Claimed by Shadow

Chapter 6

I thought the two mages were going to rupture something trying to get to the bag. Mac beat his buddy, but only because he was closer and Pritkin's unzipped pants tried to fall down on the way. I watched him zip up with some disappointment, then gave myself a mental slap. At the rate things were going, I was going to need therapy.

Mac started setting items on the top of the fridge, one by one. His actions were reverent, like someone handling nitroglycerine. The two null bombs gleamed softly silver under the overhead lights. Behind them was the insignificant-looking box that had housed the Graeae for who knew how many centuries. Finally, Mac fished out the velvet pouch and carefully, one at a time, set the rune stones in front of the rest of the items.

It took him several tries to find his voice. "Quite a collection," he said, breathlessly. The wolf totem tattooed on his back stopped in midhowl and peeked over his shoulder to see what all the fuss was about.

"Was this everything?" Pritkin asked. "Did you take all the Senate had?”

"Of course not! I know there's a war on-I was there when it started, remember?”

"What else do they have?" Pritkin inquired, while Mac stood and drooled at the items on his fridge.

"None of your business." I decided to let him think I'd been daring enough to carry out a highly dangerous raid on the Senate-it sounded better than the truth. In fact, I'd returned from a trip to the past with Mircea only to find the Consul waiting for us. She'd reached for me, I had instinctively jerked back and, thanks to my unpredictable new power, ended up three days in the past. I had shifted in time, but not in space, so I was still in the inner sanctum of the vamp portion of MAGIC. Since their cache of magical goodies was literally right in front of my face, I'd decided to help myself to a few items before making my getaway.

I'd been in a hurry because their wards had almost certainly informed them I was there. I paused only long enough to grab the stuff from one shelf and barely even noticed the rest. But since the unit housing the vamp's treasure trove was taller than me, there was a good bet I hadn't left them defenseless.

"We will need help in Faerie," Pritkin pointed out, making an obvious attempt to hold on to his temper. "If you stole these things, you could get others.”

"I'm not going to take the rest of their weapons! They're at war!" I might be pissed at Mircea, but leaving him at the mercy of Rasputin and his allies wasn't in my plans. Not to mention that my old friend Rafe was with him. There were plenty of nasty vamps out there, but they weren't all tarred with the same brush, no matter what Pritkin liked to think. "Anyway, I couldn't get back in there without using my power, and I'm trying to avoid that.”

"Why?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "It is the best weapon you have.”

"It's also the scariest. As you pointed out, I don't know what I'm doing. And if I mess up, it could get a lot of people killed.”

"Is that why you wouldn't shift us out of Dante's?" he demanded. When I nodded, an expression crossed his face that managed to be both puzzled and angry at the same time. "That makes no sense. You took us to the nineteenth century earlier, trying to get away from me!”

"I did not!”

"I was there, if you recall," he retorted angrily. "Your lover almost killed me.”

Unless you counted one out-of-body experience, Mircea and I weren't lovers. And thanks to the geis, I couldn't risk us ever being so. However, I didn't intend to explain that to Pritkin. It wasn't his business, and I was sick of feeling like I was constantly on trial with him as judge, jury and, possibly, executioner.

"I don't care whether you believe this or not," I said, as calmly as I could manage. "But I didn't have anything to do with us ending up at that play. The power just flared-I don't know why. The only thing I did was to get us out of there as quickly as possible.”

“The Pythia controls the power, not the reverse," Pritkin said, calling me a liar.

"Believe what you want," I said, suddenly weary. Fighting with him got old fast because it never seemed to solve anything. "If what you said earlier about us needing every advantage is true, I have a job for Mac.”

Mac glanced up, still looking dazed. "What?”

"My ward," I said, tugging down the back of my tank to show him the top of the pentagram. "Pritkin said the Circle deactivated it. Can you fix it?”

"I did not say 'deactivate.' That would be impossible," Pritkin corrected as Mac moved to take a look. "From a distance, the Circle can only block it, which they almost certainly did for fear that you would use it against them. They would not have closed the connection otherwise-whenever it flared, it gave them an approximation of your location and they want to find you badly." Pritkin suddenly moved forward until he invaded my personal space. "Your explanation of the power's actions makes no sense," he said, his voice harsh. "Not if you truly are Pythia.”

I suppose he was trying to be intimidating, but it didn't work out quite that way. He had stopped about an inch from me with his bare chest right in my line of vision. It was lightly furred over muscles that were hard and sleekly defined, and the inadequate air-conditioning had caused rivulets of sweat to run in fascinating ways through all that hair. The only men I'd ever touched had been smooth, or almost so, and I had the insane desire to run my hands through those damp blond curls to see what patterns I could make with my fingers.

