Claimed by Shadow

Chapter 5

I went inside the store lugging my duffle and the bags of food. It was almost as hot as outside, with a rattling window air conditioner threatening to give its last wheeze at any moment. The desperate sound matched the rest of the decor, which consisted of stained ceiling tiles, dung brown carpet and a battered laminate counter. Only the hundreds of brightly colored tattoo designs adhered to almost every surface gave it life.

The counter separated the front from the back of the shop, which I couldn't see because a brown curtain cut off my view. There was no attendant in sight, so I rang the bell, frowning at an issue of Crystal Gazing that was in full view on the counter. The self-proclaimed guardian of free speech in the supernatural community had its usual screaming headline: dracula sighted in vegas-the scourge of Europe alive! Yeah, he was probably sitting by the pool at Caesar's, eating Moon Pies with Elvis. I tucked it out of sight under the counter, thankful that no one had yet dug up my name. I had enough problems-I didn't need the paparazzi, too.

A few seconds later a skinny bald man with a long gray mustache appeared from behind the curtain. Except for the parts hidden by a pair of cutoff jeans, he was covered in tattoos from his scrawny neck to the tops of his flip-flop-clad feet. Even stranger, the inked images moved. The cobra coiled around his neck paused to flicker a tongue in my direction, while a painted lizard crept across his forehead before catching sight of me and scuttling away behind his left ear. The eagle on his chest flapped its outstretched wings lazily, eyeing me out of a single dark eye.

It looked like I'd found the right place.

The painted man took one look at my fascinated expression and laughed. "The shops that do butterflies and flowers are across town, love." Despite looking like a retired Hells Angel, he had a faint accent. I thought it might be Australian. "And I've canceled all my appointments today- rush job came up.”

"I'm not here for a tattoo," I told him, trying not to watch the athame inked onto his stomach, which every few seconds dripped a spot of red from its tip that ran down his skin into the frayed top of the cut offs. "Pritkin said to meet him here. I brought lunch." I held up the bags and the man's expression brightened.

"You'll be Cassandra Palmer, then," he said, looking surprised. I nodded, wondering what he'd expected. I decided not to ask how Pritkin had described me. "Well, why didn't you say so? I'm Archie McAdam, but my friends call me Mac.”

"Cassie," I said, taking the proffered hand. All around his larger tattoos was a forest of painted leaves and vines that rustled slightly, as if in a slight wind. From the dark areas under the foliage, a pair of narrowed orange eyes watched me malevolently.

Mac held back the curtain and I squeezed around the counter to duck inside. The first thing I saw in the back was Pritkin, lying facedown on a padded bench, his shirt off and his head turned away. Given how much trouble he regularly got in, I'd have expected his back to be a welter of old and new scars, but it wasn't. Only a fine tracery of whitened ridges marred one shoulder blade, looking almost like claw marks. Otherwise, flawless skin covered better muscles than I'd expected, unblemished except for the pale purple outline of a tattoo that had been stenciled onto his left side. The outline was about half inked in, although no color had been added yet. It was a stylized sword, very finely drawn, almost delicate. I thought that now was an odd time for body art, but it was his hour. He could spend it as he liked.

Mac held up a mirror to show his customer the design, and Pritkin scowled. "I still say it's too elaborate. A plain sword is all I need.”

"What are you on about?" Mac asked incredulously. "Look at the lines, the artistry. I've outdone myself!”

Pritkin snorted, and I somewhat sympathized. It looked like he was in for a long day. The sword's blade trailed along the whole length of his side, ending on top of his hip. His jeans had been pushed down enough to bare the top of one buttock to the stencil. Most of his back was, like his arms and face, a light gold color, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun but didn't tan easily. But his lower back and hips shaded into peach and then to cream, although there was no obvious tan line. I found myself wondering whether there was a difference in texture between the areas, and how they would feel under my fingertips, before I abruptly snapped out of it.

I looked away, horrified that I'd been checking out Pritkin of all people. Obviously, proximity to incubi has some weird side effects.

“Take a break, John," Mac said heartily. “This pretty young thing brought lunch!”

Pritkin sat up, scowling, and kept his back to us while he zipped up his jeans. He'd either bought new ones or borrowed some of Mac's, because these were blood free. I grinned at him to cover the awkwardness. "John?”

"It's a good, honest English name," he snapped, angry for no reason I could see.

"Sorry," I held out the bag of food placatingly. "It just doesn't sound like you.”

"Which part?" Billy Joe asked. He floated over from the back of the room, near where the golem stood propped against the wall, as silent as the statue it wasn't. "The good, the honest or the English?”

I ignored him and grabbed half a meatball sub before handing the rest of the food to Mac. The smell in the car had reminded me that the only nutrition I'd had all day was a handful of peanuts at Casanova's. The sandwich did a lot to improve my mood, and after a few bites, I was even able to muster another smile for Pritkin, who was tugging on a green T-shirt. "You forgot I was dropping in?”

"I wasn't sure you would be," he said curtly.

