I leaned across the table and played my best card. “I understand all about the family’s idea of revenge. But think about it. “If Tony gets staked by me or the Senate, you’ll be in a perfect position to grab some property. Wouldn’t you like to own this place yourself?”
Casanova ran a hand through his shoulder-length chestnut hair, which fell in perfect waves without any obvious artifice. He was dressed in a raw silk suit in a rich brown that almost matched his eyes. I wasn’t an expert on men’s clothes, but his saffron-colored tie looked expensive, as did his gold watch and matching cufflinks. Casanova had caviar tastes, and I doubted Tony overpaid him—generosity wasn’t one of his character traits.
He looked around longingly. “What I wouldn’t give to redecorate, ” he said. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is, getting patrons past the ambiance?” I could see his point. The gloomy opium-den interior and dragon’s-head bar, complete with an occasional wisp of steam emanating from its carved nostrils, didn’t exactly scream romance. “My boys have to work twice as hard as they should. I engineered a water leak last month to give me an excuse to gut the lobby, but there’s so much left to do, and don’t even get me started on the entrance! It scares off half the would-be customers before they make it in the door.”
“So, help me out here.”
He shook his head regretfully, expelling a thin stream of smoke with his sigh. “Not possible, chica. If Tony found out, he’d ruin me. I’d have to find a new body after he staked this one, and I’ve become somewhat attached to it.”
It figured Casanova didn’t want to risk it. Hanging out on the sidelines, waiting to see who won, was the practical move—and practicality is pretty much the defining vamp characteristic. Unfortunately, that option wasn’t open to me.
A legacy from an eccentric seer had recently left me Pythia, the title for the world’s chief clairvoyant. Agnes’ gift came with a whopping amount of power that everyone wanted to either monopolize or eradicate, but I was stuck with it for the moment since she’d thoughtlessly died before I could figure out how to give it back. I hoped to pass it on to someone else, assuming I lived so long, but in the meantime, Tony wanted to kill me, the Senate wanted to make me their stooge and, oh, yeah, I’d also managed to piss off the mages. What can I say? I’m an overachiever.
“Tony isn’t going to win against the six senates,” I said flatly. “They have reciprocal agreements—if one is hunting him, they all are. Sooner or later, they’ll catch up with him and he’ll start blaming everyone else for what happened. They’ll stake him anyway, but ten to one he’ll incriminate you and a lot of others before then. Help me out and maybe I can get to him before they do.”
Casanova studied me while he stubbed out his cigarette in a black lacquered ashtray. Dark eyes swept over my outfit, and a faint smile came to his lips. “Rumor has it that you’re Pythia now,” he finally said, stroking the back of one long-fingered hand lightly over mine. “Can’t you use your power to deal with this? It would be worth a lot to me.” My skin felt warmer than usual where he touched me, a feeling that spread outward along my arm. His voice dropped an octave, going husky. “I could be a very good friend, Cassandra.”
He raised my hand, turning it over to run a finger lightly down the middle of the palm. I was about to make a sarcastic comment about my so-called power when he bent his head. His lips brushed along the line he’d drawn, silken soft yet feeling like they left a brand, and I forgot what I’d been about to say. He looked up at me through dark lashes, and it was like staring into the face of a stranger, one with a darkly beautiful visage and a hypnotic gaze. I remembered the old saying that the only difference between Don Juan and Casanova, the world’s two greatest lovers, was that when Don Juan ended relationships, the women hated him, and when Casanova left, they still adored him. I was beginning to understand why.
I snatched my hand back before I was tempted to use it to drag him over the table. “Cut it out!”
He blinked in surprise and reached for me again. This time, the warm feeling was stronger when we touched, sending a frisson of heat dancing across my skin. I had a sudden image of sultry Spanish nights, the scent of jasmine, and warm, golden skin sliding against mine. I closed my eyes, swallowing hard, trying to reject the sensations, but that only seemed to help them become more real. Someone pushed me back against a thick feather mattress, practically burying me in its plump folds, and I could actually feel the soft weave of the sheets under my hands. A fall of silken hair spilled all around me and strong hands skimmed down my sides, a teasing touch that barely registered but flooded my veins with heat.