I didn't know why the mage, whom I didn't like in the least, was affecting me like this, but I felt like someone who's been on a starvation diet for weeks and just caught sight of an ice cream sundae. My hands were sweaty and my breath was coming faster, to the point that I'd be panting in a minute. I tore my eyes away from his torso before I lost control, but that didn't help since they only drifted lower, to what was concealed by that infuriating expanse of tight denim. I swallowed and struggled to get a grip before I gave in to the burning desire to rip the jeans off him.

I had almost succeeded in talking myself into stepping back, even if it meant letting him think he'd intimidated me. That would, after all, be better than the truth. But then I made the mistake of looking him in the eyes. I finally figured out why he had always appeared a little odd: his sandy lashes and eyebrows were so close to his skin tone that, from a distance, he didn't appear to have any. This close, I could see that his lashes were actually long and thick, and that they framed clear green eyes-the rare kind with no hint of any other color.

Despite strict orders to the contrary, my hands were on him, tracing the muscles in his chest. His pupils expanded to the point that his eyes turned almost black and a shocked look crossed his face, probably more so than would have been true if I'd slapped him. But he didn't pull away. There was an odd tingle in my hands where they pressed against his pecs, and his skin felt warmer than it should have even with the shop's lousy air-conditioning. Or maybe that was me. I didn't care: very little thought was happening in my mind, except how to get that damned zipper down.’

Before I could act on that plan, Pritkin grabbed my wrists. I'm not sure whether he meant to push me away or to pull me closer, and judging by the look on his face, I don't think he did, either. But neither of us had the chance to find out.

It suddenly felt like someone had doused me in gasoline and thrown on a match. It wasn't pain that flared through me; it was agony, and it seemed to spear every cell in my body simultaneously. I screamed and jumped back, hitting Mac and taking us both to the floor. Pritkin followed us down because he still had hold of my wrists, and I vaguely heard Mac yelling something at him, but I couldn't concentrate enough to understand. I arched my back and began convulsing like a fish out of water, only what I wanted wasn't air but relief from the excruciating pain.

I gained a real understanding of what it must feel like to burn alive, fire ripping its way up my spine, every nerve ending exploding with white-hot agony. I forgot where I was, forgot my problems, which suddenly appeared trivial to the point of absurdity next to the torture I was undergoing. I think I would have forgotten my name in another few seconds, but then, as abruptly as it had come, the pain was gone.

I found myself on the linoleum floor of Mac's workroom, trying to relearn how to breathe. I looked up to see him holding Pritkin's wrists captive. He'd obviously pulled him off me, and for that I could have kissed him, if I hadn't been shaking too hard to even sit up. Once he'd solved the immediate problem, Mac dropped Pritkin's hands and turned to me.

"Are you all right? Cassie, can you hear me?" I nodded, unable to do more at the moment. "Right." He looked freaked out, his usually laid-back, G'day, mate, attitude entirely gone. "Stay where you are and I'll be right back. Whatever you do, no touching!”

Mac disappeared through a door that led off from his workroom, and I heard water running. The pain had receded, but the memory of it was burned into my body the way an afterimage of a blinding light damages a retina. My nerve endings pulsed with vivid recall and, although I was no longer convulsing, a light tremor seemed to have settled in for good. I was terrified to move, afraid that I might accidentally trigger it again.

I vaguely realized that the gasping breaths I was hearing weren't all mine, and shifted my eyes to the side without moving my head. I got a glimpse of Pritkin, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with eyes that showed white all around. His face was flushed, his muscles corded, and his breathing was as shallow as mine. It occurred to me that maybe I hadn't been the only one affected.

Mac returned with a damp washcloth, which he put on my forehead. I was about to tell him that I needed a bit more than that, like a shot of codeine or a bottle of whiskey, but the small gesture did seem to help. I watched a moth circle the halogen light overhead and tried to regain motor control. The very idea of sitting up sounded insane, so while Mac tended to Pritkin, I lay there and thought. I had been having what qualified, even after some memorable experiences in the past, as a crazy day. So maybe it was understandable that it would take me this long to figure something out.

I'd been reacting strangely all day around men. Normally, I noticed attractive guys as much as the next woman, but I'd had years to learn how to admire in a detached sort of way and then move on. Living on the run meant that any guy I became involved with got the added bonus of a death threat. Not wanting to get anyone killed, I'd made sure to keep my distance, and practice, as they say, makes perfect.

I'd found it hard to concentrate around Casanova and Chavez, but come on. They were both drop-dead gorgeous, not to mention being possessed by incubi. I'd assumed I was having the reaction any heterosexual female could expect around them, and had just been grateful that I hadn't dragged one or both into the nearest closet. But Pritkin was another matter.

