Claimed by Shadow

Chapter 10

I left Mac and Pritkin to deal with Marlowe and ran into the back. Tomas was strapped down on the padded table Mac used for doing tattoos. He didn't look comfortable, but at least he hadn't been thrown around the room. I hadn't had a chance to do more than glance at his wounds before, but now I tightened my lips to avoid saying something extremely rude about Jack. Then I decided to hell with it and said it anyway.

Tomas groaned and tried to sit up, but the straps wouldn't let him. That was just as well, since something would have probably fallen out otherwise. Jack had split him open from nipples to navel, like an autopsy specimen or an animal he was about to gut. I stared at the wreck of what had once been a perfect body and grew cold. I really wished Augusta had finished him.

I swallowed and looked away, partly because I had to or risk being sick, and partly because I needed to locate something to use as a bandage. Vampires had amazing recuperative powers-horrific as his wounds were, Tomas could probably heal them in time. But it would help a lot if the edges of the wound were somehow held together, and for that I needed fabric-a lot of it. I started for the cot, which had a fitted sheet and blanket that might work, when I tripped over something. I landed on my knees next to a dark-haired man wearing a bright red shirt. I stared at him in surprise-how had we picked up another stowaway without my noticing? Then he turned his head and I realized that he'd been there all along, just not quite in this form.

"I gotta tell ya," Billy said, sitting up and grabbing his head with both hands, "I haven't felt this bad since I got into that drinking contest with those two Russian bastards." He groaned and lay back down.

I cautiously reached over and poked him with a finger. He was as solid as I was. I lifted his wrist and felt for a pulse. It beat strong and firm under my fingers. I dropped his hand and scrambled back a couple of feet, only to encounter another impossible thing. í felt something solid against my back and looked down to see an orange-brown hand lying on the floor. It was connected to a similarly colored arm, which led to the naked torso of what my brain finally identified as Pritkin's golem. Only, despite the color, he wasn't clay any longer.

I didn't need to check for a pulse-he was obviously breathing, his oddly colored but otherwise perfect chest rising and falling normally. Or what would have been normal for a human. Since he was supposed to be a big pile of clay animated by magic, it wasn't normal for him. A glance that I swear was involuntary informed me that he was also anatomically correct, which he certainly hadn't been before, and that whoever had handled the changeover had been generous. The next second his eyes-real ones this time-flew open to regard me with utter confusion. They were brown, I noticed irrelevantly, and he didn't have any eyebrows or eyelashes. In fact, he didn't appear to have any hair at all.

I looked back at Billy. He was pale and needed the shave he'd been putting off for a century and a half, but otherwise seemed fine. He quite simply had his body back, which was ridiculous because it had gone for fish food ages ago.

"What the hell?" I felt the floor move and looked around wildly. I did not need another of Mac's crazy rides. Only we didn't, I realized after a minute, appear to be going anywhere. The room was definitely shaking, though, and I spared a second to wonder whether Faerie had earthquakes when Billy sat up, wild-eyed and panic-stricken. He felt his chest, then let out a scream and began thumping himself in the head, stomach and legs, as if his body was some unfamiliar and horrifying bug that had crawled onto him.

He jumped up and started dancing around the room, shedding clothes and screeching. His antics and the room's gyrations upset the golem, which had left behind confusion for fear. His eyes widened and his lips opened to emit a high-pitched squeal that was a lot harder on the ears than Billy's screams. I stumbled across the room, avoiding both of them, and grabbed the sheet. After tearing it into strips, I bound up Tomas' wounds as best I could while the golem and Billy ran around, bumping into things and each other, and managing only to work themselves up more.

I freed Tomas before one of them could careen into him and dragged him under the table. I crawled in after him and put my hands over my ears, which felt like they'd start to bleed any second. Let somebody else deal with the crisis for a change-I was through.

It became obvious that abdication wasn't an option when half the roof was abruptly ripped off. For a second, only a patch of blue sky and a couple of yellow butterflies showed through, giving the impression that the tiny insects were responsible for the damage. Then a head the size of a small car poked in. It was green and covered in shiny, iridescent scales, with a snout big enough to eat a person without needing a second bite. No smoke came out of its nostrils, but I didn't need that to know what it was. Its orange eyes had narrow red pupils that dilated on sight of me like a cat that had just encountered a new form of mouse.

