He was going to freaking kill me one of these days.
“I was,” he told me. “But I didn’t know what we were dealing with. I still don’t.”
“That’s what had you so upset?” I asked. “That someone could tap into your brain through mine?”
“Not just mine. I am in mental communication with the Senate on a regular basis. If my mind was compromised . . .”
“That’s really what you thought?” I’d noticed that Mircea had been avoiding me lately, but I’d just assumed he was busy. And once or twice I’d wondered if he was having the same trouble defining our relationship that I was. But I should have known better. Mircea was a master vampire and a Senate member. And despite what he’d said, they didn’t have problems with relationships.
They took what they wanted.
Like when he finally, finally started to thrust.
And I suddenly forgot how to breathe.
“We are at war, Cassie,” he murmured against my skin. “And our enemies have proven . . . resourceful. They tapped into the power of your office through the ward you used to wear, did they not? Used it to help them bring a god through the barrier?”
“But I . . . I don’t wear that anymore.”
“No, but you now wear a spell, one invented by the same people we are fighting.”
“But laid by my mother.”
“Yes. To allow her to talk with the council. Can they still access your mind?”
“I . . . don’t think so,” I told him, because yeah, time for twenty questions, Mircea!
“But they could at one time,” he pointed out, his breathing still even, although mine was becoming ragged. “They must have been able to, if your mother could use you as a conduit.”
“Yes, but they shut that down. Or . . . or they said they did.”
“And the word of a demon is to be trusted,” he said sardonically.
“Maybe not,” I said breathlessly. “But they’re on our side in this—”
“The demons are on their own side.”
“But that happens to be ours right now, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” He shifted position slightly, and the gentle undulation he’d been doing picked up speed.
And strength.
Oh God.
“How do we know?”
“We know . . . because they hated . . . the gods,” I told him stubbornly. Refusing to let him have the last word just because he was pounding me into the desktop. “They . . . fed off them, like the demons feed off us. They slaughtered . . . thousands of them. My mother did in particular. It was demon energy she used to build her wall—”
“Something you did not bother to mention.”
“We haven’t exactly . . . had much time . . . to talk!”
“Something I will have to remedy,” he told me, sounding faintly ominous. “Yet you do not think they would spy on the daughter of their old enemy?”
“Yes . . . but I also think . . . they could be . . . good allies. They don’t want the gods back . . . any more than we do.”
“Allies bring something to the table.”
“They . . . bring something to the table,” I said, trying to look at him over my shoulder. And finding it hard, since I needed both hands just to hold on.
Damn; I knew I’d pay for that little tease in the office, sooner or later.
“They killed . . . Apollo,” I managed to say.
“Your mother’s spell killed Apollo, for all intents and purposes.”
“But they finished him off.”
“Yes, that is what they do. Scavengers, vultures, leeches—”
“Some people . . . would say the same thing . . . about vamps.”
“Then those people are fools. We live on earth. Contribute to it in many ways. It is our home. The demons use it as a hunting ground, nothing more.”
I didn’t entirely agree with that, but I was having a hard time thinking clearly with him shuddering to completion. “But . . . but they still wouldn’t . . . want the competition . . . would they?” I asked. “The gods . . . controlled earth when they were here. When the demons came, they . . . fed off them. If the gods come back, the demons lose their favorite snack bar. And maybe become snacks themselves!”
“The fact that you are still able to reason at this point worries me,” Mircea said, and sat down, taking me with him, his body still inside mine. And God, I need a chair like this, I thought dizzily, groaning from the abrupt change in position. And then groaning again as he began pleasuring me with his fingers, teasing, expert, maddening. And had me writhing on his lap in seconds.
And, okay, that was better than talking, which I hadn’t wanted to do anyway. But that was back when I thought we’d be discussing us, which I didn’t know how to do. But this . . . yeah, we needed to talk about this.
But we weren’t. Because I was too busy thrashing and wriggling and squealing and coming. And then lying back against him, exhausted and happy, with what was probably a totally goofy smile on my face. Which, fortunately, he couldn’t see, because God knew he didn’t need the ego boost.
“That doesn’t . . . refute . . . my point,” I said, when I could talk.
And felt the sweaty chest behind me shake slightly.
Mircea had always had what many people viewed as an unfortunate sense of humor. I viewed it as a plus, and one of the most human things about him. He couldn’t help but see the absurdity in things, like us trying to talk politics now of all times.
But when else was I likely to get the chance? And he needed to understand this. Only Mircea didn’t seem to think so.
“Whether the demons are ‘on our side’ or not, they are useless to us,” he told me.
“But they’re powerful—”
“In their own realm, yes. But in faerie?” He shook his head. “Their magic doesn’t work there.”
“Are you sure?” I knew mine didn’t, at least not well. Different worlds had different time streams, and my power seemed to be tied to this one. But the demons didn’t have that problem, so maybe—
But Mircea crushed that idea. “Quite sure. Their strength remains intact, for those who have a body, but their magic falters outside their own realm.”