Not only did I find him completely insufferable, and had ever since we met, but I'd also never thought him particularly attractive before today. Okay, I was willing to admit that his body was pretty good and that his face wasn't that bad, when it wasn't wearing its usual sneer. His hair was unfortunate, looking like it had been styled with a Weed Eater, but nobody was perfect. But Pritkin definitely wasn't my type. I've never been attracted to blonds, especially homicidal ones who probably have my name on their target list. Yet all of a sudden I was seriously lusting after him.

I abruptly sat up, feeling sick, and barely managed to grab the damp cloth before it fell in my lap. What if Mircea was fiddling around with the geis, trying to force me to finish the ritual? I knew he could do it, since he'd modified it once before to accept Tomas in his place. Maybe he could alter it to accommodate even more partners-a lot more, if today was anything to go on. I covered my eyes with my palms, pain of a different kind lancing through me. The idea that Mircea might not care who completed the rite, just so long as I ended up Pythia for good, was like a cold fist to the chest.

After a few minutes, I hauled myself up from the floor, using the tattoo table for leverage. Surprisingly, my body didn't protest. "Could Mircea have altered the geis?" I asked. I was proud of the fact that I managed to keep my voice steady.

Pritkin had also regained his feet and as an added bonus had put his shirt back on. He glanced at me, then quickly looked away. "Unlikely.”

"Would somebody please tell me what the hell just happened here?" Mac asked.

"Then why am I suddenly lusting after every guy I meet?”

Pritkin was staring intently at the wall behind the fridge, and after I found myself starting to focus on the front of his jeans, I decided to do the same. "The pain was the geis defending you against an unauthorized partner," he told me. "It would not draw you to one.”

I felt a sudden surge of relief, strong enough to make me weak in the knees. I clutched the table with both hands and fought not to grin like an idiot. After a few seconds, I managed to tamp it down. Maybe Mircea hadn't set me up-this time- but I obviously still had a problem. "So what is going on?”

"I… am not sure." Pritkin took in a ragged breath and closed his eyes. After a moment the flush in his cheeks faded a little. "Did anything go wrong during the ritual?”

"What ritual?" Mac was trying to catch up but not doing real well. I'd felt the same way all day.

"The transfer ritual," I clarified, "the one required to become Pythia. I don't know what it's called. Agnes started it but she said that I had to, uh…" I trailed off in deference to Mac's old-fashioned sensibilities.

"But Mircea took care of that," Pritkin said.

"Not exactly." I could understand his confusion. Other than for the play interlude, the last time he'd seen Mircea and me together we'd been nude and sweaty. Well, technically I'd been wrapped in a blanket, but you get the idea. "We were interrupted. Rasputin attacked, remember?”

"Vividly." Pritkin wrinkled his brow as if trying to get his mind around a difficult concept. "You're saying that you are still a virgin?" he asked bluntly. His voice held the same level of incredulity anyone else would use if told that a spaceship had landed on the White House lawn. Like something barely possible but highly unlikely.

I stopped looking at the wall to glare at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes!”

He shook his head in disbelief. "I would never have considered that.”

I was getting ready to become seriously annoyed when I found myself admiring the way the damp hair at the base of his neck curled up. Damn, damn, damn! "Do you have a theory or not?”

"The most likely explanation is that the Pythian Rites are trying to complete themselves.”

I stared at him blankly for a moment. He didn't notice, being too busy counting bricks in the wall. "Let me get this straight," I finally said, sounding a little strangled despite my best efforts. "Since Mircea isn't here, the unfinished ritual is starting to draw me to other men to complete itself. But the geis doesn't like that, and it's making its feelings known by torturing me and anybody who gets near me. Is that right? And more importantly, is it going to keep happening?”

"What geis? You're under a geis?" Mac asked.

"Her vampire master put her under a dúthracht. It is conflicting with the Pythian Rites, which have yet to be completed," Pritkin said curtly.

"Oh, bloody hell." Mac sat down on his stool, looking shell-shocked.

"Answer me!" If I'd dared to touch Pritkin, I'd have shaken him within an inch of his life.

"I don't know enough about the rites to say for certain if there is a way out at this point," he said unhelpfully. "The ceremonies are held within the Pythia's court, and there are few records kept on anything connected to the office.”

"What about witnesses?" I hoped I didn't sound as frantic as I felt. "The ritual was done for Agnes once, right?”

"That was more than eighty years ago. And even if any witnesses still live, they would be of little use. Most of the ritual is carried out privately. The only people who know the complete procedure are the Pythia and her designated heir.”

" Myra." Great, I was back where I'd started. "What about the geis then?”

"You are already doing what you can by staying away from Mircea. That will at least slow down the process. There is no other remedy, other than having it removed.”

