaps. But what it means is that there’s nothing
wrong with your ward, except that your mother didn’t have
experience in doing the transfer so it got a bit warped. I can fix
that, but its looks aren’t the problem. The reason it doesn’t work
is the same as if a watch stopped. It needs a new power
source.”
“What new source?” I
was getting an idea about what the bad news was.
“The only one big
enough to support something like this, other than the Circle
itself.” He smiled gently, as if he understood my dilemma. “The
power of your office—the energy that makes you
Pythia.”
“No. No way.” I
gestured at the curtain. “Give me one from the books out front.”
There were some pretty scary ones listed; surely we could find
something that would work.
But Mac was shaking
his head. “I have no way of knowing how strong your innate magic
is. Your aura is confused with the Pythia’s energy, and I can’t
separate them. There’s no way to know whether you could support one
of the larger protection wards on your own. If not, any tat I gave
you would draw power from the reserve you inherited as Pythia, the
very thing you want to avoid.”
“Then give me a
smaller one, an easy one!”
Mac regarded me
somberly. “You’re going into Faerie, a place most mages won’t
venture on a bet. None of the smaller stuff would do you any good
there. And none of the wards I have would protect you as well at
that one. Craftsmanship like that is rare these days.”
“Maybe I’m stronger
than you think.” I was a clairvoyant; surely I could manage to
support one measly ward.
Mac only shrugged,
causing his lizard tattoo to scuttle for cover again, this time
under the snake’s scales. The snake didn’t like that and swatted at
the smaller ward with the end of its tail. The lizard jumped out of
the way, then ran across Mac’s cheek to the top of his head. It
stayed there, peering out from behind a bushy eyebrow, regarding
the snake with unfriendly black eyes.
I dragged my
attention back to what Mac was saying. “Magic is like a muscle,
Cassie, a metaphysical one but a muscle nonetheless. The more you
work with it and train it, the stronger it gets. Whatever magic you
have is raw talent. And that alone won’t get you very
far.”
“Tony wouldn’t allow
me to be trained.”
“He did you more of a
disservice than you know. A powerful, untrained magic user is a
target, nothing more. Power can be siphoned away if you don’t know
how to protect yourself. The Dark Circle has no compunction
whatever about stealing magic from anyone they can. At the moment,
you fighting a dark mage would be like a baby trying to arm wrestle
a bodybuilder, unless you use the power of your office. You need
training, at least in defense,” he said seriously, “and the sooner
the better.”
“Yeah, I’ll add that
to my list,” I said bitterly. Everyone was always giving me new
items for my agenda, when what I needed was help in clearing off
some of the old ones. “Right now, I have a few other problems.” I
turned, feeling Pritkin standing in the doorway even before I saw
him. “Like how we’re going to get into Faerie.”
“We’ll get in,” he
said grimly, and I noticed that he’d strapped on his arsenal. He
had the long leather coat that acted as a slight disguise draped
over his arm. “The problem will be getting out.”
“Are we going
now?”
“No.” I tried not to
look relieved at his answer. “Tonight.”
“Tonight?” I followed
him into the outer room. “But the vamps will be up then.” I didn’t
know that Mircea was in his safe room at the moment—first-level
vamps aren’t bound by the sun cycle and can be active at any time
of day. But most still sleep in daylight, since the night is much
kinder to their energy levels. If Mircea was awake, he was probably
sluggish. But tonight he wouldn’t be.
“We are not trying to
penetrate the vampire area,” Pritkin reminded me. “And the portal
is guarded by mages.”
“I don’t see how
that’ll help,” I protested, not liking the idea of walking into a
bunch of war mages any more than dealing with the vamps. In fact,
it was probably even less smart—at least the Senate didn’t want me
dead. Probably.
“Some friends of mine
are on duty tonight,” Mac explained. “I think I can get you past
them.”
“I have some supplies
to arrange,” Pritkin added, throwing on his coat. I didn’t envy him
that, considering that it had to be over ninety degrees outside,
but I guess he didn’t have much of a choice. The police would
probably object to his walking around looking like an extra from
Platoon, and going about unarmed right
now would be even less healthy than heat stroke. “I suggest you
stay here, out of sight,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “Rest if you
can. You may not get another chance for some time. And have Mac
rework your ward,” he added as he headed for the door. “You’ll need
it.”
He hurried out the
door like all the hounds of Hell were after him. Mac looked at me
and shrugged. “It’s your call, but I’d advise you to consider it,
love. Faerie is a scary place, even when it isn’t on the brink of
war. Right now, I can’t think of a soul who’d want to go near the
place.”
