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“Depends on where you get it.”
He frowned. “You use your own.”
“Because I feed one ghost. Uno. And even then, there are times Billy has to rely on his necklace, because I don’t have anything left to give.” I saw comprehension begin to dawn in his eyes. I looked away before he hit revulsion. “So how much power would a ghost army need? There’s no way one mage could supply dozens, much less hundreds, of hungry ghosts. Just no way.”
“Dark mages are known to steal power from whomever they can,” he murmured.
“And now we know one thing they use it for—or used to.” I got up, suddenly finding the stone bench really uncomfortable. “And when a dark mage catches someone, correct me if I’m wrong here, but don’t they usually drain them?”
“Yes,” he said softly.
“And draining a magical human—”
“Kills them.”
“So my father was a murderer. And if he supplied an army, he was a mass murderer.” Not to mention kidnapper and probably rapist. I walked off a little way, the chimney suddenly getting a lot more interesting. “I’d say that’s pretty dark, wouldn’t you?”
It was really hard to imagine, because my only actual memory of him was a positive one. He’d been throwing a three- or four-year-old me into the air and hearing me squeal in glee. It was hard to reconcile that man with someone who could kill a person just for gain, for the coin that it would gain him in the spiritual world.
“If he was a member of the Black Circle,” Pritkin said. “But we don’t know that he was. The Circle chooses to believe the rumors at present because it suits their purpose.”
“And if it is true?”
“It doesn’t change anything,” he said urgently.
“Except that my father was a monster.” I’d never been under the illusion that he was some kind of saint—no one at Tony’s was. But this . . . no. I hadn’t really been prepared for this.
I felt hands on me, turning me around. The little dagger-shaped links of the bracelet around Pritkin’s wrist slipped over my skin, feeling suddenly oily and strangely heavy.
I’d acquired it in a fight with a dark mage, when it deserted him for me. Ever since, it had clung to my wrist whether I liked it or not, defeating all attempts to remove it. At the time, I’d assumed that it had simply gravitated to the greater source of power, which due to my new position was me. But what if there had been another reason? What if it had been drawn to the greatest potential for evil?
“Cassie!” Pritkin’s hands tightened on my shoulders, hard enough to be painful. I looked up, hurt and confused. “My father is a demon lord,” he said crisply. “I win.”
Pritkin isn’t kind, exactly, or tactful at all, but he still sometimes manages to say the right thing at the right time. I guess if there was one thing he knew about, it was dysfunctional families. It didn’t make things all right—I had a feeling nothing was going to do that for a long time. But it helped. Even with Rosier for a father, he’d turned out okay. Better than okay, I thought, smiling at him.
“Thanks.”
He inclined his head. “No problem. But if you mention anything about getting in touch with my feminine side, I will shoot you.”
And for the first time in days, I laughed.
“We have to discuss Jonas’ offer eventually,” Pritkin pointed out few minutes later.
And yes, we did. But I didn’t have to like it.
We’d been sitting watching Marsden pick things out of his overrun garden. He’d acquired a hat, I noticed, and squashed most of the hair underneath. He looked almost normal.
“I have a theory about war mages,” I said. “The more powerful they are, the worse the hair.”
“Cassie.”
“You could make my day and tell me Saunders is bald.”
“And you could make mine by facing up to this.”
I scowled. “I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about joining a coup.”
“There no longer seems to be much choice.”