"Then how do I do that?”

"You don't.”

"Don't give me that! There has to be a way.”

"If there is, I don't know it," he told me, sounding tired. "If I did, I would tell you. Unless the ritual is completed, it will continue to draw you to men, but the geis will oppose any except Mircea. And it will likely grow worse over time. The dúthracht is spiteful when it's opposed.”

"But… but what about Chavez?" I asked desperately. "He touched me and nothing happened. I didn't go writhing all over the ice rink!”

"You were at the ice rink? Why?" Pritkin was back to looking pissed. I couldn't have cared less.

"To get that." I gestured at the duffle. "I didn't want to take it into Dante's.”

"So you left it unattended in a public arena, where anyone might pick it up?!”

"It was in a locker," I said sullenly. "And can we get back to the point? I felt something start to build when Casanova touched me. It was nothing like what just happened, but it felt-I don't know. Like it could get bad fast. Only he dropped my hand before it flared. But Chavez didn't affect me at all, and that was later. So if you're right and the reaction is strengthening, shouldn't it have been worse?”

Pritkin looked uncomfortable. "I don't know.”

"The only reason I can think of," Mac mused, "is that the geis determines the amount of threat by reading the interest level of any prospective partners, and reacts accordingly. Casanova was likely somewhat attracted to you and this Chavez wasn't. Casanova was therefore identified by the geis as the wrong match and as a potential problem, and warned off. But Chavez, although also the wrong one to complete the bond, was not interested in you, and therefore was not perceived as a danger.”

Mac looked pleased with himself, while Pritkin and I stared at each other in mounting panic. As if by mutual consent, neither of us made the obvious connection. I did not want to go there. Ever.

"Of course," Mac continued obliviously, "when there's a mutual attraction, the reaction is stronger because the warning is going both ways…" He trailed off awkwardly.

"Okay." I put a hand to my head, which had started throbbing in time with my pulse. At this rate, I was going to be the youngest person ever to die from a stress-induced stroke. "How do I deal with this thing?" I asked Mac, because Pritkin was busy trying not to look horrified.

Mac scratched his stubble-coated chin. "Usually, there's a way out built into these things, especially the dúthracht. It has a habit of causing chaos, and I can't imagine anyone putting it in place and not giving himself an escape route. But only two people are likely to know what the safety net is.”

"Mircea and whoever cast the spell.”

He nodded. "And the mage was doubtless someone disavowed who was under the vamp's protection. He isn't going to risk losing that to help you, even if we could figure out which of the hundreds of rogue mages-and that's just the ones in this country-Mircea used. Of course, there aren't a lot with that kind of skill, outside of the Black Circle. But that doesn't help greatly. Say we could narrow it down to a few dozen, we'd still have to find him or her, and if that was easy it would have been done long ago.”

"Is there anything that can slow this thing down, make the reaction less… extreme?" I asked Mac, but it was Pritkin who answered.

"Once we cross into Faerie, it may not be an issue. Like the rest of our magic, the geis should not work well there." He was still apparently admiring the blank wall. "I, er, think this would go more smoothly if you waited elsewhere. Mac can look at your ward when he finishes with me.”

I didn't argue. I grabbed another Coke, scooped my weapons into the duffle and left, taking it with me. It was a measure of how shaken Pritkin was that he didn't object.

I sat on a rickety stool at the counter and thought things over. There was little I could do, except to avoid attractive men until I could get into Faerie. I hoped Pritkin was right and the effects would be less there, maybe enough to buy me time to find Myra. It wasn't a great plan, but it was the best I could do. I drank my soda and looked around for something, anything, to keep my mind off the image of a mostly naked Pritkin getting a sword carved into his taut gold skin.

I sat out front for more than an hour, leafing through a couple of huge black binders filled with tattoo designs. There was everything from voodoo veves to Indonesian tribal designs, but most were traditional magical symbols and Native American totems. I figured out pretty fast from the descriptions under the photos that all of Mac's designs came with some sort of supernatural benefit. I didn't see the sword he was doing for Pritkin among them, but maybe it was a special order.

The two volumes were divided into categories and levels. First, someone selected the main thing they wanted the tattoo to do. Some were for protection, with specialties for cuts and abrasions, blood loss, fire damage, head trauma, poison and frostbite, among others. The length of the list made me wonder why anyone wanted to be a war mage. It also made me curious why, before today, Pritkin hadn't had any tattoos. There were some that sped up healing, but although I'd seen him heal almost as fast as a vamp, he hadn't been wearing them. Unless they were somewhere I hadn't seen. I dragged my mind away from that image and quickly flipped over a few more pages.