I decided I could either waste time getting into an argument over the value of my word or I could eat the rest of my sub. I chose the latter. A glance around showed that the back room was no more interesting than the front, and wasn't going to provide much in the way of entertainment. Its bare brick walls contained a metal thing that looked sort of like a washing machine but probably wasn't, a mini fridge, a cot piled high with old books, an overflowing wastebasket and the tattoo table and equipment.

I swallowed the last bite and wiped tomato sauce off my chin. "Tick tock. You have fifty minutes left. If you want to spend them eating or getting tattooed, go right ahead. But when your time is up, I'm outta here.”

“To go where?" Pritkin demanded, peering at his sandwich as if he thought I might have slipped something nasty inside. "If you have the ridiculous notion of surviving a trip into Faerie on your own, allow me to point out one small fact. Your power won't work there, or will be very unpredictable if it does. For that reason, Pythias have made it a habit to leave the Fey strictly alone. You can go against tradition, but with your power unreliable and your ward blocked, you won't last a day.”

He sat on the cot and began dissecting his sandwich while I mulled things over. Mac was perched on a stool by the table, munching his way through the other half of my sub and staying quiet. Billy floated over and tipped his hat back with a hazy-looking finger. "He's got a point," he commented.

"Gee, thanks so much.”

Billy hoisted his insubstantial backside up onto the edge of the table and looked at me seriously. That was an expression he used so rarely that it got my attention. "I don't like the guy any more than you do, Cass, but if you're determined to do this thing, a war mage could be a real asset. Think about it. We got to get into Faerie, which ain't exactly easy anytime and will be 'specially hard with all the security from the war. Then we got to avoid the Fey, who don't like trespassers, while we look for the fat man and that seer chick. And, assuming we manage all that, we have to deal with them at the end of it. And if the Fey are hiding 'em, that ain't gonna be fun. We could use some help.”

"We haven't had an offer yet," I reminded him. Mac seemed surprised by my apparently random comments, but Pritkin ignored them. I suppose he'd learned that, wherever I was, Billy wasn't far behind.

"If he didn't intend to help, he could have stepped aside and let the mages have you back at the casino.”

"I could have managed on my own," I said shortly. Even to my ears it sounded sulky, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. I didn't need Pritkin, or anybody else, to come riding to the rescue.

"Yeah, but I thought you were trying to avoid using the power.”

This conversation was starting to irritate me. "Are you just going to sit there and eat, or what?" I asked Pritkin crossly.

He glanced up, a look of distaste on his features. I wasn't sure whether it was for me or the sandwich, so I let it pass. "We worked together before when we had a common cause. We have one again. I am proposing that we join forces long enough to deal with our mutual dilemma.”

"You have a grudge against Tony? Since when?" That was awfully convenient.

"The Circle has issued a warrant for him, but that isn't my interest.”

I crumpled up my sandwich paper and tossed it at the trash. I missed. "Then what is?”

Pritkin took a drink from one of the Cokes Mac had passed around, and grimaced. "I want you to help me recover the sybil called Myra," he informed me.

"What?" I stared at him. It was disconcerting and more than a little suspicious that the first name on my list also topped Pritkin's.

"None of our locating charms have turned up anything. Therefore it is a fair guess that she is hiding in Faerie, where our magic doesn't work. In return for your help, I promise not to take you before the Circle, and to assist you in dealing with your former master.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I don't even know where to start. First, you aren't taking me anywhere, and second, why should I help you bring back my rival? So your Circle can kill me and reinstate her? For some reason, that doesn't appeal.”

"The Circle has no plans to put her in your place," he said grimly. "As for the other, do not overestimate your abilities, or underestimate mine. If I wanted to capture you, I would. Even if I refrain, eventually someone else will. The Circle will never stop chasing you, and they have to get lucky only once. You, on the other hand, have to elude all of their traps, with little knowledge of the magical world to aid you. Only with my help can you hope to avoid the fate the Circle has planned for you-and for her.”

"Oh, right. They're going to kill the only fully trained initiate they have. Why do I doubt that?" The Circle might want me dead, but they had every reason to keep Myra alive and well. There was a war on, and they badly needed the help a malleable Pythia could provide.

He glanced at Mac, who was looking dour. "Some of us have noticed a disturbing tendency in the Circle's leadership lately. They seem to care less for our traditional mission and more for power every year. The Silver have always been separate from the Black, not only in how we obtain power, but in what we do with it. I fear the Council has forgotten that.”

Mac nodded. "And now they have a new candidate for Pythia, one of the more docile initiates. If both you and Myra die, they believe she'll inherit." He shook his head wearily, causing a dragonfly on his right shoulder to flutter glittering green wings. "I knew we had some rot at the core, but this is worse than any of us guessed. The power chooses the Pythia. That has been a maxim for thousands of years, because to have the wrong person in that office is to invite disaster. Dark mages are always trying to find ways to slip through time, to remake the world the way they want, and every once in a while one succeeds. Without a proper Pythia on the throne, our entire existence is in danger! The council must be stopped!”

