Touch the Dark (32 page)

“How would she do that?” Tomas asked before I could. “How can she guard him from a curse?”

Louis-César was looking at Tomas as if he'd lost his mind. “What curse?”

“Is that not how you were made?”

“You know perfectly well it was not!”

Billy Joe streamed in the window, a dove gray cloud. “Did I miss anything?”

“You are completely out of your mind,” I informed them. Too bad for their plans, but I wasn't about to die for the Consul, or for anybody else if I could help it. “Do you get the implications here? I took Tomas back with me. Okay, it was by mistake, but if they've been doing this as long as you say, they've almost certainly figured out how to do it, too.” Someone had brought the gypsy into this century, and it hadn't been me. “I could be facing Rasputin himself, and I'm not a duelist!”

“I missed something, didn't I?” Billy Joe drifted around, but I ignored him.

“You took Tomas with you when you were inhabiting his body. The sybil can't do that; Pritkin told us as much,
dulceaţă
.”

“Pritkin's an idiot,” I reminded Mircea. “We don't know that's why Tomas was able to hitch a ride. Maybe all I have to do is touch someone. Maybe she can do it, too.”

Billy drifted in front of my vision, making the whole room look like I was seeing it through a glittery gray scarf. “We need to talk, Cass. You won't believe what I found out at Dante's!” I cocked an eyebrow at him but didn't dare say anything. I didn't want to alert anyone to his presence. I had a feeling I would need him before long.

Tomas was looking at me. “I am the Consul's second choice. I can deal with Rasputin.” I brightened. Anything that would get me out of facing the mad monk in that house of horrors sounded promising.

Unfortunately, Mircea did not look convinced. “Forgive me, my friend; I do not doubt your prowess, but I have seen Rasputin fight. You have not. And where my life is concerned, I prefer a sure thing.”

Billy drifted a few feet away and put his hands on his hips. “All right. I'll talk; you listen. I got a glimpse into the head of that witch you helped before she ran off with the pixie. The condensed version is that Tony and the Black Circle have been selling witches to the Fey, and guess where they've been getting them? I mean, the white knights would have noticed if a bunch of magic users suddenly went missing, right?” I glared at him. It was like being caught in the dentist's chair with a chatty hygienist. It wasn't as if I could answer.

“I can defeat him.” Tomas sounded certain, but Louis-César made an odd sort of sound, almost like a cat sneezing. I suppose it was French.

“You could not defeat me a century ago. You are not much stronger now.”

“You were lucky! It would not happen if we dueled again!”

Louis-César looked annoyed. “I do not have to duel you. I own you.”

I blinked in confusion. Had I missed something, trying to follow two conversations at once? Masters and servants usually had more of a bond than these two showed. Hell, even though Tony might try to kill Mircea, he wouldn't talk to him like that. “I thought someone named Alejandro was your master?” I asked Tomas.

“He was. One of his servants made me, but Alejandro killed him shortly thereafter and took me for himself. He was carving out an empire within the Spanish lands in the New World and he needed a warrior to help him. We succeeded, and he eventually organized a new Senate, but his tactics never changed. He acts to this day as if every question is a challenge, every plea for leniency a threat. I challenged him as soon as I grew strong enough, and I would have succeeded in ending his reign of terror, if not for outside interference.”

I looked at Louis-César in surprise. “You fought him?”

The Frenchman nodded distractedly. “Tomas challenged for leadership of the Latin American Senate. Its Consul asked me to stand as his champion and I agreed. Tomas lost.” He said the latter with a slight shrug, as if it almost went without saying. It seemed to me that maybe Louis-César needed to lose once in a while. Carrying around that much of an ego had to be tiring. But then, if he lost he'd probably end up dead, and in this case, so would we. All things considered, maybe a little arrogance wasn't so bad. And at least the lack of a bond was explained. Servants won through force had to be kept that way; it was never as close a relationship as through blood.