There were also a lot of offensive spells, with a division between stuff like better vision and enhanced hearing and a whole list of nasty things to do to your enemies. I didn't linger over that section, not wanting to know what the Circle's war mages had in mind for me. I also found out that not everyone could get every tattoo. What kind and how many you could have depended on your level of magical ability. The images drew their power partly from the natural world, so they worked to a limited degree like talismans, but they also fed off a person's innate magic. It sounded sort of like a hybrid car that used electricity to extend the gas mileage. There was a long, complex chart in the back of the books for assigning yourself a range from which to choose. I didn't completely understand it because I'd never been tested for that sort of thing. Magical children are usually graded by ability early, so they can be shunted towards an appropriate apprenticeship, but of course, Tony had already known what he had planned for me.

I discovered that there were limits to what even a powerful mage could support. Someone with a snow leopard tattoo to aid her in moving silently and a spider for help in weaving illusions, for example, had to subtract a certain number of points from her powerbase for the energy those two enhancements used up. Unless she was very strong, she probably wouldn't be able to support another major improvement. It was all very complicated, even with the chart, and I finally lost interest. None of this helped me figure out how to get past whatever block the Circle had put on my ward.

Pritkin finally emerged, looking pale and a little ill, and I took his place in back. I didn't mind Mac checking on my problematic protection. He and Pritkin needed me alive until they reeled in Myra, so he had a vested interest in fixing it if he could. I was a little worried about the geis acting up, but apparently I wasn't Mac's type. I didn't get so much as a twinge from the hellish thing, even when I removed my tank top. I wasn't wearing a bra, but I held the shirt in front of me and Mac's hands were as impersonal as a doctor's.

"Can I ask you a question?" He was poking at my back with something that resembled an extremely fuzzy pipe cleaner. It didn't hurt, but it made my aura itch.

I repressed the urge to wiggle. "Sure.”

"Why are you doing this? You seem… that is, you don't strike me as particularly vindictive.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. "What am I supposed to be vindictive about?”

He shrugged. "John said you plan to kill this vampire, Antonio. I'm assuming he deserves it, but…”

"I don't strike you as a homicidal nut?”

He laughed. "Something like that. If you don't mind my asking, what did he do to you?”

I thought about it while he changed instruments. The easy answer was "everything," but I didn't want to get into a long conversation on a topic that, even on a good day, managed to depress me. But avoiding it entirely might not be smart either. I didn't need Pritkin to get any hints that Myra interested me a lot more than Tony at the moment. I decided on a partial truth. It wasn't like I didn't have plenty of. legitimate grievances against the fat man.

"Revenge isn't my main goal. I guess you could say that I want to retrieve some personal property." I jumped as a spark suddenly arced over my skin. Mac's new instrument made my aura crackle, like it was filled with static. I sat very still to avoid shocking myself again.

"He stole something from you?”

I repressed a sigh. Apparently, Mac wasn't going to be satisfied with the short version. "Twenty years ago, Tony decided he wanted a competent seer at his court, someone he could trust. But accurate seers are few and far between, and honest ones aren't likely to work for a member of the vampire mafia. He finally decided that what he needed was to find one he could bring up from childhood to be loyal. And, as luck would have it, one of his human employees had a young daughter who seemed perfect for the role. But even though my father had been on Tony's payroll for years, he ignored the order to bring me to court.”

"Your father was a rogue?" Mac asked. He seemed surprised.

"I don't know what he was. I was told he could communicate with ghosts, so I guess he had some clairvoyant ability. Whether he was a mage or not-" I shrugged. One of these days, I hoped to ask him-about that and a lot of other things. "All I know is that he was one of Tony's favorite humans. Until he told him no, that is.”

"Surely he must have known what the vampire's reaction was likely to be.”

"I assume he planned to flee with my mother and me, since refusing Tony isn't considered healthy, but he never got the chance. And Tony felt that the betrayal, as he viewed it, deserved more than a mere assassination. So he paid a mage to construct a magical snare, which he used to trap my father's ghost after he rigged my parents' car to explode. He's been using it as a paperweight ever since.”

Mac's hands had gone very still on my back. I glanced behind me to see him staring at me blankly. "You aren't serious… are you?”

I turned back around. "Yeah. From what I understand, it's only about the size of a golf ball, so it could be anywhere. Tony has three houses and more than a dozen businesses, and those are just the ones I know about. I don't feel like searching through them all so I thought I'd let him tell me where it is." I actually assumed he had it with him. It would be Tony's style to carry his trophies along even when fleeing for his life.

Mac was just standing there, his hands on my shoulders. He looked stunned for some reason. "Haven't you ever been tempted?" he finally asked.

"Tempted to do what?”

"You're Pythia. You could go back, change what happened." He moved so he could see my eyes. "You could save your family, Cassie.”

