Embrace the Night by Karen Chance
“You’re the best argument for decaf I’ve ever seen,” I said. “And, honestly, you don’t find anything weird about eating bean sprouts and tofu and drinking twelve pots of coffee a day—?”
“My record is six.”
“And I thought you Brits liked tea. But maybe water would be—”
He snatched the pot away. “I need that!”
I got a better look at him and decided he might be right. He might have had a chat with a shower recently, but not a long one. His eyes were red, and when he moved his head just right, the light showed a fine coating of reddish-blond stubble on his cheeks and chin. Add that to a T-shirt and jeans that he appeared to have slept in, and he was looking rough, even for him.
“You need to get some sleep,” I heard myself say. “You look like crap.”
“And who will handle things then?”
“Nick and me.” Pritkin shot me a look and I bristled. “I’m not a trained researcher, but there has to be something I can do.”
“Yes, you can get me some damn coffee!”
I told myself that throwing something at his head, however richly deserved, wouldn’t help matters. He’d probably dodge anyway. “The vampires heard a rumor that the dark mages might have the Codex.”
“How helpful. Did Mircea tell you that before or after he almost drained you?”
“Rafe told me.”
“Good to know you’re keeping up with the family.”
“What is your problem?”
Pritkin ignored me. “I don’t suppose ‘Rafe’ also had an address?”
“No. But you must have some idea—”
“Dark mages never stay in one place for long. If finding them was easy, we’d have destroyed them by now!”
“There must be rumors.”
“There always are. And by the time the Corps hears them and sends a team in, the dark have long since decamped—and often left us a nasty surprise.”
The “Corps” was the official term for the war mages, the enforcement arm of the Silver Circle, who tended to be a lot more fanatical about their jobs than human police. They really did have a license to kill, and they believed in exercising it. I didn’t want to deal with any group that regularly made the Corps look bad. But if they had the Codex, I didn’t have much choice.
“You’re not going to find them in dusty old books,” I pointed out. “What are you doing down here?”
The pixie flipped over a page in one of the larger volumes. She had to plant her feet and use both hands to manage it. “We’d explain,” she panted, “but it requires words of more than one syllable.”
“Trying to find another solution to that geis of yours,” Pritkin replied.
“By doing what?”
“By attempting to create a spell that can break it.” He wasn’t even looking at me as he said it, but had already gone back to scanning another arcane passage.
I reminded myself sternly that Pritkin was a friend. It was easier to think of him that way than to be constantly frustrated by the fact that I wasn’t allowed to murder him. “We already know where the counterspell is. It’s in the Codex!”
“The geis was doubled, if you recall,” Pritkin said curtly.
“Then we’ll cast it twice!”
“Magic doesn’t work like that. Do you recall what happened when you went back in time and met a Mircea who did not yet have the geis?”
“It jumped from me to him,” I said impatiently. Pritkin hardly needed to ask, considering that he’d been there at the time.
“Doubling the spell and setting up the feedback loop you now have.”
“Yes, but with the counterspell—”
“You act as if there are still two distinct spells, when that is by no means certain!” he snapped.
“I don’t understand.” I kept my temper because it was rare that I could get him to talk about this at all, and I wanted answers.
“The geis was designed to be adaptable. That was its chief strength, but the adaptability also made it too unstable for most uses. Often, it changed from the original spell to something new over time, adapting to meet the needs, or what it perceived as the needs, of the caster.”
“You sound like it can think.”
“No more than a computer program can. But like a sophisticated program, it does adapt to new input.”
“Like what?”
Pritkin’s green eyes met mine coolly. “The spell itself is logical. What its designer failed to take into consideration is that most people are not. They are often confused about what, exactly, they really want, and the spell does not differentiate between hidden thoughts, subconscious desires, and acknowledged ones.”
“What are you saying? That I’m trapped in this because I want to be?!”
“Not now, perhaps, but—”
“I don’t want Mircea to die!”
“Yes, but that was not the point of the spell, was it? It was designed to bind two people together.”
I stared at him, horrified. Was that why the spell had jumped from me to Mircea in the past, because I’d secretly wanted it to? If I’d been less attracted to him, or more in control of myself, could all this have been avoided?
“And it has been unsupervised for more than a century, doubtless growing and changing all the while.” Pritkin went on relentlessly. “It is very likely that you are seeking the counter to a spell that no longer exists.”
I stared at him, feeling panic well up in my throat, dark and bitter. Being under Tony’s thumb most of my life had taught me not to try to control my surroundings; instead, I’d controlled the only thing I could: myself. The idea of having that last small freedom removed frightened me on more levels than I’d known I had.
“You’re saying the counterspell won’t work.”
“You changed the parameters of the geis when you doubled it,” Pritkin repeated. “It may well have become something with which the counterspell was not designed to deal. And if so, finding the Codex will do you no good at all.”
I didn’t reply for a long moment, just stared into clear green eyes that met mine unflinchingly. What he was saying sounded scarily plausible, but how did I know he was telling the truth? How could I be certain that this wasn’t an attempt to persuade me to stop searching for something he didn’t want me to find in the first place? It was hard to believe him when I had another authority telling me the exact opposite, assuring me that the Codex would fix everything and making finding it my first official duty.