"Uh-huh." I looked into Mac's homely, earnest face and tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. But it was difficult. The world I'd grown up in was run on the carrot-and-stick principle: everything was done to gain reward or to avoid punishment. And the more risky the job, the higher the rewards or the greater the punishment had to be. Considering the risk level Mac was talking about, the payoff had to be out of this world.

Pritkin had stayed quiet throughout his buddy's rousing speech, contenting himself with glowering into the distance. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "So, what's your story? Are you also in this out of the goodness of your heart?”

His perpetual scowl deepened. "I am in it, as you say, because I resent being made into a murderer. I was given the assignment of locating Myra for trial, even though the verdict in her case is a foregone conclusion. Others are searching for you, and I have no doubt that their instructions were the same as mine. If I did not think she could be taken alive, I was free to use extreme measures to ensure that she did not continue to threaten the Circle's interests.”

One word in all that had caught my attention. "Trial?" It was hard to believe that anyone would prosecute Myra for attempting to kill me. It seemed more likely that the Circle would give her a medal. "What did she do?”

"She has been implicated in the death of the Pythia.”

For a minute, I thought he was talking about me, after all. Then it clicked. "You mean Agnes.”

"Show some respect!" Pritkin said heatedly. "Use her proper title.”

"She's dead," I pointed out. "I doubt she minds.”

"But Myra couldn't have done it!" Mac broke in. "The Council's argument doesn't make sense. What would she gain by it?”

I thought that was kind of obvious. "She probably thought she'd be Pythia, if Agnes died before she could pass the power over to me.”

"But that's just it, Cassie," Mac insisted. "As John pointed out to the Council, the power won't go to an assassin of another Pythia or heir designate. It's an old rule, to keep the initiates from slaughtering each other for the position.”

My mind screeched to a halt. "Run that by me again?”

"The power has never yet gone to the killer of a Pythia or her heir," Mac repeated slowly.

"You didn't know that?" Pritkin demanded.

"No." And I wasn't sure I believed it. I really wanted to, because it meant that offing me might not be on Myra 's agenda after all. But I was having a hard time with the idea that she intended to let bygones be bygones. It didn't seem like her style, especially not with two knife wounds from my weapon in her torso. Not to mention that, even if she did decide to take the high road, I couldn't see Rasputin letting her concede defeat. He needed her to be Pythia if he had any chance of winning, or even surviving, the war. Something was wrong here.

"Didn't Agnes die of old age?" I asked Mac, since he seemed the more forthcoming of the two.

"That's what we believed, at first. But strange sores were noticed on the body when it was being readied for burial. A doctor was called in to look at them, and became suspicious, so an autopsy was ordered. She didn't die because of her age, Cassie. She was poisoned. And considering the amount of precautions taken to safeguard the Pythia, it couldn't have been easy.”

"They used arsenic, rather than a potion or curse that would have been detected by the wards," Pritkin added, apparently appalled that Agnes had been killed by something so mundane. "Here. What do you sense from this?”

I backed away fast, even before I got a good look at what he was holding out.

"I promised to talk, nothing else," I reminded him.

"With no witnesses, this is our best chance to find the killer!”

I stared at the small amulet in his hand. It looked pretty innocent, just a round silver disk with a worn figure embossed on it, swinging from a tarnished chain. I wasn't getting any warning signals from it the way I did from objects likely to trigger a vision, but I didn't intend to take chances.

"Well?" Pritkin thrust it at me, but I backed away rapidly.

"Your chance," I corrected, making sure the little bauble didn't brush against me. "This isn't my problem.”

"Don't be too sure of that," he said cryptically.

I dodged behind Mac for cover and refused to take the bait. I glanced at my nonexistent watch. "Oops, look at the time. Guess I have to be going now. Let's not do this again sometime, okay?”

Before I could move, Pritkin was there, jamming the medallion into the skin of my upper arm. "Ow!" He looked at me expectantly. I glared at him. "That hurt!”

"What do you see?”

"A big red mark," I said irritably, rubbing at what would probably be a bruise. "And stop poking me with that thing!”

"If you are lying to me-”

"If I had a vision, you'd know it!" I told him furiously. "I don't just see the bad stuff anymore-I get a front-row seat. And lately, I take whoever's closest along for the ride! Or have you forgotten already?”

Pritkin didn't answer; he just continued to hold out the amulet, although he was no longer attempting to brand me with it. I sighed and took the damn thing. "How does it work, exactly?”

"That's just it," Mac said, sounding as if he was enjoying the mental puzzle. "We don't know. It contained arsenic- we opened it last night. But it was enclosed by the metal, with no way to touch the skin.”

"The answer has to be there!" Pritkin insisted. "She was holding it when she died, and it contained the same poison that killed her. And where else could the poison have come from? No one would have been able to get to her to administer it, especially not repeatedly!”