Something occurred to me. “You challenged? But you'd have to be a first-level master to do that.” I'd known Tomas was powerful, but this was a shock. That Louis-César could hold a first-level master in thrall was a hell of a statement about his strength. I hadn't even known it was possible.

“Tomas is more than five hundred years old,
mademoiselle
. His mother was a high-ranking Incan noblewoman before the European invasion,” Louis-César said carelessly. “She was forced by one of Pizarro's men, and Tomas was the result. He grew up in a time when a smallpox epidemic had killed many Incan nobles, leaving a vacuum of power. He organized some of the scattered tribes into a force to resist the Spanish advance, and thereby came to Alejandro's notice. Although a bastard, he — ” Tomas gave a growl, and Louis-César glanced at him. “I use the term technically, Tomas. If you recall, I, too, am a bastard.”

“That I am not likely to forget.”

The shimmering tides of power were back, stronger than before, and this time I got caught in the middle. It felt like two showers of scalding water had been flung at me, and I yelped. “Cut it out!”

“My apologies,
mademoiselle
.” Louis-César inclined his head. “You are quite right. I will chastise my servant later.”

Tomas glared at him regally. “You will try.”

“Tomas!” Mircea and I said it at the same time, in the same exasperated tone.

Louis-César shot him a warning look. “Be careful how you speak to me, Tomas. You do not wish me to make your punishment even more . . . thorough.”

“You are a child compared to me! I was already a master vampire before you were even made!”

Louis-César smiled slightly, and his eyes flashed silver. “Not enough of one.”

Billy waved a pale hand in front of my face. “Are you listening to me? Breaking news here!”

I mouthed, “Later,” but he didn't go away.

“This is big, Cass! The Black Circle has kept the trade quiet by snatching witches who were fated to die young, in an accident or in the Inquisition or whatever. They could grab them at the last minute and sell them to the Fey without worrying that someone would miss them and report it. No one expected to see someone taken by the Inquisition again — they didn't acquit too many, you know? It was a neat trick to get around the treaty.”

“But how did they know?” How could anyone know ahead of time when someone was fated to die? Unless . . . Mircea gave me an odd look, and I smiled innocently at him. It was a mistake. Those sharp dark eyes flitted about the room, but even a master vamp can't see Billy.

“That witch you saved was snatched by a group of dark mages that same night,” Billy elaborated. “The gypsies have always stayed outside both circles, so I guess they figured they could take her without alerting the white knights.” I frowned. That still didn't explain how she ended up in our century, if people from her own time took her, but there was no way for me to ask.

Mircea intervened before things could heat up any further between the vamps. “May I remind you that while you are grandstanding, time ticks away and our chances with it? Your quarrel will wait; our business will not.”

“But
la mademoiselle
does not want to do it,” Louis-César said, running a hand through his hair. It seemed to be a nervous habit. I noticed that his curls were darker than I remembered from my vision, or whatever it was. I wondered whether that was a trick of the light, or if hundreds of years out of the sun darkens auburn hair. “I was afraid of this. And we cannot force her.”

Mircea and I looked at him, then at each other. “Is he for real?” I couldn't help asking.

Mircea sighed. “He has always been that way; it is his only real flaw.” He smiled at me, and it was Tony's smile — his
let's cut the crap and get down to business
smile. It was the expression that reminded me of the job Mircea did for the Senate. He was the Consul's chief negotiator, and despite the rumors, he had not received the position because of the respect given his family name by vamps worldwide. They might be pleased to meet him for the prestige of it, something like a normal person getting to sit down with a favorite movie star, but it wouldn't cut him any slack at the bargaining table. No, Mircea had won the seat fair and square, by making the best deals of any representative the Senate had ever had. And that was with people he didn't know nearly as well as he knew me. “What will it take,
dulceaţă
? Security, money . . . Antonio's head on a silver charger?”

“That last one sounds tempting. But it's not enough.”