Then, with no warning, the sensation changed, going from seductive warmth to scorching heat. For a moment, I thought Casanova’s touch would actually burn me, but he released my hand before it edged over into real pain. I opened my eyes to find us still sitting in the bar; the only signs that anything had happened were my flushed face and pounding pulse.
Casanova sighed and sat back in his seat. “Whoever did the geis knew what he was doing,” he told me, signaling for a refill. “Out of curiosity, who was it? I would have said there were none I couldn’t break.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I rubbed my hand where it felt like he’d left an imprint of his fingers behind, and glared at him. I didn’t appreciate the attempted distraction—I was not his afternoon snack—nor whatever had ended it so painfully.
“The geis. I didn’t know anyone had a prior claim or I wouldn’t—”
“What’s a gesh?” He spelled it for me, which didn’t help. A waiter brought us both new drinks and I gulped some of mine, my mood blackening by the second.
“Don’t play games, Cassie; you know what I am. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?” he asked impatiently; then something in my expression made his eyes widen. “You really don’t know, do you?”
I stared at him resentfully. More complications; just what I needed right now. “Either make some sense or—”
“Someone, a powerful magic user or a master vampire, has put a claim on you,” he said patiently, then corrected himself. “No, not a claim. More like an immense KEEP OFF sign a mile high.”
I sat there, feeling a new wave of heat creep up my neck. I remembered a cultured, amused voice telling me that I belonged to him, always had and always would. I was going to kill him.
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“A geis is a magical bond, usually involving a taboo or prohibition over personal behavior.” He saw my confusion. “Do you remember the story of Melusine?”
A childhood memory surfaced, but it was vague. “A fairy tale; French, I think. She was some half fairy who turned into a dragon, right?”
Casanova sighed, shaking his head at my ignorance. “Melusine was a beautiful woman six days of the week, but was cursed to appear as a half serpent on the seventh. She married Raymond of Lusignan after he agreed to a geis prohibiting him from ever seeing her on Saturday, even though she refused to say why. They had many happy years together until one of his cousins convinced Raymond that Saturday was the day she spent with her lover, and he spied on her to find out the truth. That broke the geis, causing Melusine to become a dragon permanently and losing Raymond the love of his life.”
“You’re telling me that story was real?”
“I have no idea. The point is, that’s how a geis operates.” His hand hovered over mine, but he didn’t attempt to touch me again. “This one is the strongest I’ve ever felt, and it’s been in place for some time now. It has a good grip.”
"Define ’some time.’ ”
“Years,” he said, concentrating. “At least a decade, maybe more. And a decade isn’t a simple matter of ten years. For purposes of the spell, it’s measured as a percentage of your life span. You’re what, early twenties?”
“I’ll be twenty-four tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “Well, there you have it. For roughly half your life, someone has owned you.”
A new rush of
blood flooded my face. I remembered a cultured, amused voice telling me that I belonged to him, always had and always would. I was going to kill him. “No one owns me,” I said shortly, but Casanova didn’t look impressed. “What does this geis do, other than to warn people off?”
I soon wished I hadn’t asked. “The dúthracht geis is a strong magical connection—one of the strongest. During the Middle Ages, paranoid mages with nonmagical wives employed it as a variation on a chastity belt. I’ve also heard of it being used in arranged marriages, to smooth out initial awkwardness.”
He concentrated for a moment before continuing. “As far as I can determine, it allows whoever put it in place to know your emotions—your true ones, not whatever you’re trying to project—so you can’t lie to him. It also gives him a rough idea of where you are at any given time. He may not know your exact location, but he’ll certainly be able to narrow it down to a city, and possibly further.”