“No good?” The pixie fluttered in front me, her little face gone livid. “It will keep my king from killing you!”
An image of the Dormouse from Alice in Wonderland suddenly flashed across my vision. I looked at the teapot longingly, wondering if she’d fit. Maybe if I pushed.
“I haven’t forgotten our deal,” I told her tersely. “And I don’t respond well to threats.”
“And I don’t make them! You made a deal with him, human. You do not want to find out what he’ll do if you break it!”
I glanced at Pritkin, who was being oddly silent, only to see that he’d gone back to his research. Apparently, thoughts of my possible death at Fey hands weren’t enough to hold his attention. I slammed a hand down on the tabletop just to see him jump. “The Consul already has every magical authority in the book working to try to find a way around this thing! Why do you think you’ll have more luck?”
“Because I must.”
“That’s not an answer!” He just looked at me. “Damn it, Pritkin, I’m Pythia now! I can’t do my job if you keep deciding what I do and do not need to know!”
“If you’re Pythia, then act like it!”
“I’m trying to. And I don’t think that involves waiting around for fate to kick me in the butt yet again! I want to do something!”
The massive volume he’d been working on suddenly leapt up and slammed against the door, leaving a powdery blue stain where it hit. Before I could comment on exactly how useless childish gestures were, the door opened and a
He cautiously edged in, pushing a room-service cart and skirting the upended book. “It’s stopped. But there has to be a couple thousand of them.” His voice was almost admiring.
“What caused it?” Pritkin demanded.
“Augustine’s best guess is that one of his competitors is trying to rain on his parade.”
I winced at the pun, but Pritkin only looked even more severe. “There’s going to be more of this kind of thing, with the Corps preoccupied with the war.”
“What kind of thing?” I asked.
“Mages with vendettas deciding to take matters into their own hands,” Nick explained.
“The Corps can’t fight the war and police every mage with a grievance, and they know it,” Pritkin finished grimly. “And what’s all this?”
“Lunch. I met a waiter on the way back with the cart.” Nick started sorting through the sandwiches, fruit and cookies. “Would you like something, Cassie? There’s plenty here.”
“Not really hungry.”
“She’ll eat.” Pritkin said curtly.
“I said—”
“If you starve to death it would damage my professional reputation.”
“I eat plenty.”
“The same does not apply should I strangle you in understandable irritation, however.”
“I’ll have a sandwich,” I told Nick. “No meat.”
He came up with a benign-looking egg salad, which he handed over along with a box of apple juice. I eyed him thoughtfully. Unlike his friend, he was still a member in good standing of the Circle. He might be able to find out about Tami for me, assuming it was the Silver who had her. On the other hand, I didn’t know his opinion on the whole magical handicapped debate. He might view them with the same vague embarrassment/lack of interest everyone else seemed to show and not think she was worth asking a few questions. But nothing ventured…
“Since she sheltered you seven years ago, I’m assuming she’s not a teenager, right?” he asked after I’d sketched the problem.
“She was in her late twenties when I knew her, which would make her mid-thirties now. Why?”
“Then she’s way too old for the harvesters,” Nick said, around a mouthful of what I hoped was chicken. “They wouldn’t waste their time, especially not if she was weak to begin with.”
Pritkin caught my expression. “He’s talking about the people who make null bombs.”
Nick nodded. “That’s when—”
“I know what they are,” I said numbly. The bombs were highly prized, as they concentrated a null’s usual effect, stopping all magic in an area for a period of time—including mine. I’d found out about them only recently, as Tami had never brought the subject up. Not too surprisingly, considering that the process required to make a bomb drains nulls of their life force, thereby killing them.
“Don’t worry,” Nick said, slathering mustard on another roll. “Like most mages, nulls come into their full power when they hit puberty, making them as strong then as they’re ever going to get. Harvesters like to get them as soon thereafter as possible, to maximize the amount of life force they have to give. Your friend wouldn’t interest them.”
“Why would the Circle want her, then?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. Unless she was privy to important information of some kind.”
I shook my head. “Tami doesn’t know anything like that.”
“But she knows someone,” Pritkin pointed out. At my bewildered look, he sighed. “The Circle doesn’t know where you are—the fact that they were willing to put a steep bounty on your head says as much. Perhaps they are attempting to lure you into coming to them.”
“You think they took her because of me?” The sandwich, which hadn’t been great to begin with, was suddenly tasteless.
“It’s possible,” Nick agreed, warming to his buddy’s suggestion. “Half the Council was in attendance when you flashed in, told off the Consul, seduced Mircea and stole Tomas out from under her nose.”
“It didn’t happen like that!” I said, appalled. And it hadn’t. The Consul had been in the middle of torturing a friend of mine to death when I made a desperate attempt to rescue him. It had worked, a fact that still amazed me, but for a while there, I’d been in serious jeopardy—not to mention scared out of my mind.