I gingerly examined the tiny thing. It had been cut open along the side, like a locket. Whatever it might once have contained, it was empty now. Which probably explained why I was getting nothing from it. The tampering had ruined its physical integrity, and in the process had ruptured any psychic skin that might have imprinted itself. But with Pritkin already looking as if his blood pressure was going through the roof, I decided not to mention that. "Repeatedly?”

"No one was suspicious, because the poison wasn't administered all at one time," Mac explained. "It was spread out over six months or more, administered in small doses that built up in her system until it finally overwhelmed her. Her worsening condition was put down to her age and to the strain of losing the heir.”

"Six months?" The same time the Senate sent Tomas to babysit me. I didn't like the coincidence, but didn't say anything. Unfortunately, either my face gave me away or Pritkin had already made the leap himself.

" Myra couldn't have administered the poison," he said flatly. "She went missing months ago, long before Agnes took ill, and she has no motive. The Council wants her out of the way, so they are using the story of her involvement for their own purposes. Others had far better cause, but the Council can't afford to challenge them.”

No, I didn't suppose so. The Circle was allied with the Senate in the war; they couldn't risk accusing their buddies of murder. I didn't like to think about it, but it really wouldn't surprise me if the Senate was guilty as hell. It fit the usual vampire modus operandi to remove obstacles in the most final manner possible. And it would have been worth it even if they'd only thought there was a chance that the power would come to me. They'd believed I was going to be their tame Pythia, the first in centuries under their control rather than the Circle's. For that kind of power, they'd have done far worse than kill one old woman. Of course, there was another strong contender.

"What about the Circle?”

Pritkin's eyes narrowed. "What about it?”

I shrugged. "You've implied that the Senate is guilty, but they're not the ones hunting down the only two candidates who stand in the way of the Circle's chosen heir.”

Mac looked sick, but Pritkin brushed it aside. "The Circle had no reason to want a change in leadership. Lady Phemonoe was an excellent Pythia.”

"Well, yeah, that's the point. Agnes being good at her job might have been the problem, if the Council really is going bad. Maybe she opposed them one too many times, and someone decided that a younger, more easygoing Pythia would be-”

Pritkin cut me off with a savage gesture. "You don't know what you're talking about! The Council would never stoop so low!”

I stared at him, amazed that he'd already forgotten our morning in hell. His precious Circle didn't seem to have a problem with taking me out, or with sending him after Myra. But I guess we didn't count. "Okay, so why are you after her? Because you think she knows something?”

"I declined to kill her untried," Pritkin said, "but by now the Circle has doubtless assigned another operative. If he finds her first, she will have no chance to tell her side of things.”

"You must have turned them down pretty forcefully. Because they don't seem too fond of you.”

"I found out that an informant had placed you at Dante's this morning. I had to battle the Circle's team to reach you first, and one of them recognized me.”

And, of course, they'd seen him in the hallway with me, too. That probably hadn't done his reputation any good. "Say you find her. What then?”

"Charges have been made that she needs to answer," he said shortly. "Her fate will depend on her responses.”

I looked down so he wouldn't see the disbelief in my eyes. "Sounds like you have a plan. Now that you know where Myra is, why do you need me? As you pointed out, I won't be much use in Faerie, assuming we can get there.”

"Because there is a chance that she can time-shift away from me without someone to hold her in place," Pritkin told me reluctantly. "Part of your power allows you to restrict a sybil's abilities. It is usually used for training purposes, to permit a Pythia to retrieve a sybil from the timeline if she falls into difficulties. You should be able to exercise the same control to ensure that Myra cannot elude me.”

I sipped soda to hide my expression, and Billy merged with me so we could talk privately. "Either these two are the dumbest conspirators I ever met," he said in disgust, "or they don't think too highly of you.”

"Both," I thought at him. "Can you drift through either one, maybe find out what they're really up to?”

"Nope. They're both warded all to hell and back. But we don't need that to know they're lying. If your power won't work in Faerie-”

"-then I couldn't hold Myra for them, even if I knew how. Yeah, I got that much. So what do they want me for?”

"That's kind of obvious, too, isn't it?”

"You think?”

Billy laughed, and it echoed inside my skull. "I'm gonna go check up on Dante's, see what kind of hell the Circle is raising, if you think you can handle these two geniuses without me?”

I thought something rude and got another peal of laughter before he was suddenly gone. I stared at Pritkin and he looked back, completely expressionless. He did a good poker face, but it didn't matter. I didn't buy his flimsy story for a minute.

Pritkin knew full well that Myra had tried to kill me. He was probably betting that sooner or later she'd show up again for another go. Basically, I was bait. As for why he and Mac wanted to find her, that was also obvious. Locating her would give them a powerful tool to use in a coup against the Circle's leadership. Maybe they saw themselves as revolutionaries, remaking a corrupt system, or maybe they were just opportunists who figured she was their ticket to power. It didn't matter to me either way, but I did care about the fact that she would never help them for anything less than the full title. The only question was whether Pritkin would kill me himself once I'd served my purpose, or if he'd let Myra do it for him.

