“What they needed,” Calista continued, swirling the pieces of ice remaining in her glass, “was a little leadership. And that’s what I’m good at. I’ve also gotaccess,which none of those idiots have. They’re all too well-known, too public with their displays of magic and menace. Nowadays, most of them dare not show their faces out of hiding. Not since Jastira’s fall.” She chuckled—not the expensive, practiced laugh of earlier, but a real, bitter sound. “I’ve had to provide disguises for them time and again. They simply cannot seem to keep a low profile.”
“And where did you and Monte Fairfax source your fayfane blossoms?” Nigel asked.
She turned another startled glance his way. “Oh, so you know about that little operation?”
“I’ve heard rumors.” He leaned back in his barstool then, looking at her fully with neither admiration nor intimidation. Something his younger self couldn’t have imagined. “You never fully gave up sorcery after undergrad, did you?”
Calista shrugged. “I kept in practice, making my own sorcerous cosmetics. Once a girl gets used to having them, it’s hard to stop. There’s a great deal ofexpectationon me, as a public figure, you understand.”
“I find that rather tragic, actually,” Nigel said, shaking his head, “that you would expend all that talent, all that skill of yours on something as banal as cosmetics.”
“Banal?” Her lip curled in a snarl. “You try surviving as a woman in a man’s world. Then tell me how banal cosmetics really are!”
Nigel lifted his tea mug in a salute of acknowledgement, but did not take a sip. “So, after the Shadowbane Lady’s fall,” he said, “you . . . what? Used your connections and your position in thel’mauvasto find the scattered sorcerers of Nocturnus?”
“Among other things,” she admitted.
“And now you’ve got them organized.”
“Insofar as onecanorganize a pack of mangy, power-hungry dogs.”
“And you provided them with disguises. Like my brother, Fabian.”
“How is dear Fabian, by the way?” she purred poisonously.
“You tell me.”
“The last I heard from him was a telegram from the Phrigidos Isles where he is, apparently, enduring a rather extended vacation.”
Nigel’s lips compressed in a thin smile. “Has he sampled the whale blubber special yet? I understand it’s a culinary delicacy, not to be missed.”
“He mentioned your little flower shop.”
Though this wasn’t really a surprise, Nigel felt a cold jolt in his veins. “Did he now?”
Calista laughed, that bitter note more prominent than ever. “You know, if you’d really wanted to keep secret the fact that you are still in possession of that enchanted acreage, you probably shouldn’t have started selling magical flowers over the counter. It’s a bit of a giveaway, don’t you think?”
Nigel picked up his mug and made himself take a large pull of Limpty’s. It was just disgusting enough to brace him, and when he’d recovered from a spontaneous grimace, he set the mug down and addressed himself to his companion once more. “So, you think you’re going to . . . what? Wrest my father’s great work from my cold, dead hands and drain its power to perform some great summoning spell? That’s what Fabian seemed to believe. That the Brotherhood sought to bring Jastira back from hell.”
“Not from hell.” Calista’s golden curls gleamed with the little toss of her head. “If you had cast her into hell, you would have had to give your own soul as well. That is the price for that particular curse, is it not?”
Nigel gazed into his tea mug. “It would seem you continued your studies post-undergrad after all, Mrs. Anguish.”
“I readThe Grimoire of Forgotten Soulsand theMalignium Archives.I know the basic theory of Infernus Magic.”
“Heavy reading for a politician’s wife. What would thel’mauvasthink if they knew their spokeswoman was delving into such dark spaces of magical study?”
“Oh, they’re allmuchtoo afraid of me to put up any fuss.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“You could not have bound her to hell,” Calista continued urgently, “without binding yourself as well. Yet I sit across from you even now. Which means the voice I hear in the back of my head is no ghost rising from the infernal pit, but a spirit bound to the Dire Dimensions. And such a spiritcanbe brought back.”
Nigel narrowed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. “What I don’t get is whyyouwant Jastira back. It makes sense for the Brotherhood—we were all her little minions anyway, halfway worshipping her when we didn’t hate her guts.”
“From what I understand, you far more thanhalfwayworshipped her.”
His stomach pitched. Even now, three years since Jastira’s death, some of those memories were too dark, too horrible. “I have backslidden from that particular faith since then,” he said and made himself take another awful gulp of Limpty’s before pressing on. “But what do you stand to gain, Mrs. Anguish? You were destined for great things—everyone saw it. But then you seemed to abandon sorcery entirely. What is your game?”
