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Not surprisingly, everyone in the vicinity stopped to stare at us—including Mircea, whose eyes slid off Lyly and latched onto me before I could bolt. They narrowed and his lips tightened, which for him was the equivalent of a hissy fit. Then just as quickly the expression blanked and he turned back to his date, laughing with her about something.
And then I didn’t see any more because I was being propelled out of the room by another vamp wearing a tux and a scowl.
Kit Marlowe was the Senate’s chief spy. He was known for laughing dark eyes, messy brown curls and an easy smile—and a reputation at odds with all of them. Most of the time, I found it difficult to see the dangerous vamp everyone swore was under the handsome exterior.
I wasn’t having that problem tonight.
“I want to talk to Mircea,” I told him, as I was hustled toward the back.
“You are talking to him,” he said, his voice clipped. “And it might look a little odd, don’t you think, if he suddenly left the side of the Pythia-elect to chat with a servant girl?”
“She isn’t the Pythia. She’s a sitting goose who’s about to be cooked. There’s going to be an attack, Marlowe!”
“Very probably.”
I dug in my heels, trying to slow him down, which didn’t help a lot on the highly polished floor. I don’t even think he noticed. “If you’re so certain, why the hell are you doing this?”
“Because it’s tradition. Because the damn mages insisted. Because no one is going to sign the infernal alliance without at least meeting the new Pythia.”
“And if she gets killed, are they going to sign then?” I demanded, as Jack thoughtfully opened the back door.
“No one is going to be killed tonight, I assure you. We’ve taken precautions. It’s perfectly safe.”
“If it’s so safe, why can’t I stay?”
“Because you’re tired and you want to go back to the hotel,” he said with enough power behind the suggestion to leave me light-headed.
“That doesn’t work on me!” I told him furiously.
“Then how about this?” he asked. And for the second time that night, the door was slammed in my face.
“Marlowe!”
After a moment, when it became obvious that he wasn’t joking, I sat down on the steps. They were cold and clammy, like the mist that surrounded the house. It was August, but this high in the mountains, summer was just a concept.
I glared at the thin veil of stars overhead and a spattering of rain hit me square in the face. I didn’t bother to wipe it off. It fit my mood.
Was this what it was going to be like? Locked out or locked up? My whole life spent spewing out predictions, with no say in how they were used or even if they were?
It sounded like Tony’s all over again. It was Tony’s all over again, just with the Senate in his place. Don’t expect to influence anything; don’t expect to control anything; don’t expect to make any decisions.
Just stay in your corner and do what we tell you.
Just wear the pretty dresses and smile.
Just behave yourself, little girl.
And I had. I’d done what I was told until I found out what Tony was doing with the information. The people he was hurting. The lives he was ruining. And then I’d gotten out, because I wouldn’t be responsible for hurting or maybe killing other people, even by proxy. Because I wouldn’t be a part of a system I knew nothing about. Because I had had enough.
When had I forgotten that?
The door cracked open, but I didn’t turn around. Somebody came down the steps and a jacket was placed around my shoulders. It smelled like rich spices and dark forests and Mircea. I hugged it around me automatically.
“You said it wouldn’t make a difference,” I said without looking up.
Mircea didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about. “It did not. This has nothing to do with our personal relationship.”
“Doesn’t it?” I looked up, feeling angry and betrayed and hurt and powerless.