Of course, I knew they were kidding themselves if they thought she would just fall in line with their scheme. As Agnes had put it when she reluctantly handed power to me, her heir had joined Rasputin because she was evil or because she was weak, and either way she'd make a lousy Pythia. The fact that Myra had shortly afterwards attacked me had me leaning towards evil. I might not want the job, but that psycho wasn't getting it, either.

I thought it over. Billy was right-we needed more help than he could provide, and a couple of war mages were perfect. Pritkin wanted to use and then double-cross me?

Okay, but two could play that game. I'd let him help me through the obstacles ahead, and as soon as we found Myra, I'd dump him and use the trap that had housed the Graeae on her.

I smiled at the mage. "Sounds interesting. Maybe we can work out a deal, after all.”

That afternoon was quite an education. Even though I'd been brought up at a vampire's court, my knowledge of magic wasn't great. Clairvoyants are viewed as the dregs of the magical world, people with little real talent who make a living telling norms what they want to hear. You know the type: "Your soul mate's name begins with a T- or S or R or any of the more common letters of the alphabet- but the clairvoyant needs subsequent sessions to figure out exactly who it is. Expensive sessions. I'd never done that, even when money had been more than tight. I might cheat casinos out of desperation, but I never mocked my gift. Most of the mages at Tony's, however, had put down any of my Seeings that came true to coincidence, and wanted little to do with me.

Vamps, of course, have an innate magic of their own, and I don't mean just the power that animates them. Most gain useful abilities if they survive long enough, and some of those can be pretty spectacular. I'd seen vamps levitate themselves and others, strip the skin off a body from across a room, and rip a beating heart out of a chest with little more than a thought. But the kind of magic the mages do is beyond them, and magic workers lose their ability if turned, so there are no vamp mages.

I think I learned more that afternoon about magic than ten years at Tony's had taught me. It started when Pritkin stripped back down to let Mac finish the tattoo, and I asked why he was bothering with that now. I was mainly asking to focus my attention on something other than his body, which was suddenly a lot more attractive than it should have been. I really hoped the side effects from encountering incubi were going to wear off soon.

"Like yours, my magic will not be reliable in Faerie," Pritkin said. He sounded like he'd rather tell me to go to hell, but since we'd just agreed to be allies, he had to play nice. I decided to press the advantage while it lasted, which I suspected wouldn't be long.

"What, you're going to flash your manly tattoo at the Fey?”

Mac laughed, but even though Pritkin's head was turned away from me, I could tell he was scowling. His shoulders tensed, and that tightened things further down in an interesting way. I got up to get another Coke.

"It's a special tattoo," Mac told me cheerfully, picking up something that looked like an electric toothbrush without the bristles. "If I do this right, it should imprint his aura- his magical skin-as well as the physical. When he throws his shields up, it'll manifest as a real weapon. And, as we learned the technique from the Fey, it should work in Faerie even better than here." He put the head of the toothbrush thing to the top of the sword and started to ink it in. Pritkin didn't flinch, but the muscles in his arms stood out a bit more. I sipped Coke and gave up trying not to watch him.

"I'm not getting it," I said after a minute. "You have weapons"-a serious understatement-"why not rely on them?”

Mac answered, although his attention remained on his victim's back, where he paused to wipe away some blood.

"Regular weapons won't do much against the Fey. You need magical stuff to hold up against the sort of thing they can dish out, but like John said, our magic doesn't work in Faerie." He went back to inking, and this time Pritkin did flinch slightly. "At least, most of it won't, and the sort of stuff that will, we don't have access to.”

"What sort of stuff?”

"Oh, different things," Mac said, his little tool humming as it tore through Pritkin's skin. He paused to consult the large grimoire he'd propped on the stool next to him, then muttered something over the partly finished tattoo. The image gleamed for a moment, then died back down. Mac grunted and went back to work. "What would really help would be some null bombs. Only they're hard to come by, and it's a death sentence to use them without authorization. And even were we willing to risk it, for some reason the Black Market doesn't trust us-too many years putting them out of business, I guess.”

"What are null bombs?”

"Wicked things, but good to have anywhere there's magic you don't know how to counter. No one knows who invented them, but they've been around for centuries. Dark mages take a null-a mage born with the ability to disrupt magic- and drain his life force into the sphere. It kills the mage but traps his lifetime's ability in one extremely potent package. If it's exploded, including in Faerie, all magic ceases or goes haywire for a while. How long depends on the strength of the null, and how many years of life he had left when he was drained.”

"Interesting." I felt vaguely sick. "What do they look like?" I carefully did not glance at my duffle, which was sitting innocently on the floor near the fridge.

I thought I'd kept my voice casual, but Pritkin must have heard something in my tone, because his head whipped around to face me. "Why?" His eyes were narrowed, whether in pain or suspicion, to the point that only a thin green line showed through his pale lashes.

I shrugged. "I was just wondering. Tony used to have weapons lying around all the time. Maybe I've seen one.”

