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“You said you could lift it!”
Mircea’s lip curled. “You can never trust a mage.”
Pritkin glared at him briefly, but it wasn’t even close to his best attempt. He looked preoccupied, a finger tapping against his lips. “Tell me, was a method of egress attached to the spells when they were placed, in the event that something went wrong?”
“Yes, but that’s already been tried,” I said, exasperated.
“What was it?”
I glared, but I had no choice but to answer. I didn’t know what information he needed to make the spell work. “Sex with the originator or someone of his choosing. But nothing happened.”
It wasn’t as crazy as it sounds. The ritual to complete the power transfer from the old Pythia to me had required that I lose my virginity. It was a fairly standard clause in the ancient world, where sex played a part in everything from healing spells to worship. But it had given Mircea an idea. He had made sex the condition for the release of the geis as well.
It must have seemed foolproof: the geis would protect me until the ritual, whereupon it would be broken by the same act that made me Pythia, thereby ensuring that Mircea didn’t end up bound to my power. It would have worked, too, except that the spell had been doubled before the transfer was complete. Tomas had afterwards served as Mircea’s stand-in for the ritual, and I became Pythia right on schedule—but with the geis still alive and kicking.
“You are sure?” Pritkin insisted. “Because if the geis expands beyond its original parameters it becomes, in effect, a new spell. And in that case, the counterspell will not prove efficacious. That is the reason additional precautions are usually taken.”
“The geis?” Mircea’s gaze sharpened.
“Don’t ask,” I snapped, still glaring at Pritkin. “And yes, I’m sure!”
“Then there is nothing to be done,” Pritkin said with a slight shrug.
“Don’t lie to me. I need the real counterspell!”
“You already have it.”
“I don’t believe you!” I grabbed his shirt, not caring about the possible consequences. I felt like screaming in frustration. “Give it to me! I have to lift this thing. You don’t understand!”
“I have done all I can! Now give me my property!”
“I’d sooner see it destroyed than give it to you!” I told him, so angry I could barely see. I should have known. Every time I trusted that man, every single time, I ended up like this, teary-eyed and fuming. There is a saying: insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Or maybe that was stupidity.
Pritkin swore. “Is outraged modesty worth so high a price?”
I smiled at him fiercely. “I guess I’m just vindictive like that.”
“Give it to me and we part, if not friends, at least not enemies,” he warned. “And believe me when I say, madam—you do not want me for an enemy.”
“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear,” I said grimly, kicking the map back toward Mircea. “No geis, no map. Either lift this thing or you’ll never see the Codex again. I swear it!”
Pritkin didn’t reply, except by doing the last thing I’d expected. He threw off my hold as if it wasn’t there and jumped straight at Mircea. I was knocked to the side, and by the time I sat up they’d already taken the fight halfway across the cobblestone expanse, back toward the cathedral.
Mircea might have been drained from the attack at the casino, but a master vampire is still a master vampire, something Pritkin was learning the hard way. The fight was over so quickly, it was almost a non-event. A vicious jab from Mircea’s elbow sent the mage staggering back into the huge old cathedral doors, which he hit with a sickening thud. Pritkin must have been pretty drained, too, because his shields didn’t manifest to cushion the impact.
He ricocheted off the doors and sprawled limply on the steps, in a pose that called to mind a cast-aside doll. Mircea nonetheless started toward him as I scrambled to my feet. “Mircea! Don’t kill him!”
He looked up and hesitated slightly, then gave a small nod. He’d seen Pritkin in our time; he knew he wasn’t supposed to die tonight. I ran forward, worried that it was already too late, that the cracking noise I’d heard had been Pritkin’s skull. But when I knelt beside him, I couldn’t find any major injuries. I checked his pulse, then pulled up an eyelid. He might have been faking it on the stairwell; I wasn’t sure. But he’d been out cold on the barge, and if this wasn’t the real deal, he was a damn fine actor.
“He’s unconscious,” Mircea confirmed. He could sense things like blood pressure, and he would know if the mage was faking.
Mircea carried Pritkin inside the cathedral and we covered him with his cape. The place was deserted and it was still hours before dawn. He would be undisturbed until he came around. But it was too quiet and the place had a weird air about it, not like a church where people regularly congregate but like one of those deserted crypts at Pere Lachaise, beautiful but forgotten. I didn’t like leaving him there.
Mircea caught my arm, pulling me away from the mage. “He will live,” he assured me. “But when he awakens—”
He had a point. Pritkin wasn’t the type to give up, even with a possible concussion. And the last thing we needed was for Mircea to have to inflict even more damage. “Where to next?” I asked wearily. I was cold and hungry and now that the adrenaline rush was wearing off, my eyes kept wanting to close. I was really not looking forward to an exhausting search.
“We both need to rest before we go on your treasure hunt,” Mircea said, echoing my thoughts. He frowned for a moment, and then his face cleared. “I know just the place.”