It poured through the hole in the roof, its head suspended on an impossibly long neck and its huge jaws cracking to show off jagged, dark yellow teeth. I froze with its warm, acrid breath in my face, so close that it made my eyes start to water. Then the golem really lost it, running naked and screeching directly across the dragon's line of sight, causing the orange eyes to focus on him instead. He plunged through the curtain and the dragon followed, its neck flowing past me in a river of scales, its talons trying to rip a large enough hole in the roof for its huge body.

I scrambled out from under the table and tackled Billy Joe, who had torn his shirt off and was clawing at his bare chest, leaving red welts behind. "Billy!" I grabbed for his wrist, intending to drag him under the table with me, but he was too fast. He ran to the back of the room, to the small door beside the cot that I had never seen opened. I didn't see it now. I had the feeling that it was solely ornamental, but Billy didn't get that. He beat on it and tore at the doorknob, which he finally managed to rip completely off.

I stared at him in confusion. I'd never seen him like this and wasn't sure there was anything I could say that would calm him down. Then there was the fact that, in human form, Billy stood almost six feet tall. No way could I subdue him without a weapon, and the only ones I had-my gun and bracelet-would likely kill him in his new form.

There was a lot of keening, swearing and some explosions from the front of the shop, then there was a rushing wind and a sound like a hundred helicopters starting up. I looked up to see the dragon lift itself into the air on black leathery wings, screeching and clawing at its face. Half its snout was missing, lost in a smoking hole, and there were gashes in the great wings that beat the air with the force of a small hurricane. A second later the creature was gone, soaring high over peaceful green fields toward distant, tree-covered hills.

Billy slumped against the door, his hands on the scarred wood, his fingers a bloody mess. He was sobbing in great, wracking heaves, but at least he was no longer manic. I was about to try to talk some sense into him, when Pritkin ran through the curtain, followed by Mac and Marlowe. The vamp wasn't, I noticed with rising anger, under any kind of restraint. And the first thing he did was head for Tomas.

"Pritkin! Stop him!" I crossed the room at a run, while the mage merely stood there, looking in disbelief at Billy's solid form. I dove under the table from the far side and grabbed Marlowe's wrist before he could drag Tomas into the light. "Get away from him!”

He looked surprised, as well he might. Why any human would think she could stop a master vampire from doing anything he wanted by holding his hand was laughable. I threw myself backwards, raising my wrist with the bracelet on it and hoping it would be enough to do the trick. I never found out, since nothing happened. I shook my arm and glared at the inert silver. What was wrong with it now?

"Our magic won't work here," Marlowe told me gently. "I'm not going to hurt Tomas, Cassie. Believe it or not, I want to help.”

Sure, which was why he'd sat by and watched him be butchered. Marlowe had a reputation that had started in Elizabethan England, when he'd been one of the queen's spies, and it had increased in infamy ever since. If even a fraction of the stories whispered about him were true, I didn't want him anywhere near Tomas. "Get away," I repeated, wondering what I would do if he said no. But instead of arguing, he slid gracefully out from under the table. I checked on Tomas' wounds, but they didn't seem to be any worse. His eyes were open a fraction and he even managed to raise his head.

"I can't hear him," he said obscurely, an expression of pure bliss passing over his face. Then his eyes closed and his head fell back, connecting sharply with the tile floor.

My heart almost stopped and I frantically felt for a pulse, which of course I didn't find. The fact that I'd even tried said something about my mental state. It looked like he'd fainted or was in a trance, but I couldn't be sure. Tony had once been involved in a clandestine and highly illegal feud with another master. One of our vamps lost an arm and was halfway gutted in the miniwar. When he was brought back to us I'd assumed he was dead, but Eugenie said he was in a healing trance. He'd stayed unmoving and immobile for several weeks, until one night he suddenly sat up, asking whether we'd won. I hoped Tomas was only in a trance, but there was little I could do for him either way. Vamps healed themselves or they didn't-there weren't a lot of medical or magical remedies that worked on their systems. The problem was to keep him safe long enough for him to have a chance to recover.

I glanced at Pritkin. "Why isn't Marlowe tied up or something?”

"Because we may need him," was the grim reply.

"Do you know who he is?" I demanded.

"Better than you." He tore his eyes away from Billy, who was now rocking back and forth, staring sightlessly at the wall, and turned the full force of his stare on me. He wasn't angry-that, at least, I'd almost come to expect, and it wouldn't have worried me. But this was different. He was pared down somehow, his eyes so intense that they looked like two lasers. It was the face of a predator when its own life is threatened-deadly, serious and completely focused.

