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t it? And we don’t make nearly as much as we use!”
“I can see how that would be troubling.”
“Can ye now?” Black eyes had glittered at him behind falls of grizzled hair. “Then imagine this. Some of us aren’t interested in workaday spells. We’re innovators, visionaries, inventors! We are the future of the magical community, keeping it on a par with—well, you lot, for one. And any other rivals we find out there.”
“Yes, I under—”
But the old man hadn’t been listening.
“Come up with a spell, and somebody finds a way around it. So you have to come up with another. But it’s trial and error, isn’t it? Twenty, fifty, a hundred times I might have to attempt the same spell before it works, and then I have to refine it! And where does that power come from, hmm? I don’t generate enough—no single mage does! So, without our shipments, innovation has slowed to a crawl, and will soon get worse when the old stock is used up. We must have that trade reestablished!”
“I’m not going to help you kill anyone,” Mircea had snapped, fear giving way to anger. “I’m not going to help you collect anyone’s bones!”
“Have I asked ye to?” Abramalin sneered. “We aren’t the ones butchering your kind, boy! But if it’s found that some damned fool mages are trying to manipulate the price or whatever the hell they think they’re doing, and murdering your people in pursuit of it, what do you think is going to happen then? To all of us?”
“Then do something about it! Find these murderers—”
“Don’t ye think we’ve tried?” The old mage threw his hands up. “We’ve had people in Venice for months—good people—but found nothing.”
“How is that possible? I thought you had ways—”
“It’s possible, young vampire, because whatever mages are involved, they’ve got themselves some help. Your kind of help. They must have; it’s the only magic we can’t trace. Your kind don’t do magic; ye are magic, and damned near invisible to our eyes!”
“You’re saying you can’t detect them?”
“Not in a city full of you, no! And whatever magic, if any, is being used to support them, it’s subtle. Too much for us to identify when half the mages in Christendom are also packed into that damned city, and working spells all the time. It’s impossible!”
“Then go to the Senate. They have resources—”
“Oh, yes, why don’t we do that?” Abramalin said sweetly. He’d been pacing back and forth, waving his arms and basically looking like a madman. But when he whirled around, the old eyes were shrewd. “Perhaps I’ll do it meself, walk in and inform her scalyness that, oh, by the way, there’s some rogue mages and a vampire or two committing mass murder in Venice, and interferin’ in the trade of your people’s bones. Can you help us get this sorted out so we can get things back to normal?”
“You’re afraid she’ll shut you down.”
“I’m afraid she’ll declare war! Mine and your kind are always teetering on the brink of it anyway, and this is the sort of spark that could set it off. And even if it doesn’t, she’ll doubtless view this as an intolerable slight, and yes, shut us down! Which rather puts us right back where we started, doesn’t it?”
“But if you explain,” Mircea continued stubbornly, “as you have to me, and if it’s just a few of your people—”
“But we don’t know that, do we?” Abramalin pointed out. “We have no idea who’s behind it, nor how many are involved. If it’s someone with the right sort of connections, this could spiral out of control very fast. We need one of your kind, someone who can keep his damned mouth shut, to go in and find out how they’re doing this, and who’s behind it! We’ll take it from there.”
“Oh. Is that all?”
It came out dryer than Mircea had intended, but the feeling in his gut wasn’t sarcasm. It was dread. This was even worse than he’d expected, and he hadn’t expected anything good. But the praetor was already on the search, and with pressure coming from the consul, that wasn’t going to change. She had only him on it now, not understanding the seriousness of the problem, but if he didn’t find out something soon . . .
Mircea didn’t want a war, either. He just wanted to save his daughter. And helping Abramalin could do that, and possibly stop a serious conflict, too.
It was repugnant, working for people who traded his people’s body parts like so many trinkets. But the trade predated him, and would continue whether there was a war to stop it or not. The last thing people give up is power.
Especially power like this.
“All we want from you is information, boy,” Abramalin had said, his voice taking on a wheedling tone. “There’s no need for you to be in any danger yourself.”
Yes, Mircea thought now, staring around at the cargo of vampires.
That was working out well.
And then it got worse, when a couple burly sailors stopped beside his stack of bodies, shoved the sleeping girl to the side, and picked him up. A moment later, Mircea was experiencing the pain of being dragged carelessly up the ladder and tossed onto a rain-slick deck, along with piles of other corpses. Corpses that were too insensate to see what hell lay ahead of them.
Unlike him.