“But they could be helpful here, couldn’t they? On earth?” I asked, because, as strange as it seemed, earth was their realm. Or, to be more precise, it was one of the hell dimensions. The hells, which weren’t a single world but thousands, were all on the same metaphysical plane, so the same magical laws worked across all of them.
That didn’t mean there weren’t issues. The main one being that human mages, and I guess demons and fey and whatever, manufactured some of their own magic. They were magical creatures, which meant that their bodies acted sort of like talismans, soaking it up from the world they were born in and then generating usable power, like a regular human’s body making vitamin D if they sat in the sun.
But outside their home world, magical beings didn’t absorb as much, meaning their store of power ran low really fast. It would be like trying to make vitamin D while in northern Alaska during winter, when there’s all of a couple hours of sun a day. Possible but not easy.
But it looked easy compared to trying the same thing in faerie.
Because faerie wasn’t a hell, it was a heaven, hard as that was to believe after having been there briefly. And having barely surviving the trip. But, technically, it was in one of the heavenly dimensions, and therefore had magic that worked on totally different rules.
That basically meant zero absorption from the natural world while you were there. You would have what magic you went in with, for as long as it lasted you, and then that was it. Instead of Alaska, it would be like being in a dark room and being told to make vitamin D—not happening.
But, of course, the same was true of the fey when they came here. They had what they
had when they arrived, and that was all they had, magically speaking. And that didn’t last long, because it was harder to cast your spells on an alien world. It was like it was trying to reject them or something.
It was why there’d never been a war between the two realms and probably never would be. What were people going to fight it with? Clubs?
But that didn’t mean the demons couldn’t be useful on earth, which was their own backyard. “They could help us with Black Circle,” I pointed out, talking about the corrupt mages that were a perpetual pain in the ass to Jonas’ organization. “And free up some of our own mages for the war.”
But Mircea was shaking his head. “The Black Circle is a nuisance, nothing more. Like the smugglers we’re taking out at the moment. Destroying them is helpful, and we will do it where and when the opportunity arises, but we will not win the war that way. Kit was right; our enemies are in faerie, not here. And they are not likely to come here.”
I would have twisted around to look at him, but I was too tired. And it would have meant pulling myself off him, and I didn’t want to do that yet. Didn’t want to let him go. “You’re planning to invade.”
It wasn’t a question because it wasn’t really news; the idea had been batted about for a while. Not to start a war, but as a commando raid. Go in, grab Tony and his bunch of assholes, who were the ringleaders in the campaign to bring back the gods, and then make a run for the border. The trick was, how?
“We cannot win a war by remaining forever on the defensive,” Mircea agreed.
“So you take the offensive through what? Your fey allies?”
He made a sound partway between humor and disgust. “The fey have nothing but contempt for humans—or for us that used to be so. Our ‘allies,’ if they deserve the name, tell us little and act as if we’re fit for servants and nothing else.”
I took a moment to absorb that. It was kind of hard. Vampires had always been the elite in my world, godlike, immortal creatures—well, until they pissed off a stronger vamp, anyway—who had abilities and knowledge and centuries’ worth of experience I lacked. It was a bit of a mental adjustment to imagine someone else viewing them as inferior. But it did explain a few things.
“That’s why you still don’t know where Tony is.”
Mircea nodded. I could feel it against my back, as he started combing his fingers through my wet hair. “He and the leaders of the coalition against us are in hiding in faerie, meaning they must have allies among the fey. But fey politics are . . . To call them Byzantine is to miss the mark considerably. There are only three main factions of light fey, but hundreds of family, clan, and alliance groups among them, none of which see any reason to discuss their affairs with humans. Nor to assist us with an invasion of their world. They are deliberately keeping us in the dark to ensure that we have no choice but to leave it in their hands.”
“And yet they’re not doing anything.”
“Not that they have bothered to communicate to us. And this cannot continue.”
“But what’s the alternative? If you can’t invade—”
“I did not say that, dulceat¸a˘.”
I leaned my head back at that, so I could see his face, but he looked serious. Which didn’t make a lot of sense. “How? The Circle—”
“Is useless. Their magic is weak in faerie; they wouldn’t make it five miles from whatever portal they used to enter. And it wouldn’t matter if they did; the fey would wipe the floor with them in any battle. The same would be true for your demons.”
“So how do you invade?”
Mircea smiled down at me, dark eyes glinting. “Well. Since you asked.”
Chapter Thirty
Mircea took my hand and we threaded our way back through the rugs. But this time, we went through another door, set into the opposite wall from the one where we’d come in, and then down a tiny corridor. It had rooms branching off on both sides, including a small bedroom near the end.
Where a tousled-headed guy named Jules was sitting on a bed with his legs drawn up and a bunch of magazines spread out around him, none of which he was looking at. In fact, he didn’t appear to be looking at anything. He didn’t even raise his head when we came in, which was unprecedented in the presence of his master.