Mac shook his head, his face intent on Pritkin's back. "Not likely, love. They cost a fortune, because nulls strong enough to make one are rare and well protected. Most of the ones floating about these days are left over from past centuries. The vamps used to hunt nulls before the truce, which is why there's hardly any left now. Most were wiped out, whole family lines destroyed to build up the vamp arsenals.”

"You've never seen one of the bombs, then?”

"Oh, I've encountered a few through the years. The Circle buys any they come across, to keep them out of the vamps' hands. Donovan's auction house acquired one in London, back in sixty-three. The Circle wasn't happy when they refused our initial offer and put it up for public bidding, but old man Donovan told them it was perfectly legal. The thing was old-I examined it and it had to date from at least the twelfth century-and of course there were no laws against making them back then." He paused to wipe down the tattoo again and grimaced at the amount of blood on his rag. "You want to take a break?" he asked Pritkin.

"No. Finish it." Pritkin's jaw was clenched, but his eyes were on me. I didn't like the suspicion in them.

"What happened at the auction?" I asked, hoping Mac would get around to giving me a description sooner or later.

"Oh, we bought it," he said, going back to work. "No choice, really. Cost a fortune, though, I can tell you. I kept calling in for authorization to go higher until the council told me to quit bothering them and just get the damn thing, no matter the cost. I don't think they planned on spending a quarter million on a little silver ball, though, considering the complaints I heard when I got back. But there was nothing they could do to me-I was following orders.”

The phrase "little silver ball" rattled around in my head while I tried to keep my expression vague. I must not have done too well. "You've seen one," Pritkin accused.

I wanted to say, "Yeah, there's two in that duffle over there," but I didn't know how much I could trust my new "allies." Pritkin needed my help, so I doubted he'd grab the bag and run, but what about Mac? A quarter million pounds in the 1960s would be worth what today? I didn't know, but the answer might be enough to make good old Mac's loyalty waver. His business didn't exactly look prosperous, and even mages could be tempted by an early retirement.

"Maybe. It's been a while.”

I glanced at Mac, and Pritkin looked disgusted. "He is risking his life in this endeavor. You can trust him as you do me," he said impatiently.

I raised an eyebrow, and Pritkin exploded. His face had been reddening as the tattoo was inked in, inch by agonizing inch, and I think he wanted someone to yell at. "If you do not trust me, this will never work! There are going to be times, very soon, when our lives will depend on whether we can work together! If you cannot put faith in me, say so now. I would rather do this alone than get killed because you assume I am false!”

I drank Coke and remained calm. "If I didn't think I could trust you, to a point, I'd have left by now. Your hour was up a few minutes ago." I looked between him and Mac.

"Hypothetically, say I know where some weapons might be found. I'll describe them, and you tell me what they do. If we decide they could be useful, maybe I'll tell you where to locate them.”

Pritkin looked outraged, but Mac shrugged. "Sounds fair." He paused to change ink colors, having finished all the gold areas on the sword. "Have at it.”

"Okay." I didn't have to think about it, since the only thing I'd taken from the Senate besides the traps and the null bombs was a small velvet bag. Inside were a handful of yellowed bone disks imprinted with crude runes. They had holes carved in the top and leather thongs threaded through them like they were usually worn rather than cast. I described them to Mac, who stopped working to stare at me, openmouthed.

"That's impossible," he said. Pritkin didn't say anything, but it felt like his eyes might bore a hole through me at any minute. "I'm not calling you a liar, Cassie, but if a two-bit gangster like that Antonio has the Runes of Langgarn, I'll-”

"He doesn't." Pritkin cut him off. "Where did you see them?”

"This is hypothetical.”

"Miss Palmer!”

"You can call me Cassie." Considering that he was probably planning to kill me eventually, formality seemed a little odd.

"Answer the question," Pritkin forced out through clenched teeth. Since Mac hadn't resumed digging in his back, I supposed I was the cause.

"I'll tell you what I know," Mac put in, "but it isn't much. Legend has it that they were enchanted by Egil Skallagrims-son in the late tenth century." At my blank look, he elaborated. "He was a Viking poet and general hell-raiser-took his first life at age six when he killed another boy over the outcome of a ball game-but he was one of the best rune-masters to ever live. Of course, some stories say that he stole the runes from Gunnhild, the witch queen of Erik Bloodaxe, king of Norway and northern England. And since Gunnhild was said to have Fey blood, it's possible the runes were enchanted long before in Faerie by someone else entirely-”

"Mac," Pritkin broke in when it sounded like his friend was about to go off on a tangent.

"Oh, right. Well, there are a lot of stories about Egil, most of which were recorded in his own poetry. He depicted himself as a larger-than-life figure who did impossible things-took on huge numbers of opponents and slew them single-handedly, set barns ablaze with a look, brought kings under his sway with only the power of his words and survived numerous attempts on his life. He made an enemy of Gunnhild, either by stealing her runes or by killing her son-stories differ-yet he lived to age eighty in a time when most men died in their forties. Interesting bloke, I always thought.”

