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The death of a god caused barely a ripple on the surface of the massive ley line sink at the heart of the vortex. But an energy wave radiated outward, picking up our small bubble of protection and throwing it completely out of the lines. Pritkin cursed, grabbed me around the waist and jumped clear.
We started to drift slowly downward in a chute formed from Pritkin’s shields, just as the star-filled sky above bled into golden dawn. The crash of Marsden’s car was barely audible so far below. But Pritkin winced as it smacked down and immediately went up in a ball of flame.
“We got out of this alive!” I reminded him, hardly able to believe it.
“You did,” he said, staring at the burning pile of metal far below. “Jonas is going to kill me.”
“Explain again why I am paying for this . . . this?” Mircea asked, indicating with a gesture the cackling drag queen who was all but dismantling Augustine’s shop. The great man himself was standing by the door, wincing at the carnage and fingering my AmEx. He still detested me, but it seemed my money was okay.
“I’m paying for it, or I will be,” I assured him. “Jonas says I have a month’s back salary coming.” Of course, at Augustine’s prices, that meant I might be able to pay Mircea off in a decade or so.
He sighed and laid his head back against the nice Louis XIV striped satin chair that Augustine had rushed to bring up for him. I’d had to fetch my own. I shifted uncomfortably. Everything hurt.
Mircea noticed and opened an eye to look at me. “You are going to give me a stroke,” he said flatly, with none of his usual charm. “I sent you away to keep you safe. Instead, you kill the Lord Protector—”
“That was Pritkin, and Saunders isn’t actually dead,” I corrected. “Jonas is circulating the rumor that he was tragically wounded while bravely battling Apollo’s forces.”
“Apollo didn’t have any forces.”
“Yes, but nobody knows that.” Luckily very few mages had witnessed what really occurred, and they’d mostly been Apprentices. Apprentices who currently had bad headaches from having their memories altered.
Marsden had decided that it was better to get his rival out of the way diplomatically rather than risk civil war when we could least afford it. He’d managed to convince the Senate, but Mircea didn’t appear pleased to have the former head of the Circle still w
ith us. I had a sneaking suspicion that Saunders’ recovery wasn’t going to go well.
“And for an encore, you kill a god!” Mircea accused.
“Technically, the demons did that. Or maybe the ley line. We’re not completely—”
“So your argument is that you did nothing?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? Swim, read, maybe do a little shopping?”
“Yes! I would vastly prefer that you spend your days doing exactly that rather than come back to me covered in blood!”
“At least I came back.”
“This time.”
“Mircea . . .”
“Yes, you have a job to do, or so you keep informing me. I understand that—intellectually. Do not expect me to like it.”
“But no more handcuffs?”
He gave me one of his slow smiles, the first sign of good humor I’d seen. “Not unless you request them.”
I swallowed. “About that . . .”
He sighed and laid his head back again. “Why do I doubt that this is going to be a request for one in every color?”
“They come in colors?” He smiled without opening his eyes. “No! No, I mean, I’ve been thinking. We knew each other when I was a child, but now . . . there’s just so much I don’t know about you.”
“You know me,” he said, his forehead wrinkling. “Better than most.”
“But it doesn’t feel that way. I’ve never even been to your court!”
“That’s easily remedied. Indeed, you may visit sooner than you think. Mage Marsden is proposing to have your inauguration there. A goodwill gesture to the Senate after the unpleasantness with his predecessor.”