"Let me explain the situation," he said, and even his words were faster and more clipped than before, as if every second counted. "We have arrived in Faerie, but not in the unobtrusive way I had planned. Most of our magic will not work, and we have a finite amount of nonmagical weapons. One of our company is gravely ill and two others are mentally suspect. To make matters worse, that dragon was the guardian of the portal, and having failed to defeat us itself, it has gone after reinforcements. If the Fey do not already know we're here, they soon will. And we cannot go back though the portal for obvious reasons.”

"Will the Senate come after us?" I asked, uncertain that I wanted an answer.

Pritkin gave a short bark of a laugh. It didn't sound amused. "Oh, no, at least not until they can appeal for passes. To cross into Faerie without them is to risk a death sentence. As we have done.”

"He means that we're all in this together," Marlowe added. "I, too, am without a pass, and the Fey are famous for not listening to excuses. If I'm caught, I could be killed." He smiled at me. "So I won't be caught, and shall endeavor to see you are not, either.”

Mac snorted. "The fact is, we're all safer together. Nobody would last a day in Faerie alone right now.”

Marlowe shrugged. "That, too. And, as my first comradely gesture, may I suggest that we leave this area as soon as may be? We have very little time to lose.”

Pritkin had pulled Billy up by the wrists and now he slapped him, hard. "He's right. If the Fey find us, they will either kill us on sight or ransom us back to the Circle or Senate." After the second slap, Billy tried to hit him back, but Pritkin blocked his arm, then twisted it cruelly behind his back before pushing him at me. "Gain control of your servant," he said briefly. "I will deal with mine. Then we move.”

I spent the next few minutes getting my ward checked out by Mac while I tried to reassure a very freaked-out Billy Joe. "Why are you so upset?" I asked, when he had calmed down enough to listen. "You have a body," I pinched him lightly on the arm and he flinched, the big baby. "Isn't that what you always wanted?" He certainly seemed to have a good time whenever he was borrowing mine.

Billy still looked stunned, although some color had started to return to his cheeks. Without warning, he leaned over and kissed me hard on the lips. I jerked away and slapped him, and shock made it harder than I'd intended, but he just laughed. His hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears as he gingerly felt his stinging cheek, but his expression was euphoric. "It's true; it's really true," he said in awe; then his eyes grew wide and he abruptly started rooting through Mac's backpack. He came out with one of the beers, clutching it like he'd found a treasure made of pure gold. It was unopened, and he scrabbled at it, trying to get the bottle cap off with his bare hands.

"You don't get it, Cass," he said, his eyes almost feverish. "Sure, I babysit your body from time to time, but nothing's really real, you know? Like there's a film over everything, and I only ever touch that, taste that." He gave a yell of frustration and tried to smash the bottle on the table, but it was padded and the glass bounced off.

Obviously, he was not going to be coherent until he'd had a drink. "Give that to me," I said impatiently, and he handed it over, but his eyes never left the dark brown bottle. I opened it on the metal underside of the cot and he snatched it out of my hand, gulping half the contents at one time.

"Oh, my God," he said reverently, falling to his knees. "Oh Jaysus.”

I was about to tell him to stop the melodrama when Mac interrupted with a report. "There's nothing wrong with your ward, so it must be the geis. They tend to complicate things, with the more powerful spells causing the most interference. And the dúthracht is about the strongest there is.”

"But my ward worked before, and the spell was cast when I was eleven," I protested.

"That could have been why you got away with it, because you were too young for the geis to be active. This particular ward is designed to fit over your aura like a glove does a hand, but it needs a stable field to keep a proper grip. An active geis is interpreted as a serious threat, and your natural defenses go into constant turmoil, trying to reject the invader. But, by doing so, they make it impossible for your artificial protection to do its job.”

Light dawned. "That's why Pritkin was freaking out at Miranda. He knew if she didn't remove the geis, he couldn't get that tattoo.”

I was immediately sorry I'd said anything, since Mac demanded the whole story and seemed to find the idea of a small, female gargoyle getting the best of Pritkin hysterically funny. I finally managed to get him back on track, but he didn't tell me anything I wanted to hear. "It's like trying to put a glove on a small, squirming child, Cassie-which is why kids usually get mittens. It's too damn much trouble to get them dressed otherwise." Mac sounded like he knew, and I briefly wondered whether he had a family. Possibly there were people who would mourn him if Pritkin got him killed.