Mircea and I had skipped over the whole refusal thing and gone straight to haggling. There was no point in mentioning that Mircea would kill me if I said no. He would do it because he'd have no choice — if he didn't, the Consul would give someone else the job — and because he would be quick. Quicker than Jack. I didn't like the errand they had set me, but next to an evening with the Consul's bright-eyed boy, it was a picnic. But just because I had no other options didn't mean I shouldn't get as much for my services as possible. It was, after all, a seller's market. Who else were they going to get?

Mircea was looking as if he wondered whether acting outraged because I'd demanded the life of one of his oldest retainers would work. I rolled my eyes. “Don't bother. Giving me Tony's head is no big deal and you know it. He betrayed you — you have to kill him.”

He smiled slightly. “True. But it would also solve a problem for you, would it not?”

“But it won't cost you anything. Isn't your life worth a little something?”

“What else would you like then, my beautiful Cassandra?” He stepped forward, a gleam in his eye, and I put the chair between us.

“Don't try it.”

He grinned at me, unrepentant. “Then name your price.”

“You want my help? Tell me what happened to my father.”

Rafe gave a startled squeak and looked wide-eyed at Mircea, who sighed and shook his head in disgust. I sympathized; Rafe had always had a lousy poker face — I' d started beating him at cards by age eight — and he obviously hadn't improved. He subsided under Mircea's displeasure, but the damage was done. Mircea braved it out anyway, of course; I would have thought less of him otherwise. “Your father,
dulceaţă
? He died in a car bomb, did he not? Is that not one reason why you are upset with our Antonio?”

“Then what did Jimmy mean? He told me not to kill him, because he knew the truth about what happened.”

Mircea shrugged. “Since he was the ‘hit man' — is that not the phrase? — on the job, I am sure he does know details,
dulceaţă
. Why did you not ask him?”

“Because Pritkin blew a hole in him before I could. But you know, don't you?”

Mircea smiled, and once again I saw where Tony got it. “Is that knowledge your price?”

I looked at Rafe, and he looked back. I thought he was about to speak when Mircea's hand descended on his shoulder. “No, no, Raphael. It would not be fair to give our Cassandra information for which she has not yet paid.” He smiled, and there was more calculation than affection in it. “Do we have a deal?”

I glanced at Billy, who was floating near the ceiling with an impatient look on his face. He didn't comment, so I assumed his news didn't have any bearing on my choice. I sent him an irritated look and he disappeared, in a snit because I hadn't dropped everything for him. Typical. I'd have preferred to find out more before agreeing to Mircea's terms, but I didn't have a lot of options. It's hard to push the price too high when you're a sure thing and the buyer knows it. I literally had no choice but to help them, so technically Mircea was being generous by offering anything. Of course, he probably wanted me doing my best on the errand, so keeping me in a good mood was worth a concession or two. Or maybe he was fond of me. No, that kind of thinking was dangerous.

“Okay. We have a deal. Tell me.”

“In a moment,
dulceaţă
. First, I believe we need to inform the Consul. Tomas, if you would be so good? She may have final instructions.” He noticed Tomas' mulish expression. “You have my word that we will wait the attempt on your return. You will be accompanying her, will you not?”

“Yes.” Tomas looked at me challengingly, but I didn't object. If Rasputin did show up, it would be nice to have someone along, especially someone who had shown he could handle himself in an emergency. Even if it was only to have company when everything went to hell. Tomas started to say something else but stopped when Mircea stepped to my side and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Now, Tomas!” Louis-César looked impatient. Tomas glared at him but he left, slamming the door behind him.

“And we need the Tears, do we not, to be on the safe side?” Louis-César nodded and left right behind Tomas.

“The Tears? Do I want to know?”

“Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you.” Mircea smiled reassuringly. “The Tears of Apollo are an ancient concoction. They have been used to aid in meditative trances for centuries. They are quite safe.”

“But why do we need them? I didn't have them before.”

“And you quickly ran out of energy before. They will help you, Cassandra. Remember, I have a vested interest in seeing that this goes well. I would not lie to you.” I believed that answer more than I would have a heartfelt declaration of concern for my welfare, and nodded. I'd use the damn Tears, whatever they were. Anything to up the odds.