I remembered the arrogant jerk who I strongly suspected was behind this telling me that he had been able to find me once because he’d had help from the Senate’s intelligence network. Maybe he had, but it seemed there had been more to it. I wondered how many other times he’d told me only part of the truth.
“And, last but not least, it heightens the attraction between you, with each meeting becoming more intense. Eventually, you won’t want to run.”
I felt myself go cold. “Then nothing I feel is real.” I couldn’t believe he’d stooped that low. He knew damned well how I felt about having my thoughts or feelings altered.
The jerk in question was Mircea, a five-hundred-year-old vampire whose biggest claim to fame was being Dracula’s older brother. He’d also been my first crush. I hadn’t cared about his family name, or that he was a first-level master and a Senate member. I’d been far more interested in the way his rich brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, in the mahogany hair that spilled over his broad shoulders and in that wickedly perfect mouth, still the most sensual I’ve ever seen. Among his other titles, Mircea was also the vamp Tony called Master. It was something that should have made me question the sincerity in that handsome face a lot sooner.
“The dúthracht doesn’t create emotions,” Casanova corrected me. “It isn’t a love spell. It can only enhance what is already there. Which is why it’s odd that anyone would have used it on you at what, age eleven, twelve?”
I nodded numbly, but the truth was that I didn’t find it odd at all. My mother had been heir to the Pythia’s throne before she eloped with my father. The fact that she’d been disinherited meant nothing as far as my chances for succeeding were concerned, however, because it isn’t the old Pythia who chooses the new one. The final selection is made by the power of the office itself. In all but a handful of instances over thousands of years, it has selected the designated heir, the one groomed as a successor by the old Pythia. But Mircea had gambled that I would be one of the exceptions and had spared no effort to ensure that I’d still be eligible when the moment arrived.
For reasons I didn’t fully understand, the heir has to remain chaste until the changeover ritual begins, and Mircea hadn’t wanted to risk a teenage infatuation removing me from contention. So he’d marked me as off-limits by putting a claim on me himself. Bastard.
“You said it boosts emotion,” I said, thinking about the first time I encountered Mircea as an adult. “Are you only talking about mine?” Mircea hadn’t appeared exactly uninterested when I saw him last, but it was difficult to be certain. Most vamps are excellent liars, but he is the undisputed, number one champ, possibly because it’s his job. He’s the Senate’s chief diplomat, the guy sent into tricky situations to get whatever they want through persuasion, seduction or deceit. He’s very good at what he does.
“No, it’s a two-way street, one of the spell’s big drawbacks in most people’s opinion.” Casanova leaned forward, apparently enjoying lecturing me. “Think of it as an amplifier on a stereo: every meeting edges it up a notch. You have to give it something to start with, but once it’s up and running, you’re on the path to obsession with each other whether either of you likes it or not.”
I turned away so he wouldn’t see my expression, and tried to ignore the hard knot in my chest and the tight ache in my throat. I didn’t know why I felt so betrayed. It wasn’t as if I had ever completely trusted Mircea. I knew that no master vampire, especially a Senate member, fell into the category of nice guy. He couldn’t have achieved his current position by being anything less than ruthless. But I would have given odds that he wouldn’t do something like this. Tony, yes; that I could see, but I’d foolishly believed that his boss was different. Stupid. Who did I think had trained him?
I looked back to find Casanova carefully expressionless. “You’re saying this is dangerous.”
“All magic is dangerous, chica,” he told me gently, “under the right circumstances.”
“Don’t hedge!” I didn’t need my feelings spared, I needed answers. Something that would help me figure a way out of this.
“I’m not hedging,” he insisted. A woman let out a high-pitched scream and his eyes shifted to a spot behind me. “Damn!”