"So you can't fix it?”

"I'm sorry, Cassie. Get rid of the geis, and I can have it running in no time. Otherwise-”

"I'm screwed.”

"It looks that way.”

As if in comment on the way my day was going, Billy took that moment to throw up beer all over the floor in front of my sneakers. I snatched my feet back just in time. "Billy! What is the matter with you?”

He groaned and sat up. "Stomach cramps," he gasped. I sighed and went to get him a glass of water.

"Sip it," I warned. "You have a brand-new stomach. Nobody gives babies beer, so I guess you don't get any, either." I took the bottle away, and he groaned louder.

"Have a heart, Cass!”

I held the bottle up and shook it, letting the amber liquid slosh against the sides. "Get off your backside and help me with Tomas and maybe I'll give it to you.”

"There's a pub in the town where we're headed," Marlowe said mildly.

"How do you know where we're going?" I asked suspiciously.

"Because we aren't spoiled for choice." Billy was regarding the vamp as if he'd just announced that he'd won the lottery. "Beer, pretty girls-of a sort-and excellent music, as I recall.”

Billy jumped up as if propelled out of a canon. "Where's that poor unfortunate, then? We should get the lad somewhere safe so he can rest and heal," he added piously.

"What town?" I asked Marlowe.

"The local village and castle are populated by Dark Fey, a few of whom have done favors for my spies in the past. That has primarily taken the form of intelligence gathering-they spy on the Light Fey and my contacts among the Light spy on them. But occasionally they have helped out agents in distress-for a fee, of course.”

"You spy on the Fey?" I asked in surprise.

Marlowe smiled. "I spy on everyone. It's my job.”

"Discuss this later," Pritkin said, poking his head in through the curtain. The golem stood next to him calmly enough, but it flinched when the curtain brushed against its arm. "If the Dark Fey find us before we come to an understanding-”

"Point taken," Marlowe murmured. Together, he and Billy got Tomas out from under the table and into a makeshift sling made out of the cot blanket. I didn't believe Marlowe when he swore the Fey sun didn't harm vampires, but Mac backed him up. Since Tomas didn't burst into flames when the beams leaking through the ruined roof fell on him, I had to assume they were right.

Billy took one end of the sling and Marlowe picked up the other. His cooperation made me apprehensive enough to walk alongside the bearers to ensure that he didn't harm Tomas when no one was looking. I'd have preferred another helper, but there weren't a lot of options. I doubted I could carry even half of Tomas' weight for any distance, especially not weighed down by fifty pounds of ammunition. Mac was bringing up the rear and his hands needed to be free for weapons. And Pritkin, at the head of our motley group, had his hands full keeping his servant from freaking out again.

The poor golem was shaking and looking about wild-eyed, jumping at every breath of wind, chirping bird or Billy singing "I'm a rover and seldom sober," until Pritkin threatened to make him a ghost again if he didn't stop. It was like the golem had never seen any of it before-which I guess he hadn't, at least not through human eyes-and wasn't sure what was benign and what was a threat. I don't know what they rely on for senses, but based on his scream when a cloud of airborne dandelions brushed against his bare chest, I don't think it's the same five we humans use.

We finally made it to the tree line, but even I could follow the path of trampled grass in our wake. Anyone with tracking experience wouldn't even break a sweat following us. I stared at the dark woods ahead and hoped someone had a plan.

The next hour was a nightmare, slogging through a forest that, while amazing, was also intensely creepy. For one thing, it made the centuries-old trees that had surrounded Tony's farmhouse look like saplings. We passed two giant oaks going in, each of which had a trunk large enough to have driven a car through had they been hollow. Of course, that would have required building a ramp first, because the trunks started well above my head, resting on a massive root system taller than most houses. They were positioned like sentries at a castle's gate, their mossy arms raised as if in salute-or warning.

The tangled tree roots all seemed to stop at the same point, forming a rough path towards who knew what. Something brushed my shoulder as we pushed our way into the sea of brambles and tangled underbrush. For an instant I thought I saw a gnarled hand with bulbous knuckles and unnaturally long fingers reaching for me. I jumped before realizing it was nothing more threatening than a low-hanging branch, the moss on it damp and clammy against my skin.