Nick shrugged. “Well, that’s the story that’s been going around.”
“If they are trying to persuade you to try another foolhardy rescue, they would need to find someone you would consider worth the effort,” Pritkin pointed out. “But Tomas remains in Faerie, and is therefore unreachable. Your parents, as I understand it, are deceased, and your childhood friends are vampires protected by the Senate.” He thought for a moment. “Or ghosts. But even the Circle can’t harm the dead.”
For a minute, I just stood there, blinking stupidly. What did it say about my life, when even my enemies had trouble finding anyone close to me? I hadn’t seen Tami in seven years. Had it really been that long since I’d had a friend vulnerable enough to act as hostage to fate? I guess it had. Except for Tomas, and that was anything but a reassuring thought. I vividly remembered the sickening twist in my stomach when I’d realized why he had been scheduled for such a horrible and demeaning death, maybe because I was suddenly experiencing it all over again.
The Senate had had a lot of reasons for wanting Tomas dead, but the execution had been made a public spectacle mainly in the hope that I would come after him. And I had, right into the middle of a room half filled with their allies from the Silver Circle. Who had apparently been paying attention to the lesson. Had they immediately started looking for a replacement for Tomas? Had I doomed Tami the moment I freed him?
“If the Circle has her, can you find out?” I asked Nick.
“I can try,” he said slowly, apparently just realizing that this might be a sensitive subject. “But if they want you to come after her, surely they’ll publicize the fact that they have her.”
“Not necessarily.”
“But—”
“Whatever memo they sent out about Tomas, I didn’t get. I only stumbled over him by chance, after the execution had already begun.” He’d still been alive because he was a vampire, and not easy to kill. Tami didn’t have that advantage.
“Be that as it may,” Nick said seriously, “the Council was given an up-close view of the kind of power the Pythia wields. They aren’t likely to forget it. If they are setting you up, they’ll take precautions. Which would make any attempt to rescue her extremely—”
“You aren’t going to rescue her.” That, of course, was Pritkin.
“Not without some idea where she is,” I agreed. When I’d gone after Tomas, the Senate had exploded a null bomb so I couldn’t just shift in, grab him, and shift out. It was a good guess that the Circle had their own stash of the nasty things, waiting to ensure that any rescue attempt I made ended with me being the one needing rescuing. If I was going to do this, I needed a plan. And forming one required knowing where she was.
“I’ll do what I can,” Nick promised. “But about the Codex, I still say we ought to check with Saleh.”
“Who’s Saleh?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
“It’s too risky!” The glare Pritkin sent Nick would’ve melted glass.
“I’m Pythia,” I reminded him. “Breathing is risky.”
“Saleh deals in information. Esoteric, hard-to-get, valuable information,” Nick informed me, despite Pritkin’s steadily reddening face. “The problem is his price.”
“I can come up with the money,” I said, thinking about Billy and roulette wheels and big payoffs.
“He doesn’t deal in money,” Pritkin snapped, cutting off whatever Nick had been about to say. “Only in favors. And you don’t want to risk owing him one!”
“I’ll decide that!”
“We could at least talk to him,” Nick offered mildly.
“If he knows something, I’ll get it,” the pixie said, fingering her tiny sword. It would have sounded comical, except that I’d seen what the thing could do.
Nick shook his head. “If we make him angry, we’ll never get anything out of him.”
“The fewer who go, the better,” I added. “Most people don’t like to talk in front of a crowd.” Especially if one of them is waving a sword in his face.
Pritkin looked like he was about to explode. “Did you hear nothing I said? The Codex is likely useless for your purposes. And I am not taking you near that piece of scum!”
“You don’t have to take me anywhere,” I told him impatiently. “I’ll take myself.”
“You’re not going.” It sounded final.
“I already know his name,” I pointed out. “How hard do you think it would be for Billy to locate him?”
“Do you have any idea what he could demand? He’ll try to trick you—”
“Then it’s a good thing we’ll be along to make sure he doesn’t,” Nick said smoothly. He cocked a sandy eyebrow at me. “If you’ll permit the escort?”
I glanced at Pritkin’s face, which was bordering on purple, and sighed. Until I got some training in defense, a bodyguard or two was pretty much a necessity. Besides, I wasn’t sure how to get rid of him. I said okay, even knowing I’d probably regret it.
Of course I was right.
Chapter 8
The room would have been elegant if it hadn’t been for all the blood. The apartment’s tasteful gold and cream interior clashed with the panorama of the Vegas Strip outside, but the view was less of a decor problem than the brown rivulets that had run down the embossed wallpaper and coagulated on the nice buff carpet. There was no body in sight, but there didn’t need to be. No one could have lost that much blood and lived. Not even something not entirely human.
My dress had turned to eerie twilight, with twisted black branches clasping a harvest moon like bony fingers. It was creepy as hell, and fit my mood perfectly. I glanced longingly back at the foyer, but I couldn’t cut and run when this had been my idea. The only good thing was that I’d managed to leave the pixie behind. I wondered if she’d figured a way out of the file drawer yet.