Only . . . Mircea wasn’t Jules’ master anymore, was he?
That was such a weird thought that I didn’t know quite what to do with it. Vampires didn’t simply stop being vampires. They just didn’t.
Except for Jules.
He had been one of my bodyguards until he’d blundered into a terrible spell, a war spell, by mistake. It had still been in the experimental stages but was nonetheless powerful enough to turn him into little more than a human ball of flesh. Rendering him unable to talk, or move, or even see, once his own skin finished stretching over him like a shroud.
It would have been deadly to a human, but Jules wasn’t one. And vampires are a hardy breed. But no one—including the spell’s inventor—had known how to reverse it, so I’d decided to try something a little crazy.
I’d tried to de-age him, to take him back in time to before the spell was laid, hoping that would deactivate it. It had seemed like a long shot, but nobody else had known what to do, and Jules had been . . . God. He’d begged me to help him or kill him, since I was the only one he could talk to. The spell had screwed him up so badly that even the usual vampire mental communication hadn’t worked anymore.
But seiðr had. And after Mom put the spell on me and then forgot to mention it, I’d made a couple of random connections. One to Mircea, during that little episode in the shower, and one when I sat next to Jules, horrified and speechless and not knowing how to help him.
Until he told me.
On the plus side, de-aging him had gotten rid of the malicious spell, so that was something. But on the other . . . it had gotten rid of everything else, too. All the other spells, that was. Including the one that made him a vampire.
The guy who slowly raised his head, belatedly registering our existence, was still young, blond, and attractive.
But he was also very, very human.
Which I guess is why he flushed bright red as soon as his eyes fell on me. Well, that and the seiðr link that let him see me at all. I grabbed for my towel, thinking maybe it had come loose, but no. For once, I was actually decent.
And then I looked up—
Only to be tackled by a human dynamo who literally knocked me off my feet.
“Cassie!”
“Ow,” I said, because my back had just hit the wall, and despite the fact I wasn’t actually here, it had hurt. And so did the fingers sinking into my arms. And the rapid-fire shaking that commenced immediately thereafter until Mircea pulled him off.
“Cassie!” Jules said again, staring at me out of huge eyes and a flushed face and a weird-looking mouth that, well, frankly I didn’t know what that expression was, because he could love me or hate me right now, and both would be perfectly fair.
And then he burst into tears and grabbed for me again, and, okay, maybe he wasn’t mad? I still couldn’t tell. But I went into his arms anyway, ’cause if ever anybody looked like he needed a hug . . .
“They wouldn’t tell me—I asked and asked, and they wouldn’t tell me anything!” he said, drawing back. And grinning. And then crying some more, even while still grinning, and can you blame me for being confused?
“Are . . . you okay?” I eventually said, because I still wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know!” he told me. And laughed.
I looked at Mircea.
“We’ve been keeping him sedated,” Mircea said wryly. “But that sort of thing is hard on a human’s physiology.”
“Hear that? Hard on a human’s,” Jules repeated, his face filled with a strange mix of things, which kept making his mouth go all weird. Wonder and fear and elation and sorrow and joy and confusi
on—I finally realized that I didn’t know what he felt because he didn’t.
Which, yeah.
“So . . . you’re all right?” I repeated. “More or less?”
“More or less!” he said, shaking his head.
I decided that he really didn’t know, and that maybe I should find another question.
A vamp appeared in the doorway, one who actually looked like the stereotype: tall and gaunt, with creepy red eyes. And then just stood there until Mircea deigned to acknowledge his existence. “Yes, Lawrence?”
“Louis-Cesare has arrived, my lord. He wishes a word.”
“Excuse me for a moment,” Mircea told me.
They went off somewhere, and I sat down on the bed. I needed to go, too, to check out those cabinets and see if they held what I hoped they did, to finagle some Tears out of Mircea if so, and to get some sleep. But it was really hard with Jules’ shining face staring at me like that.
“When are we leaving?” he asked, grabbing a duffel from the end of the bed.
“What?”
“You’re taking me back with you. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”
“Um.”
“That isn’t why you came?”
“Not . . . exactly.”
“But you will, won’t you?” He squatted down in front of me, but because Jules was over six feet tall that still left us almost on a level. “You can ask,” he told me urgently. “They’ll let me go if you ask!”
“Let you go? But you’re a human. They don’t control you anymore.”
“Tell them that!”
“You mean they’re keeping you here? Like some kind of prisoner?”
“They’re . . . I don’t know. They say I can leave eventually, but they won’t tell me when. And in the meantime I’ve been here, right here, since just after you changed me. They were afraid of people seeing me at the hotel, so they brought me here—”
“Where is ‘here’?”
“I don’t know. The consul’s place, I think. I just know I went to sleep and woke up here and haven’t been out of here since! I asked to go outside, just to see the sunrise, but they wouldn’t let me. Said somebody might see me, and—and you’ve got to get me out, Cassie. Promise me you’ll get me out!”