"So what do the runes do?" I tried not to sound impatient, but I needed useful facts, not a history lesson.

"It's rumored that there was a full set at one point, but it was broken up centuries ago. It doesn't matter, since they're used separately. Each has a different power associated with it, and their only limitation is that they have to recharge for a month after use. Those that remain are highly valued weapons. It's said that they can't be warded against and that even null bombs don't have much effect on them.”

I shot Mac a skeptical look. I'd never heard of any magic that couldn't be countered. Casanova had tried to sell me that idea about my geis, but even Pritkin had admitted that there was almost certainly a way out of it. I just didn't know what it was yet.

Mac shook his head. "It sounds fantastic, doesn't it? But the Circle owns two of the set, and I was there twenty years ago when they used one to test a new ward they'd developed. This thing was a bear-nothing got through it, and I mean nothing. Twenty of our best mages hammered at it for the better part of a morning, hit it with everything they had, but it didn't so much as waver. Then old Marsden-he used to lead the council-brought out the runes. He decided to cast Thurisaz. I'll never forget that, not long as I live.”

"What happened?" I prompted.

"If you didn't know Marsden, it may be hard for you to get a visual on this, but picture the oldest, scrawniest, least threatening man you've ever seen. His magic was still strong at that point-he didn't step down until a few years ago- but he was old. His hands shook and he almost always had food spilled down the front of him because he couldn't see worth a damn. He kept running into things but he wouldn't wear his glasses or use charms to enhance his vision. He kept saying he didn't need them; then he'd try to shake hands with coat racks. He looked like he ought to be in a retirement home, unless you crossed him. Then you found out why he led the council for seven decades.”

"Mac!”

"Right, right. Well, Marsden cast Thurisaz on himself, and the next thing any of us knew, he was gone and there was this huge-and I mean huge-ogre standing in his place. It was so tall it had to hunch over to fit in the room, and the council chamber has ceilings almost twenty feet tall! It snatched up the council table, which was made of old oak and weighed God knows what, and hurled it the length of the chamber. When it bounced off the ward without doing any damage, the thing let out a bellow that deafened me for a good ten minutes, then charged. The ward had been set up to protect a small vase, and so far, not so much as a petal of any of the flowers had been disturbed. Less than a minute after Thurisaz was cast, the ward was down and the vase was dust.”

"How… amazing." I had raided the Senate hoping for weapons; it looked like I'd finally lucked out and found some. Knowing Tony's penchant for nasty surprises, I was going to need them.

"Yes, well, that part was all right, but then we had a rampaging ogre on our hands, didn't we? And we couldn't kill it without also killing the head of the council. Not that any of us was keen to take on that thing. We ran over each other getting out the door, then hied away like frightened rabbits. We reassembled outside and argued for almost an hour over what to do once it destroyed the wards guarding the chamber and got loose. Then old Marsden came wandering out and finally bothered to mention that the spell only lasts an hour.”

"What do the other runes do?" I asked. "Is there a book or something?”

He glanced at Pritkin. "Would Nick have anything? I don't know the individual powers, just the basic legend.”

Pritkin ignored him. "How many do you have?" he asked me. The question was quiet, but a pulse was throbbing at his temple.

I hesitated, but if I wanted to find out what these things did, I'd have to give up some information. "Three.”

"Good God." Mac dropped his etching tool. A small tornado carved on his right bicep started whirling even more enthusiastically.

"Describe them." Pritkin was looking pretty intense, but he wasn't gob smacked like his friend.

"I already did.”

"The symbols!" he said impatiently. "Which runes are they?”

Mac broke in. "If you draw them I can-”

I cut him off with a frown. They might think I was a dumb blonde, but come on. I was a clairvoyant-did they really think I didn't know my runes? "Hagalaz, Jera and Dagaz.”

"I'm on it." Mac jumped up and went into the next room and I heard him pick up the phone. It crossed my mind that he could be calling for backup, but I doubted it. They didn't know where the weapons were yet, and nobody would think that I'd drag stuff like that around in my bag. Come to think of it, I wasn't so thrilled with the idea now, either.

"Where did you get them?" Pritkin demanded.

I couldn't think of a reason not to tell him. "Same place I got the Graeae. The Senate.”

"They didn't simply hand them over.”

"Not exactly." I decided to change the subject. "Um, you wouldn't happen to know how I get the ladies back in their box, would you?" I had been wondering how to figure out the spell needed to trap Myra in their place. It would be very convenient if Pritkin would simply give it to me.

"Tell me about the runes." Damn, but he was single-minded.

“Tell me about the Graeae and I'll think about it.”

"They are required to work for you for a year and a day after their release, or until they have saved your life. Then they will be free to terrorize mankind again.”

I glared at him. “That's not what I asked. And I didn't let them out on purpose, you know!”

"You shouldn't have been able to do it at all! That is a very complex spell. How did you learn it?”

