Touch the Dark (9 page)

He gestured at me. “She is human and a magic user; that makes her fate ours to decide.” He flexed his hands as if he'd like to grab something, maybe a weapon, maybe me, maybe both. “Give her to me and I swear you will never have reason to regret it.”

Mircea was regarding him the way a good housewife looks at a bug crawling across her newly cleaned kitchen floor. “But Cassie might, would she not?” he asked in his usual mild voice. I'd never heard him raise it, although he'd stayed with Tony for almost a year.

The Consul looked as cool as a bronze statue, but a wave of power fluttered by me, like a warm summer breeze with tiny drops of acid in it. I flinched and resisted the urge to wipe at my skin. If the mage noticed it, he gave no sign. “We have yet to determine who has the better claim, Pritkin.”

“There is nothing to discuss. The Pythia wants the rogue returned to her. I have been sent to fetch her, and by our treaty you have no right to interfere. She belongs with her people.”

I had no idea what he was talking about but thought it strange that he seemed so concerned with my future. I'd never met him before in my life and it didn't help my confusion that none of the mages who came to Tony's had ever given me a second glance. As merely the vampire's pet clairvoyant, I'd been beneath contempt. It had annoyed me that outcasts with no more status in the magical community than I had treated me like a charlatan at a carnival. But at the moment I'd gladly take a little scornful indifference. The whole session was beginning to feel like a bunch of dogs fighting over a bone, with me as the bone. I didn't like it, but there wasn't a lot I could do about it.

“She belongs with those who can best defend her and her gift.” The Consul did serene well. I wondered if it was natural talent or if her two-thousand-odd years of life had helped teach her composure. Maybe both. “I find it interesting, Pritkin, that your Circle now speaks of protecting her. Not so long ago you asked our help in finding her, dead or alive, with the implication being that the former was preferable.”

The blond's eyes flashed dangerously. “Do not presume to put words in the mouth of the Circle! You don't understand the danger. Only the Circle can protect her, and protect others from her.” For the first time he looked directly at me, and the snarl on his face would have bared fangs if he'd been a vamp. As it was, it told me I had another enemy to worry about. His gaze flicked over me like a whip, and he didn't seem to like what he saw. “She has been allowed to mature unschooled, cut off from everyone who could have taught her control. It is a recipe for disaster.”

I met those narrowed green eyes and something that looked almost like fear crossed over them for a second. His hand moved to the knife in a sheath on his wrist, and for a moment, I actually thought he was going to throw it at me. Rafe must have thought so, too, for he tensed, but the Consul's voice cut in before anyone could move. “The Silver Circle was once great, Pritkin. Do you tell us that you cannot protect one of your own merely because she roams beyond the fold? Have you become so weak?”

His face darkened with anger and his hand continued to fondle the knife, although it stayed in its little leather holder. I looked into those crystalline green eyes and suddenly the picture came together. I knew who, or at least what, he was. The Silver Circle was said to have a group of mages who were trained in combat techniques, both human and magical, who enforced their will. The mages at Tony's had been scared to death of them because they were authorized to kill rogue magic users on sight. Mages who pissed off the Circle weren't allowed ever to use magic again; if they did and were discovered, it was a death sentence. But why had the Silver Circle sent a freaking war mage after me? Most people even in the magical community treat clairvoyants like shysters with no more ability than a Halloween witch; we don't even register on the radar for them. But the fact that there are a lot of con artists doesn't mean that some of us aren't real. I wondered if the Circle had finally come to that conclusion, too, and decided to start eliminating rivals to their power, beginning with me. It sounded like my kind of luck.

If the mage attacked me while I was under the Senate's protection, I was pretty sure they could kill him and get away with it. Even the Silver Circle couldn't protest the death of one of their members if he'd brought it on himself. The odds were good, then, that he wouldn't kill me, but I still sent Tomas a glare. He could have given back my gun once we'd arrived. It wasn't like I could hurt any of the Senate with it, even if I was crazy enough to try, and it would have been a comfort. Especially if he'd planned on letting war mages come in armed to the teeth.

