“And even if you survive—all two or three of you—you’ll have my bodyguards to deal with—”
“Who I hear are not feeling well today.”
“—and who are still master vampires of Mircea’s family line! They’ll drain you before you get in the door.”
“Hmm.” The mage nodded slowly. “You may have a point.”
“And the Circle’s men will be here soon, in force, and this whole thing is about to explode in your face. But if you give me Rhea now—”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “If I won’t trade for her, she’s of no use to you. But if you give her to me now, unharmed, I promise—”
“No use?” the mage broke in, those blue eyes opening wide. “A Pythian acolyte is no use?”
Annnnnd the record scratched.
Time seemed to slow down as I stared at Rhea, who stared back, tearful, apologetic, terrified. Because she must have said something that let them know or guess her new status. I had elevated her rank as a reward for her warning, and because there never seemed to be enough of me to go around. I could really use an acolyte.
I just hadn’t thought—so could somebody else.
“If you do not give us Elizabeth, we will have to see if this one can be . . . persuaded . . . to assist us,” the mage said, running his free hand through her long, dark hair. “It may take some time, but there are ways. And she is so young. In the end, I think she’ll do as we ask.”
Looking at her face, I thought Rhea did, too.
Because she’d just gone white as a sheet.
My fingers wanted to curl, to clench, to eat into my thigh. It took a concentrated effort of will to leave them limp, to make my expression disinterested. To keep myself from using the last of my power to age his smile into powder.
I used to have better control than this.
Of course, I used to have fewer people I cared about, too.
“She was lying,” I said flatly. “I barely know her. Why would I give her that kind of power?”
“Someone is lying,” he agreed, with that same small smile.
I shrugged. “You don’t have to believe me. You have the evidence already. If she was an acolyte, she could shift away from you.” My gaze slid over to Rhea’s. “Do you really think you could hold someone with the Pythian power if she didn’t want to be held?”
Rhea gazed back at me, her eyes huge. Take the hint, I thought desperately. Because she could do this. Not fight her way out, no, but shift . . . all acolytes could do that, even untrained. I’d managed it for the first time with less knowledge than she had now—a lot less. Admittedly, my mother’s blood had probably helped, but still. She could do it.
But it looked like Rhea didn’t think so. Maybe she’d skipped those lessons, or never had them to begin with, since she’d just been an initiate until a couple days ago. Because she just stared at me.
“I think if she had that kind of skill,” her captor said lightly, “she would have used it by now.”
“Then she can’t help you, can she?” I pointed out quickly. “She can’t shift Ares here for you. But if you take my offer—”
“I also think,” he said, his voice abruptly rising, “that you’re lying—”
“About what? I don’t—”
“—and stalling—”
“Listen to me—”
“—and that you should give me what I want—”
“I’m willing to discuss—”
“—before I get impatient,” he screamed, the knife bearing down hard enough to dent his captive’s throat, “and wreck this whole goddamn hotel!”
I stopped talking. The Black Circle weren’t the so-called dark mages I’d grown up with, who’d been seminormal guys who got into trouble and couldn’t get legit work anymore. The Black Circle were magic addicts and crazy men, and arguing with crazy doesn’t work.
Not when the crazy is desperate.
And they were. Because Jo, the only acolyte left alive besides Lizzie, hadn’t bet on the potion. Instead, she was off chasing the same weapon I was. And running her own game—without them—because if she found it, she wouldn’t need any help. Supposedly, it was strong enough to punch through Mom’s spell all by itself.
And I guessed Ares wouldn’t have much use for the guys who had twiddled their thumbs while a girl brought him back, now would he?
So yeah, they needed Lizzie, and they needed her bad.
“I have to discuss this with my associates,” I told him.
“No, we do this now!”
“No.” I somehow kept my voice calm. “If you want the girl, I need a minute. And you will give it to me.”
“You do not order me, Pythia. Perhaps what I’ll give you is a corpse!”
“Kill her, then,” I said, my voice harsh. “And I will shift upstairs and kill Lizzie before you can blink. And you will have nothing.”
For maybe half the time I’d asked for, we just stared at each other. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I was wondering how I’d ever thought those eyes attractive. They were too bright, too wide, too wild. Like maybe he hadn’t had his fix lately.
Or like maybe he’d had too much of it.
The whole crowd behind him was the same way, hopped up on magic and almost desperate for a chance to use it. It hovered over them like a fog, leapt from man to man like static electricity, welled up like a dam ready to burst. I couldn’t negotiate with men like this. They wanted a fight.
I just had to hope they wanted something else more.
“A minute, then,” he finally said. “No longer.”
I turned and strode back across the shop.
It was mostly a blackened, charred mess, with heaps of ruined finery that I had to wend my way through. But at least the fires were out. And the people seemed okay, huddled behind the counter, which must have provided some protection. Because everything behind it looked pretty normal.
Except for the dead bodies sprawled on the floor, all of which looked like me.
It took me a second to realize that they were the mannequins from the shopwindow, and that Augustine had cut open their backs like a disturbed toddler with oversized Barbies, and was stuffing something inside.
Something lethal, by the sound of it.
“Don’ttouchthatareyoucrazy?” the high-strung genius snapped at Carla, who was crouched on the floor assisting him. And who abruptly snatched her hand back.
“Sorry, but you said—”
“Chartreuse! Does that look chartreuse to you?” He pointed at a vial in a rack with a couple dozen others. They were all green.
Carla blinked at them. “Yes?”
“That’s green apple!”
She reached for another vial.
“That’s pear! That’s pear!”
“You couldn’t have made them different colors?”
“They are different colors!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she said, shoving hair out of her face. “Just point!”
“I’ll do it myself,” he told her, and reached over to grab the rack.
And had me grab his wrist instead.
“What are you doing?” I demanded as Françoise hurried in from the back, carrying another rack of vials.
Outraged blue eyes glared up at me. “Getting us out of this—what does it look like?”
“I’m not sure what it looks like.”
“I’ve been toying with a spell, to avoid the ridiculous fees models charge just to walk down a runway. I haven’t perfected it yet, but it’s good enough for our purposes—”
“Which are?”
“Consider them attractive grenades,” he said, glaring in the direction of the mall.
“Grenades? But grenades are weapons—”
“Brilliant observation.”
“What kind of weapons?”
“What do you mean, what kind? The lethal kind!”
He jerked on his arm, but I didn’t let go. “Like the ones you’ve been working on for the Circle?”