Even worse was the way the place smelled. The meadow had been warm and fresh and flowery, but there was no pleasant green scent here. The forest was dank and mildewed, but below that was something worse-sour and faintly rotten. I thought about it as we plodded along, and it finally hit me. It was like being in the presence of a terminally ill person. No matter how good the hygiene, there is always a faint odor clinging to them that doesn't smell like anything else. The forest reeked of death-not the quick, red-clawed end of a hunted animal, but the long, lingering sickness of someone death has stalked for a very long time. I vastly preferred the meadow.

I pressed closer to Tomas, who was thankfully still oblivious, and tried not to look as spooked as I felt. But there was something unnatural about these woods. It was in the murky light that made it instantly twilight, and in the age, which pressed down like gravity had somehow increased as soon as we left the field. I couldn't even begin to guess how old some of the trees were, but every time I thought they couldn't get any bigger, they managed. And my tired brain kept seeing faces in patterns in the bark-old, craggy ones with mushroom hair, lichen beards and shadowy eyes.

Marlowe tried several times to start a conversation, but I ignored him until he gave up. I had other things to think about, like how I was going to find Myra and what I was going to do with her when I did. Now that I was here, I understood why she'd chosen to hide in Faerie. It was an entirely new playing field, and one I knew nothing about. Getting close enough to spring the trap was going to be difficult if my power was unreliable, and I had no idea how many allies she had. After seeing what happened to Mac's wards, I wasn't as confident about the Senate's weapons as I had been. What if they didn't work in this crazy new world?

My mood wasn't improved by more mundane considerations, like how heavy the damned coat was getting, how much I could really use a bath, and how badly I wanted to see Mircea. The craving hadn't diminished, and although it was bearable, it wasn't fun. I felt like a three-pack-a-day smoker at the end of a twelve-hour flight. Only, for me, there was no relief in sight.

We finally stopped for a breather. Wind rustled the tree-tops, but down at ground level, there wasn't so much as a breath of air. Billy, who had been bitching about Tomas' weight the whole way, swore we'd been walking for a day, but it had probably been only an hour or so. I stripped off the lead-lined torture device Pritkin had stuck me with, and it helped a little, but no breeze hit my soaked clothes.

I was bent over, panting and exhausted, sweat running off my face to drip onto the leaf-strewn forest floor, when I saw it: my first proof that this really was an enchanted forest. A tree root, covered in bright red lichen like a scaly arm, reached up from the path to position itself on the ground under my nose. I shied back, giving a surprised yelp, then watched as it sucked dry every leaf that held any of my sweat.

"W-What is that?" I pulled back a leg as the root came closer, rummaging through the leaves like a pig after acorns. It couldn't see me, but it knew I was there.

"A spy." Marlowe's resigned tones came from above my head. "I knew we couldn't avoid them, but I was hoping for a bit longer than this.”

"A spy for whom?”

"The Dark Fey," Pritkin answered, coming alongside. "This is their forest.”

"Very likely," Marlowe concurred. "But I should reach our allies before-”

"You aren't going," Pritkin interrupted. "Give me a token and I'll do it.”

"Go where?" I asked, but no one was listening.

"They don't know you," Marlowe protested. "Even with an introduction from me, you could be in danger.”

Pritkin smiled sourly. "I'll take the risk.”

Mac cleared his throat. "It might be best if I go," he offered. "You've got enough trouble keeping that one in line"-he nodded at the golem, who was running his hands over the trunk of a nearby tree, an expression of wonder on his features-"and it doesn't know me. If something sets it off again, I can't guarantee I can control it.”

"It's coming with me.”

"It won't be much good in a fight right now," Mac said doubtfully.

"It isn't going to be fighting." Pritkin glanced at me. "I suppose you want to stay here and tend him?" He didn't name Tomas, but we both knew whom he meant. I looked at Marlowe before replying. He was adjusting the bandages around his curls as if they pained him, and grinned when he caught my eye.

"The storm didn't do my head any good," he explained, wincing slightly as his hand brushed a tender spot. "First Rasputin cracks my skull, and now this. You would think someone could aim for another part of my anatomy just once, but oh, no.”

I didn't smile back. Marlowe might really be in pain, or he might be trying to convince me how weak he was. If the latter, he was wasting his time. I'd seen enough injured vamps to know: if they were conscious and moving, they were deadly. There wasn't much I could do for Tomas, but at least I'd make sure Marlowe didn't cut off his head. I looked back at Pritkin and nodded.