I looked over my shoulder to see that my three roommates had decided to take up darts, despite the fact that the bar was not actually equipped with a board. While I’d been distracted, Deino had positioned herself at one end of the bar and Pemphredo at the other, while Enyo stood in front blowing toothpicks at the hapless bartender. Before we could make a move, Enyo blew another mouthful of tiny projectiles, leaving the poor satyr looking like a very unhappy pin-cushion. The woman screamed again as a forest of little red dots sprouted on his chest, and Casanova gestured for her companion to take her away. He went to rescue his employee and I followed to rescue him. The girls sometimes listen to me—when they feel like it—although I get the impression that I’m considered a spoilsport.
Casanova sent the trembling bartender on a much-deserved break, while I placated the girls by fishing some cards out of my purse. It’s a standard tarot deck I received for a birthday present years ago that is charmed to act as a sort of metaphysical mood ring. It doesn’t do specifics, but its forecasts of the overall climate surrounding a situation tend to be eerily accurate. I was not happy to see the card that poked up from the deck as soon as I touched it.
Despite the common misconception, the Lovers rarely has anything to do with finding a soul mate or even having a good time. The Two of Cups normally indicates that romance is on the way, but the Lovers is more complex. It points to a looming choice, one that will involve temptation and pain. And, like the depiction of the card in my deck— Adam and Eve being thrown out of Eden—the final decision will have huge consequences for everything that follows. Needless to say, it has never been one of my favorites.
While I confiscated the remaining toothpicks and gave the girls their new toy, Casanova arranged for another bartender. Finally, we rendezvoused back at our table. “It all depends on your point of view,” he said, picking up the conversation as if nothing had happened. I suppose he’d dealt with worse over the centuries than a few bored grandmas. “Of itself, the geis is harmless. But then, so was Melusine’s—as long as it wasn’t broken. Your version merely causes devotion to one person. If nothing interferes with that relationship, both of you live happily ever after.”
The fact that I might not want to live, happily or otherwise, in a magically induced state of mind was obviously not important. “What if something does interfere?”
Casanova looked faintly uncomfortable. “Love is a many splendored thing, as I have cause to know. But it has its ugly side, too. If anyone or anything is perceived as posing a threat to the bond, it acts to remove that threat.” He saw my impatience and elaborated. “Say a person, nonmagical obviously, was to take an interest in you. A norm would be unable to sense the geis, so the warning would go unheeded.”
“What would happen?”
“It would depend. If the bond was new and the t
wo of you had not spent much time together—if the amplitude, in other words, was set on low—maybe nothing. But the higher the volume, the more the interference would be resented. Eventually, one or both of you would move to eliminate the threat.”
“Eliminate? You mean, as in kill?” My jaw dropped. Mircea must have been out of his mind.
“It probably wouldn’t come to that,” Casanova assured me, and I felt my stomach unclench slightly. “Most suitors would exit quickly enough when you started screaming abuse, or your lover began threatening them.”
Great, I thought as my stomach went back to its former knotted state. I could go cuckoo’s nest at any moment, thanks to Mircea’s idea of insurance. “But what if the originator of the geis wanted someone to seduce me?”
It wasn’t an idle question. Mircea had sent a vampire named Tomas to befriend me when the Pythia’s health began to fail. Lady Phemonoe, the Pythia better known to me as Agnes, had realized she was dying and had begun the rites that would free the power to go to a successor. And that had started a whole new ball game. Agnes could initiate the ancient ritual, but only I could complete it—by losing the virginity Mircea had guarded so carefully. He had designated Tomas to take care of that little item for him to avoid getting caught in his own trap. Mircea had been born before the notion of a woman choosing her sexual partners was fashionable, and Tomas was the servant of another master vampire and expected to follow orders. So, of course, neither of us had been consulted about any of this.
Tomas was one of those rare vamps able to mimic the human condition so perfectly that we lived as roommates for six months without me guessing what he was. We became close, although not as close as Mircea would have liked. I was reluctant to involve anyone in my crazy life and thought I was protecting Tomas by keeping him at a distance. But all it had done was force Mircea himself to have to stand in for the ritual.