I sighed. Sure I could. "You don't know Tony. Besides, I thought the idea was for me to help guard the timeline, not to interfere with it myself. I could end up changing something vital and possibly make things even worse." Make that probably, with my luck.

His gaze sharpened. "But, technically, you could do it.”

"Yeah, I could keep my parents from getting in the car that Tony rigged to explode, but if I did, my life would have been completely different, along with who knows how many other people's. And, knowing Tony, he'd have managed to kill them some other way," I smiled grimly. "He's persistent like that.”

Mac regarded me searchingly, to the point of making me uncomfortable. "Most people would view the power as a great opportunity to advance themselves," he finally said. "It could bring you, well, almost anything you wanted. Wealth, influence-”

I gave him exasperated eyes. “The only thing I want is a nice, uncomplicated life. With no one trying to kill me, manipulate me or betray me." And where, if I messed up on the job, I didn't get anyone killed. "Somehow, I don't think the Pythia gig is going to help me with that!" I was tired of the inquisition and I wanted to get dressed. "Are you done?”

"Oh, right," Mac replaced his instruments in a small case and looked politely away so I could get dressed. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

"The good." Why not try something different for a change?

"I think I can fix it.”

I blinked at him in surprise. I'd been expecting to hear that there was nothing he could do and that I'd have to go into Faerie with no protection. "Really? That's great!”

"Do you know anything about how your ward works?”

I shook my head. "Not a lot. My mother somehow transferred it to me, but I don't even remember it. I was only four when she died. For years, I thought it was a regular ward that Tony had put on me as an added safeguard.”

Mac looked almost offended. "Regular ward! No, I guarantee you'll never see another of the like. It's hundreds of years old and priceless, one of the Circle's real treasures.”

"It's a tattoo, Mac, not a work of art.”

"In fact, it's both." He stretched out his right arm and pointed to a small brown and orange hawk near the bend in his elbow. "Watch." He muttered something, then took hold of the loose skin in the crease of his arm and pulled. A second later a small, metallic bird glimmered on his palm, its wings outstretched in flight like the one on his arm. It took me a moment to realize that it was the one on his arm, or rather, the one that had been there. Now there was only a bare, bird-shaped patch of skin. I picked up the small metal object. The feathers and detail were gone. It looked and felt like solid gold. For a moment I suspected sleight of hand or some trick, but after letting me examine it, he put it back in place and I watched it dissolve into his skin.

"What is that?”

"A red-tailed hawk. It increases the power of observation. Doesn't help the eyesight, but if you want to notice more about your surroundings and retain the knowledge, you can't do better.”

Something was bothering me. "The books out front said that there's a limit to how many tattoos anyone can support, even the strongest mage, because each one takes some of your magic to maintain itself, and even more when it's used." I looked him over, almost dizzy with the number of squirming images all over his body. "How can you wear so many?”

He grinned. "I'm not a super-mage, Cassie, if that's what you're asking. There are two types of tattoos. The ones I etch directly into someone's aura feed partially off his magic, so of course there's a limit to how many anyone can support. But ones like my hawk or your pentagram draw their power from outside sources, so there is no limit to those. Except, of course, to your ability to afford them. The enchantment process for even a small one can take months-I shudder to think what went into your ward.”

"So you 're an advertisement for what's available?" Personally, I'd have made people flip through the books outside rather than turn myself into a walking billboard.

"In my case, it isn't a choice. To other people these are enhancements-to compensate for some part of their magic that isn't as strong as they'd like or to add power in an often-used area. But to me they're necessities, unless I want to retire from our world entirely." He saw my confusion and smiled slightly. "I had a run-in a few years back with a spell that ate through my shields and attacked my aura. The physical wounds I sustained in that fight healed, but the ones in my metaphysical skin were permanent. That's why I didn't realize you were under a geis until you told me. With my own aura so damaged, I have to concentrate to read other people's.”

I stared at him, horrified at what he'd so casually revealed. It wasn't only what had happened to Mac that freaked me out, but the knowledge that there were spells that could actually do something like that. The more I learned about the mages, the scarier they got.

"But with the wards, you're okay, right?" I kept my attention on his face so I wouldn't focus on my own aura, to reassure myself it was intact and undamaged. Under the circumstances, it would have been tacky.

Mac seemed to understand where my thoughts were going anyway. He waved a hand in the air and my bright red and orange flames suddenly sparkled between us like a cheerful fire on a cold night. "My wards compensate to a degree, Cassie, but they'll never again be like this-a seamless, perfect blanket of protection. Most people couldn't get past my defenses, but war mages aren't most people. Sooner or later one of the dark ones would have found the chinks in my man-made armor, the places where the wards don't overlap perfectly. I was removed from active duty as soon as anyone realized what had happened, and told I couldn't take the field again." He saw my expression and grinned. "It's not all bad. I'm in much less danger these days!”