“I’ll think about
it,” I promised. I might have questioned him more, but my attention
was distracted by Billy floating through the wall. He was making
faces at me, so I figured he had news. “I’m tired,” I told Mac. It
wasn’t a lie—sharing a room with the Graeae isn’t exactly
restful—but I mainly wanted some privacy.
“Got a cot in back,”
Mac said. “I cleared my appointment list for today after John
showed up, so I won’t need to go back there. Get some sleep,
Cassie.”
He meant well, so I
managed not to roll my eyes at him. Yeah, sure. There were only
about a hundred reasons why I’d have trouble sleeping.
Billy followed me to
the back and I flopped down on the cot after shifting aside
notebooks full of sketches, stacks of grimoires and old potato chip
bags. “What’s up?”
Billy took off his
almost transparent hat and fanned himself. “I need a draw,” he said
without preamble.
“Well, hello to you,
too.”
“Hey, I have had a
day, okay?”
“And I haven’t? What
happened at Dante’s? Is everything all right?”
“Sure, if by all
right you mean that the Circle has closed the place while they
search it for a certain rogue sybil and the illegal aliens who
helped her elude them.”
“They’re searching?
But that’s vampire property!” The reason I’d sent Casanova the
remaining contents of the duffle was the longstanding treaty
between the mages and the vamps. It contained strict prohibitions
against any of one group entering the property of another without
permission. “Are they crazy?”
“Don’t know. Some of
them sure act like it. Anyway, Casanova was pitching a royal fit
when I left, and he’d sent a couple of reps to MAGIC to complain.
But these are weird times, Cass. Tony owns the place and he’s a
known ally of Rasputin, the guy the Circle and the Senate declared
war on a week ago. I don’t know what the rules are in wartime, and
I don’t think Casanova does, either. Right now, he’s playin’ it
safe. To keep from looking like he helped you, he pretended that
you appeared and started wrecking the place because you’re pissed
at Tony. The mages jumped on the excuse to say that they’d make
sure you weren’t still in the casino, and started
searching.”
“Great. So now I’m
some kind of lunatic who goes around starting fights.”
“No, now you’re some
lunatic who goes around killin’ people.”
“What?”
“Yep. A couple of
mages came right out and called you a murderer. I didn’t get
details, but I’m guessing they were talking about the two mages who
ended up dead.”
I felt sick. “Tell me
the Graeae didn’t—”
“They didn’t. They
tore up the place, but it looks like the mages were killed by
Miranda’s group. Some of the more powerful gargoyles stayed behind
to buy the others time to get away, and the mages started
slaughterin’ ’em. Then the rest went ballistic and voilà. Two dead
mages.”
“But the gargoyles
were acting in self-defense!”
“They might get away
with claimin’ that, ’cept they ain’t supposed to be here in the
first place. Casanova got the rest of Miranda’s people out and hid
them somewhere, and now he’s blamin’ Tony for bringing in
unlicensed workers behind his back. He’s doing a pretty good job of
covering his ass, but he’s leaving yours hangin’ in the
wind.”
I fell back on the
cot, feeling numb. None of this was happening. It had to be some
kind of nightmare I’d blundered into and would wake up from any
minute now. “If the Circle knows the gargoyles killed their men,
why are they blaming me?”
“I don’t know.” Billy
looked puzzled. “I saw the bodies and they have claw and teeth
marks all over ’em. I guess it gives the Circle an excuse to brand
you a dangerous lunatic.”
"Shit. ”
“Yeah, that about
sums it up. So like I said, I’m whacked. I hate to be a
pain—”
“Since
when?”
“Very funny, Cass. I
spend half the day gettin’ top-quality info for you
and—”
I was too tired to go
through our usual routine. “Fine. You can have a draw, but then you
go back to Dante’s. I need you to give Casanova a
message.”
“He may not be able
to hear me,” Billy protested. “Some demons can’t, at least not in a
human body.”
“Then you’ll have to
get creative.” Given Casanova’s reaction to Billy’s presence
earlier, I was betting he could hear him just fine. But even if
not, I wasn’t going to let Billy weasel out of this. Casanova had
to get the traps I’d sent him somewhere secure. Otherwise, with
mages crawling all over the place, they were sure to find them and
I doubted he could lie his way out of that one. Even if he did, it
would only be by blaming it on me, and thereby giving the Circle
yet another nail to put in my coffin. Not to mention a hell of a
weapon, depending on just what was inside those boxes. I sighed. It
looked like I should have kept them after all.
Billy left after
taking what I considered to be an inordinately large draw, and I
settled in for a much-needed nap. What I got instead was the
disorientation that precedes a time shift. I tried to call out, to
warn Mac that I was about to take a trip, but darkness reached out
and grabbed me.