“She already bears our greatest ward. She drew strength from all of us tonight; it was not only your vampire who saved her!”

“No, it was a joint effort, as this entire enterprise must be,” GQ cut in smoothly. I was surprised that anyone dared to speak for the Consul, but no one challenged him or even seemed to find it odd. Maybe the Senate was a democratic bunch, but if so, they'd be the first vamps I knew who fit that category. The hierarchy at Tony's was based on strength, with “might makes right” pretty much the only rule. The other families were the same, as far as I knew. The Senate ruled because they were strong enough to scare even vamps like Tony, which meant the redhead couldn't be as harmless as he looked, or they'd have eaten him alive years ago.

To my surprise, GQ acknowledged that I was in the room instead of simply talking about me like I was a stick of furniture. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Louis-César,” he said and executed a damn good bow.
“A votre service, mademoiselle.”
His eyes were intent as he looked at me, but he'd toned it down some. I no longer had the impression that I might be on the menu.

Unlike most twenty-first-century females, I know the proper response to a formal bow. Both the governess and chief tutor Tony assigned me had been born in the Victorian era, so I can curtsy with the best of them. I thought I'd forgotten most of that early training, but something about Louis-César made it come flooding back. He missed the no doubt amusing sight of me trying to live up to nanny's standards in blood-spattered four-inch go-go boots and a micromini because he was looking at the Consul again.

I was so focused on the scene at the high table that I completely failed to notice the second attempt on my life that night. My first clue was when a wave of power hit me like a sandstorm had blown up out of nowhere. Hot, stinging flecks scoured my cheeks for a second, before Tomas shoved Rafe aside and tackled me, hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs when we slammed into the floor. I was faceup, which allowed me to see two of the chamber guards standing immobile in the middle of the room, their flesh slowly evaporating from their bones like it was being eaten off by invisible insects. A second later, the bare skeletons crashed to the floor, hearts and brains having disappeared along with the rest of their soft tissue.

I barely saw what happened next because none of it was at normal human speed, and Pritkin was in my way. He was beside me in a crouch with a wicked-looking knife in one hand and a gun in the other. Another knife and a couple of small vials hovered in the air beside his head, as if held by invisible strings. For a second, I thought he'd decided to take me out with the whole Senate watching, but he wasn't looking at me. The statue I'd seen by the door earlier was suddenly beside us. Despite the fact that it had only vague indentations for eyes, it seemed to be looking at Pritkin as if awaiting orders. I recognized what it was now that I saw it move, although I'd never seen one before. Golems had been feared by the wizards Tony employed only slightly less than the war mages. They were clay figures brought to life by ancient Hebrew Kabbalah magic. Originally, they ran errands for rabbis strong enough to create them. Maybe some still did, but these days most served the knights, as the war mages were properly called.

Pritkin pointed to me and the golem turned its blank stare in my direction. “Protect her!” The golem took his place, its empty eyes fixed on me, while its master joined the fight. I looked away from the creature, which was creeping me out more than the assassins, to see Jack rounding off against one of the remaining guards. The guard was growling, low in his throat like an animal, but Jack looked like a kid on Christmas morning, all flushed cheeks and bright eyes. He waved Pritkin off with an impatient gesture that clearly said,
This one's mine.

The other guard was out of the picture, clawing at his chest where blood was welling up around the rapier that had been thrust completely through him, as if his heavy chain mail wasn't even there. Its blade stuck almost a foot out of his back, glinting a dull red in the flickering light of the chandeliers. I'd always thought rapiers were dainty, almost effeminate things when I'd seen them in the movies, but apparently I'd been wrong. This one had a wicked blade, as if a double-edged dagger had been stretched out to an inch wide and three feet long. As I fought to get a breath, Louis-César pulled it out of the vamp's chest and, in the same, flowing motion, decapitated him. It was done with a liquid speed that fooled my eyes for a moment into believing he'd missed. Then the head fell off the neck and bounced across the floor.