He sounded casual, but there was something in his eyes that told me he wasn't being completely truthful. I didn't know what usually happened to old war mages, but it was obvious that Mac, at least, wasn't content to just fade away. He craved the adrenaline rush of battle, maybe even the danger.

I decided on a change of subject. "So, my ward drew its power from the Circle, until they cut it off.”

He nodded. "Right, which gave it its strength, but also created a conduit between you. I suspect that John is right and the council got worried that you'd figure some way of turning their own magic back on them, so they shut down the connection.”

"Or they thought I'd be simpler to kill that way.”

Mac looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps. But what it means is that there's nothing wrong with your ward, except that your mother didn't have experience in doing the transfer so it got a bit warped. I can fix that, but its looks aren't the problem. The reason it doesn't work is the same as if a watch stopped. It needs a new power source.”

"What new source?" I was getting an idea about what the bad news was.

"The only one big enough to support something like this, other than the Circle itself." He smiled gently, as if he understood my dilemma. "The power of your office-the energy that makes you Pythia.”

"No. No way." I gestured at the curtain. "Give me one from the books out front." There were some pretty scary ones listed; surely we could find something that would work.

But Mac was shaking his head. "I have no way of knowing how strong your innate magic is. Your aura is confused with the Pythia's energy, and I can't separate them. There's no way to know whether you could support one of the larger protection wards on your own. If not, any tat I gave you would draw power from the reserve you inherited as Pythia, the very thing you want to avoid.”

"Then give me a smaller one, an easy one!”

Mac regarded me somberly. "You're going into Faerie, a place most mages won't venture on a bet. None of the smaller stuff would do you any good there. And none of the wards I have would protect you as well at that one. Craftsmanship like that is rare these days.”

"Maybe I'm stronger than you think." I was a clairvoyant; surely I could manage to support one measly ward.

Mac only shrugged, causing his lizard tattoo to scuttle for cover again, this time under the snake's scales. The snake didn't like that and swatted at the smaller ward with the end of its tail. The lizard jumped out of the way, then ran across Mac's cheek to the top of his head. It stayed there, peering out from behind a bushy eyebrow, regarding the snake with unfriendly black eyes.

I dragged my attention back to what Mac was saying. "Magic is like a muscle, Cassie, a metaphysical one but a muscle nonetheless. The more you work with it and train it, the stronger it gets. Whatever magic you have is raw talent. And that alone won't get you very far.”

“Tony wouldn't allow me to be trained.”

"He did you more of a disservice than you know. A powerful, untrained magic user is a target, nothing more. Power can be siphoned away if you don't know how to protect yourself. The Dark Circle has no compunction whatever about stealing magic from anyone they can. At the moment, you fighting a dark mage would be like a baby trying to arm wrestle a bodybuilder, unless you use the power of your office. You need training, at least in defense," he said seriously, "and the sooner the better.”

"Yeah, I'll add that to my list," I said bitterly. Everyone was always giving me new items for my agenda, when what I needed was help in clearing off some of the old ones. "Right now, I have a few other problems." I turned, feeling Pritkin standing in the doorway even before I saw him. "Like how we're going to get into Faerie.”

"We'll get in," he said grimly, and I noticed that he'd strapped on his arsenal. He had the long leather coat that acted as a slight disguise draped over his arm. "The problem will be getting out.”

"Are we going now?”

"No." I tried not to look relieved at his answer. “Tonight.”

“Tonight?" I followed him into the outer room. "But the vamps will be up then." I didn't know that Mircea was in his safe room at the moment-first-level vamps aren't bound by the sun cycle and can be active at any time of day. But most still sleep in daylight, since the night is much kinder to their energy levels. If Mircea was awake, he was probably sluggish. But tonight he wouldn't be.

"We are not trying to penetrate the vampire area," Pritkin reminded me. "And the portal is guarded by mages.”

"I don't see how that'll help," I protested, not liking the idea of walking into a bunch of war mages any more than dealing with the vamps. In fact, it was probably even less smart-at least the Senate didn't want me dead. Probably.

"Some friends of mine are on duty tonight," Mac explained. "I think I can get you past them.”

"I have some supplies to arrange," Pritkin added, throwing on his coat. I didn't envy him that, considering that it had to be over ninety degrees outside, but I guess he didn't have much of a choice. The police would probably object to his walking around looking like an extra from Platoon, and going about unarmed right now would be even less healthy than heat stroke. "I suggest you stay here, out of sight," he said, avoiding my eyes. "Rest if you can. You may not get another chance for some time. And have Mac rework your ward," he added as he headed for the door. "You'll need it.”

