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“They are,” Casanova said, hurrying over. “And ruining me in the process. I have three conventions booked for this week and two more for next, and I’ve been ordered to cancel them all! Oh, and you’re being moved out of the penthouse. The Consul outranks you.”
“Since when?” I demanded.
“Since this is a vampire-run property and she’s head of the Senate.”
“There are other hotels! Why does she have to stay here?”
“Other hotels aren’t a well-warded property with a portal to Faerie. Welcome to MAGIC Two,” he said in disgust.
“Sorry,” I told him, because he seemed to expect me to say something.
“I need a little more than that, like the key card to the penthouse. Our machine’s busted.” He caught my expression. “You aren’t going to make a scene about this, right?”
“I’m kind of in the mood for a scene,” I admitted. Casanova said something in Italian that I won’t repeat. “And that’s not going to help you any.”
He gave me a speculative look. “Then how about this? I was planning to evict those deadbeat kids you foisted off on me—”
“They’re orphans!” I said, outraged.
“Not all of them.”
“They don’t have anywhere else to go!”
“I’m weeping on the inside.”
I sighed. “What do you want?”
“I told you. Move out of the penthouse nice and quiet, and I’ll find somewhere to put the kids.”
“I’ll move out of the penthouse nice and quiet, and you’ll leave them where they are,” I countered. I was too tired for this, but if I didn’t didn’t spell things out, Casanova would have them sleeping in the Dumpsters out back. And it wasn’t like I could get them rooms somewhere else.
The kids in question called themselves the Misfits because their magic had chosen to manifest abnormally, ensuring that they would never fit into the mainstream supernatural community. The ones with more dangerous powers had been confined to a series of “schools” the Circle had set up, where they were supposed to be taught to control their often dangerous powers. But most would never evidence enough control to suit the Circle’s standards, meaning that they would never graduate. Or leave.
Tamika Hodges, a friend of mine and one of the Misfits’ mothers, had tried to get her son released by legal means. When that failed, she’d taken a more direct approach and broken him out. She’d released some of his friends at the same time, thereby landing her at the top of the Circle’s most wanted list right alongside me. With the help of the Senate, I’d recently cut a deal that got her out of trouble for her various crimes. But the deal hadn’t included the kids, which was why they’d been hiding at Dante’s until I made nice with the Circle. At the rate things were going, they were going to be here awhile. Assuming Casanova didn’t throw them into the street.
“They’re occupying two very nice suites!” he protested.
“There are eight of them—nine if you count the baby! What were you planning to do, stuff them in a broom closet?” He looked shifty.
“They stay where they are or no deal,” I said flatly.
“All right! But you owe me.”
Before I could give the reply that comment deserved, my eyes locked with those of a tall, exquisite creature across the lobby. And the poor, shredded, dirt-and-garbage-covered remains of my dress suddenly began screeching like an air horn. It was loud enough to draw every eye in the place.
“Shut it off!” Pritkin yelled.
“How?!”
He tried some kind of spell, but it had no noticeable effect. “The Corps is probably still here!” he informed me, as if I could do anything about that.
And then it got worse. “Murderer!” Augustine shrieked, raising an arm to point at me.And thereby drawing whatever eyes hadn’t already been turned my way. “Murderer!”
“Take it off!” Pritkin told me, grabbing the hem.
“Corps or no, I’m not streaking through the damn lobby!”
“Here.” Tremaine shucked the standard-issue war mage topcoat he was wearing and passed it over. It was midcalf length on him, which meant it dragged the floor on me, but I didn’t feel like complaining. I pulled it on, trying not to think about the audience I’d suddenly acquired.