I decided not to mention that all I'd done was pick up the orb. Pritkin thought me enough of a danger already; no need to add to the impression. And maybe it didn't mean anything. The box could have been defective-there was no telling how long they'd been in there. Of course, if it wasn't working right, I couldn't use it on Myra. I wondered whether there was a way to test it.

"Well?" He was obviously not the patient type.

"Do you know the spell to put them back or not?”

"Yes." That was it, that's all I got.

"So maybe we can work out a trade. You give it to me, and perhaps I'll tell you where the weapons are.”

"You'll tell me anyway," he countered. "You won't get near your vampire without me, so you'll never get a chance to use them. And even my assistance may not be enough. We need every advantage.”

Mac returned before I could think up a good comeback. "Nick is very curious why I want to know, but I think I put him off." He consulted a scribbled note in his hand. "He says that two were purchased at auction from Donovan's back in 1872. The Circle was outbid by an anonymous bidder who paid a king's ransom for them. No one's heard from them since." He looked at me. "I'd really like to know where you found them.”

"She didn't find them; she stole them. From the Senate," Pritkin said.

Mac whistled. "I want to hear that story.”

"Maybe later," I said, hoping he'd get on with it.

"All right, but I'm going to hold you to that." He consulted his notes again. "This is composed mainly of hearsay, but Nick knows his rune lore, so it's likely as good as we'll get. Hagalaz cast upright causes a massive hailstorm that attacks everything in the vicinity except the caster and whomever he chooses to protect-I assume that means whoever is within his shields, although Nick wasn't sure. Cast inverted, it calms even the fiercest of storms.”

I brightened. That could prove useful. Mac read a few lines silently and cleared his throat. He glanced at me. "Er, Jera is… well, it's said to be, that is to say-”

"It's a fertility stone," I said, hoping to move him along. "Stands for a time of plenty and a good harvest.”

"Yes, quite. It is believed to cause… er, to aid in, rather, some believe that-”

Pritkin snatched the paper from him and read over the paragraph that seemed to be giving Mac so much trouble. "It was advertised as an aid to virility, something like a magical version of Viagra," he summarized, shooting Mac a withering glance. "Is that it? No other properties?”

Mac looked sheepish. "Nick didn't know. All he had to go on was the auctioneer's description, and those are known for being phrased to elicit the best possible bids. It may have other properties, but if so they weren't listed. But it was enchanted at a time when thrones ran through family lines. Ensuring the succession would have been seen as equally, if not more, important than any weapon. And having the power to take fertility away from your opponents would be a great asset, throwing their lands into turmoil and civil war at the death of each king, and giving you a chance to invade in the chaos.”

Pritkin frowned. "Perhaps, but it is of little use to us. And the last? Dagaz?”

"A breakthrough," I murmured. "A new beginning." I could really use one of those.

Mac nodded. "Traditionally, yes, that's the meaning. But how it is interpreted in the case of battle runes…" He shrugged. "Nick doesn't know.”

"Then what is his best guess?" Pritkin asked it before I could.

"He doesn't have one." Mac threw up his hands at our expressions. "Don't shoot the messenger! It wasn't purchased with the others-in fact, no one has heard of it ever being up for sale. So there's not a lot to go on.”

I felt frustrated. One rune that was no use to me was bad enough, I didn't need two. "What about other sources?”

Mac shook his head. "Nick said he would double-check, but the man has a mind like a computer, love. I doubt he missed anything, not about his favorite hobby. The rune is mentioned in several old sources, but they're mute about what it does.”

"There is one way to find out," Pritkin said. I raised an eyebrow. "Cast it.”

"Did you sleep through the story about the rampaging ogre, or what?”

"I will cast it if you are afraid," Pritkin said, assuming a sneer. "Where is it?”

I sighed and thought it over. I really needed to know what the thing did, and if Pritkin wanted to risk his neck to find out, who was I to stop him? Besides, he had a point: without his help, I might never get to Tony in the first place, and even if I did, what if the rune was another like Jera? I needed to know before I used it on the fat man and just ended up making him horny. I shuddered at the mental picture and Mac shot me a questioning look. "You said the runes have to recharge after every use," I reminded him. "If we cast it, we won't be able to use it again for a month.”

Pritkin answered before his friend could. "Perhaps. However, if it hasn't been used in centuries, it may have a cumulative charge built up that could last through many castings.”

"I don't know whether it's been used lately or not.”

"Or the cumulative effect may simply make the casting an especially strong one," Mac pointed out.

Pritkin looked annoyed with his friend, but I thought the guy had a point. "One thing is certain," Pritkin said testily. "We cannot plan how to use it if we do not know what it does. As it stands, it is useless to us. Casting it would not make it more so." I wanted to debate him but couldn't. "Where is it?" he demanded.

I sighed. "Promise you'll teach me the spell to trap the Graeae, and I'll tell you.”

He didn't even pause. "Done.”

I shrugged. "In that duffle over there.”