He hurried out the door like all the hounds of Hell were after him. Mac looked at me and shrugged. "It's your call, but I'd advise you to consider it, love. Faerie is a scary place, even when it isn't on the brink of war. Right now, I can't think of a soul who'd want to go near the place.”

"I'll think about it," I promised. I might have questioned him more, but my attention was distracted by Billy floating through the wall. He was making faces at me, so I figured he had news. "I'm tired," I told Mac. It wasn't a lie-sharing a room with the Graeae isn't exactly restful-but I mainly wanted some privacy.

"Got a cot in back," Mac said. "I cleared my appointment list for today after John showed up, so I won't need to go back there. Get some sleep, Cassie.”

He meant well, so I managed not to roll my eyes at him. Yeah, sure. There were only about a hundred reasons why I'd have trouble sleeping.

Billy followed me to the back and I flopped down on the cot after shifting aside notebooks full of sketches, stacks of grimoires and old potato chip bags. "What's up?”

Billy took off his almost transparent hat and fanned himself. "I need a draw," he said without preamble.

"Well, hello to you, too.”

"Hey, I have had a day, okay?”

"And I haven't? What happened at Dante's? Is everything all right?”

"Sure, if by all right you mean that the Circle has closed the place while they search it for a certain rogue sybil and the illegal aliens who helped her elude them.”

"They're searching? But that's vampire property!" The reason I'd sent Casanova the remaining contents of the duffle was the longstanding treaty between the mages and the vamps. It contained strict prohibitions against any of one group entering the property of another without permission. "Are they crazy?”

"Don't know. Some of them sure act like it. Anyway, Casanova was pitching a royal fit when I left, and he'd sent a couple of reps to MAGIC to complain. But these are weird times, Cass. Tony owns the place and he's a known ally of Rasputin, the guy the Circle and the Senate declared war on a week ago. I don't know what the rules are in wartime, and I don't think Casanova does, either. Right now, he's playin' it safe. To keep from looking like he helped you, he pretended that you appeared and started wrecking the place because you're pissed at Tony. The mages jumped on the excuse to say that they'd make sure you weren't still in the casino, and started searching.”

"Great. So now I'm some kind of lunatic who goes around starting fights.”

"No, now you're some lunatic who goes around killin' people.”

"What?”

"Yep. A couple of mages came right out and called you a murderer. I didn't get details, but I'm guessing they were talking about the two mages who ended up dead.”

I felt sick. "Tell me the Graeae didn't-”

"They didn't. They tore up the place, but it looks like the mages were killed by Miranda's group. Some of the more powerful gargoyles stayed behind to buy the others time to get away, and the mages started slaughterin' 'em. Then the rest went ballistic and voilà. Two dead mages.”

"But the gargoyles were acting in self-defense!”

“They might get away with claimin' that, 'cept they ain't supposed to be here in the first place. Casanova got the rest of Miranda's people out and hid them somewhere, and now he's blamin' Tony for bringing in unlicensed workers behind his back. He's doing a pretty good job of covering his ass, but he's leaving yours hangin' in the wind.”

I fell back on the cot, feeling numb. None of this was happening. It had to be some kind of nightmare I'd blundered into and would wake up from any minute now. "If the Circle knows the gargoyles killed their men, why are they blaming me?”

"I don't know." Billy looked puzzled. "I saw the bodies and they have claw and teeth marks all over 'em. I guess it gives the Circle an excuse to brand you a dangerous lunatic.”

"Shit.”

"Yeah, that about sums it up. So like I said, I'm whacked. I hate to be a pain-”

"Since when?”

"Very funny, Cass. I spend half the day gettin' top-quality info for you and-”

I was too tired to go through our usual routine. "Fine. You can have a draw, but then you go back to Dante's. I need you to give Casanova a message.”

"He may not be able to hear me," Billy protested. "Some demons can't, at least not in a human body.”

"Then you'll have to get creative." Given Casanova's reaction to Billy's presence earlier, I was betting he could hear him just fine. But even if not, I wasn't going to let Billy weasel out of this. Casanova had to get the traps I'd sent him somewhere secure. Otherwise, with mages crawling all over the place, they were sure to find them and I doubted he could lie his way out of that one. Even if he did, it would only be by blaming it on me, and thereby giving the Circle yet another nail to put in my coffin. Not to mention a hell of a weapon, depending on just what was inside those boxes. I sighed. It looked like I should have kept them after all.

Billy left after taking what I considered to be an inordinately large draw, and I settled in for a much-needed nap. What I got instead was the disorientation that precedes a time shift. I tried to call out, to warn Mac that I was about to take a trip, but darkness reached out and grabbed me.