The vamp's eyelids were fluttering and his fangs were bared when his head rolled to a halt not a foot away from me, its helmet miraculously still on. I swear the mouth moved, snapping on empty air as if trying to reach my neck, even as his life's blood spread around him in a widening stain. I must have been making some type of strangled noise, or else the golem perceived the head as a threat, because it quickly kicked it away. That would have been nice, except that it overestimated the weight and sent it sailing across the Senate table to thud wetly against the wall behind the belle's careful coiffure.

A trail of blood marred the shining tabletop in front of her and a spray of droplets descended on her hair, where they sparkled like tiny rubies. She fished the head out from under the table and politely offered it to her companion, who equally politely declined. He was busy cleaning up the table by holding his hand over the spilled blood. Droplets flew up to meet his palm like they were iron and he was a magnet. As with Tomas earlier, they disappeared into his skin like lotion. “This sort of thing is getting tiresome,” he said conversationally, and the belle nodded in between licks of the glistening spine that peeped out of the ruined neck of her prize.

I had to close my eyes for a moment and fight to keep my stomach in place, but at least I wasn't screaming. First, it wouldn't have looked strong in front of the Senate, and that would be bad. Second, my throat was still raw from almost getting strangled earlier. Third, I couldn't get enough air, thanks to Tomas' weight. I tried to shift him to one side, but it was like trying to move a marble statue. He only pressed down harder until I cried out in pain; then his body softened, melting against me like a warm satin comforter. It might have been soothing except that I couldn't breathe deeply or move, and Jack and the other guard had danced dangerously close.

I didn't understand why no one had killed the guard, especially since he had drawn his huge battle-axe and was looking at me with the single-minded concentration most guys reserve for the Playboy channel. If the Senate wanted me dead, wouldn't it have been easier to let Tony do it for them? And if they didn't, why wasn't Louis-César doing an encore of his previous performance instead of simply standing there? Maybe he figured the guard would never get past Pritkin, Rafe and Tomas, but I wasn't so sure. The axe blade looked awfully sharp to me, and I knew how fast vamps could move. All the guard needed was a split second and I would be the main course for Miss Georgia 1860 whenever she finished her appetizer. But no one did anything except for Tomas, and he merely crawled higher up my body, to the point that he would have been able to give a detailed report on the lace pattern in my bra if he'd been asked. He looked calm, but I could feel his heart jumping against my skin. It wasn't comforting to know that he was worried, too.

I looked past his dark head to where flames from the candles were dancing along the axe's huge blade, which was all of about four yards away. As I stared, the guard lunged towards me, gnashing his teeth like a cornered tiger, and it was all over as suddenly as it had started. Jack was a streak of ugly, dark green fabric and a flash of pale hands. I blinked, and the guard was on the ground, his limbs pinned down by four large knives buried through his flesh in the underlying stone. Two of them were substantial things with old wood handles, like they might once have been kitchen implements. The others were the shiny silver pieces belonging to the mage, who called them back to him with a gesture once Jack was in control of the captive. They tore out of the vamp with an audible ripping sound and flew to him, one settling into the wrist sheath and the other disappearing down his boot. He hadn't even bothered to use the ones at his waist. He and the golem moved off to allow Tomas to haul me to my feet. Although he'd just helped save my life, his eyes were cold when he looked at me, like chips of green ice.

The Consul appeared unruffled by the disturbance, but a tiny frown marred her otherwise perfect face. “Be careful, Jack. I want answers, not a corpse.”

Jack smiled beatifically up at her. “You'll have both,” he promised and bent towards the body. I quickly looked away but heard the sounds of ripping flesh and popping bones. I guessed that he'd retrieved his knives, breaking the limbs of his victim in the process. I swallowed hard several times. I'd forgotten how interesting court life could be.

“As I was saying, madame,
la mademoiselle
is obviously unwell. Perhaps we could explain things to her after she has had a chance to rest?” Louis-César spoke as casually as if the events of the last few minutes had never happened. Meanwhile Jack had taken a set of gleaming surgical tools from a case he'd pulled out of a pocket. He lined them up slowly by the side of his struggling victim, giving a soft, hissing laugh as he did so. Great; at least someone was having fun.