"Then I'll need to borrow your servant.”

Billy had collapsed into a sweaty heap as soon as we stopped and was now tugging on one of his black boots and swearing. I guess he had tender baby feet to go along with the new stomach. "You sure? He's not much of a fighter.”

"He's only there in case something goes wrong. To run back and warn you.”

"He should be able to handle that." I nudged Billy. "You're up." He bitched, of course, but eventually beer won out over blisters and he agreed to go.

Marlowe scribbled a brief note on a piece of paper that Mac had located among our supplies. It seemed somehow wrong to be using lined notebook paper and a ballpoint to write an introduction to the Fey, but no one else seemed to notice. "I'm not sure my contacts are still there," Marlowe said, handing over the finished note. "Time doesn't flow the same way here. My spies have sometimes entered months apart to find that they arrived on the same day, or on other occasions that decades had passed. We've never been able to determine a pattern.”

"I'll manage," Pritkin said, rummaging through my discarded coat for ammunition. He fished out three large boxes. I didn't ask what he thought he'd need that many bullets for. I didn't want to know.

He had exchanged his leather trench for a dark cape with a hood from Mac's pack and, after a brief struggle, managed to get the golem to accept being put into his coat. It wasn't a great disguise, considering that the golem was still orange, bald, seven feet tall and barefoot, but it beat the alternative. 'Shouldn't he stay here?" I asked doubtfully.

Pritkin didn't answer me, but Marlowe smiled slightly. "If the mage does not bring a gift, he will never gain an audience. Fey protocol.”

"A gift?" It took a few seconds to sink in. "You mean- but that's slavery!”

"He isn't actually alive, Cassie," Mac protested.

I looked at the childlike being blinking slowly at Pritkin as he was buttoned into the long coat. He seemed to find the buttons fascinating, and kept poking at them with an orange, but otherwise very human-looking, finger. "He looks alive to me," I said.

"I'll retrieve him later-he's merely to get me in!" Pritkin said crossly. "Or would you prefer to offer your servant instead?”

Billy gave me a panicked look and I sighed. "Of course not.”

"Then refrain from giving advice about matters you don't understand," I was told curtly before the trio disappeared into the foliage.

Over the next few hours, a number of things conspired to rub my remaining nerves raw. One of the most annoying was the roving roots that followed me around like nearsighted puppies. I was bone weary but could I sit down for five minutes? Hell, no. I had to play keep-away with the local flora while being stared at by the fauna.

A short time after Pritkin left, it seemed like every bird in the forest-ospreys, eagles, owls and even a few vultures- had congregated in the trees around us, along with some small mammals. They made no noise except for a fluttering of wings as the early arrivals shuffled around to make room for newcomers. After a few minutes their collective weight began to bow some of the smaller limbs they were using as perches, but none collapsed. They looked eerily like spectators assembling for some type of entertainment. Since we weren't doing anything interesting, I assumed the show started later, a thought that didn't improve my mood.

Neither did the tension of being able to do nothing for Tomas, who lay unmoving on his blanket. Not only could I not help him heal-if, in fact, that's what he was doing-I couldn't get near him for fear of bringing my bark-covered fans along. They absorbed sweat-who knew what else they ate?

The most irritating factor of all, though, had to be Marlowe's suddenly renewed interest in conversation. He waited until Pritkin was out of hearing range, then turned to me smiling cheerfully. "Let's chat, Cassie. I am certain I can put your fears to rest.”

I hopped over a root trying to curl around my ankle. "Why do I doubt that?”

"Because you've never had a chance to hear our side of things," he said, giving me a warm, understanding smile that immediately raised my hackles. "We would have had this conversation before, but when you came back from your mission with Mircea you failed to give us the opportunity.”

"I tend not to open dialogues with people who threaten to kill me.”

Marlowe looked surprised. "I can't imagine what you mean. I certainly don't want you dead, and neither does anyone else on the Senate. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

"Did you tell Agnes the same thing?”

Marlowe's brows knitted together into a small frown. "I'm not certain I understand you.”

I brought out the small charm Pritkin had given me. He'd never asked for it back, so I'd stuffed it into a pocket. Now I let it swing in front of Marlowe's eyes like a pendulum. "Recognize this?”

He took it and gave it a once-over. "Of course.”

I stared at him. It wouldn't be a shock if Marlowe had been the one to mastermind the assassination-it fit his reputation-but I hadn't expected him to just admit it. Did he think I'd be pleased that he removed Agnes and cleared my way to succeed?

"It's a Saint Sebastian medallion." He took it from my limp fingers. Mac had closed in, but he wasn't saying anything. Maybe he also thought we were about to hear a confession. If so, he was disappointed. "I haven't seen one of these in years. Of course, there's been no need for them.”

"What need?" Mac had a look on his face that reminded me of Pritkin at his most suspicious.

"The plague, mage," Marlowe said impatiently. "Sebastian was the saint believed to be able to ward off disease.

These were still popular on the Continent in my day, although most were made in the fourteenth century, during the Black Death.”

I leaned in for a closer look. "So this is what, a good-luck charm?”

Marlowe smiled. "Something like that. People wanted to believe they were doing something to protect themselves and their families.”

"Kind of ironic," I said. Mac nodded, but Marlowe looked confused. "This was used to kill someone recently," I explained.

Marlowe's brows rose. It was the first expression I'd seen him wear that didn't appear contrived. "The Pythia was murdered?”

Mac said one of Pritkin's bad words. "And how would you know that if you didn't do it?" he demanded heatedly.

Marlowe shrugged. "Who else were we talking about?" He turned the thing over in his hands, frowning. "Someone's cut it open.”

"We did that," Mac said, snatching it out of his hands. "It had arsenic in it!" He said the latter as if he expected it to stagger the vamp, but Marlowe didn't appear fazed.

"Well, of course it did." At my expression, he explained. "Powdered toad, arsenic-a whole host of substances were often put inside these things before they were soldered together. They were thought to ward off sickness, and added to the medallion's value-and its price, of course.”

"You mean there was supposed to be poison in there?" I looked at Mac. "You're sure she was murdered?”

"Cassie-" he said warningly. He obviously didn't want to discuss this in front of Marlowe, but I couldn't see the harm. If Marlowe had arranged the Pythia's death, he already knew about it; it not, maybe he could provide a few clues.

"A medallion like this was found next to her body," I told Marlowe. "Is there any way it could have been used to kill her?”

He looked thoughtful. "Anything that comes in contact with the skin can be a danger. Queen Elizabeth was almost assassinated by poison rubbed into the pommel of her saddle. And I once killed a Catholic by soaking his prayer beads in an arsenic solution," he added nonchalantly.

He was creeping me out, but at least it looked like I'd come to the right guy. "Would that sort of method take a long time to kill someone?”

"An hour or so.”

"No, like six months.”

Marlowe shook his head. "Even assuming someone soaked her necklace in a weak solution, and she was in the habit of fingering the medallion, it wouldn't have worked. Arsenic causes redness and swelling of the skin over time- she would have noticed. That's why gradual poisoning is usually done in food. It's tasteless and odorless, and in small doses, its symptoms are similar to food poisoning.”

"Her food was specially prepared and carefully tested," Mac said. "And Lady Phemonoe was extremely… careful about poisons. You might almost say she was, well, not paranoid exactly, but-”

"That's not what I heard," Marlowe broke in cheerfully. He seemed to like talking shop. “They say she'd become extremely superstitious with age, and had been buying all sorts of questionable remedies. A knife believed to turn green when passed over unsafe food, an antique Venetian glass supposed to explode if filled with a poisoned liquid, a goblet with a bezoar set into the bottom-”

"Maybe she Saw something." Agnes had been a seer, too, a powerful one. I shivered. How horrible would it be to see your own death, yet be able to do nothing about it?

"Perhaps." Marlowe was smiling at me again, and I didn't like it. "But if so, it appears to have done her little good. Which rather proves the point I am trying to make. The mages cannot keep you safe any more than they did your predecessor. We will be much more efficient, I assure you.”

Mac shot the vamp an unfriendly look. "Don't listen to him, Cassie. If you don't want to talk, don't. He can't force you with me here.”

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, mage. I know your reputation, but much of your magic is useless at present, and my strength is unchanged. Not that I would dream of forcing Cassandra to do anything against her will. I merely think she ought to know who her newfound ally is and what he wants.”

"You stay out of our business," Mac said, his tone ominous.

"Ah, but it isn't yours alone, is it?" Marlowe asked. "She has a right to know with whom she's become involved." He turned to me, looking innocent. "Or do you already know that Pritkin is the Circle's chief assassin?”