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“Qu’est-ce que c’est ‘adamant’?”
“Sure. He was pretty sure.”
“Adamant,” she rolled it over her tongue thoughtfully. “I like zees word. Eet ees fun to say, no?”
“I suppose.” I paused to take a look at a crimson silk evening dress that was doing something strange—just hanging on the rack. I poked it, but nothing flew up or off or morphed into anything else. Either Augustine hadn’t gotten around to fiddling with it yet, or it was designed for his nonmagic customers.
It was pretty and fairly classic, with a low-cut top that ended in a little jeweled belt and a flouncy hem. I put it to the side. “So you never heard any stories, legends, anything like that, about the Fey being able to possess anyone?” I asked.
“Non. I am adamant.” She looked pleased with herself. “What did Pritkin say?”
“Not a lot. Just that he thought it might be Fey.”
“I do not sink so,” she said, and frowned. We’d come to the end of the rack and hadn’t found a little white tag with my name on it.
“Maybe he hasn’t started mine yet?” I wondered.
“Non. ’E ’as been working on ze enchantment for weeks. Eet is all he talks about.”
Her bright red nails drummed on a tabletop for a moment, and then she looked up and smiled. “Of course. ’E must still ’ave it in back.”
“I thought this was the back.”
She shook her head. “ ’Is private workroom is through zere.” She nodded at a small door I hadn’t noticed, over by the hovering pincushions.
“Well, let’s go.” I started forward, only to have her put a hand on my arm.
“You can’t. No one ees allowed in zere, ozzair than ze employees.”
“But he won’t know.”
“Eet ees warded. ’E will know. And zose things, zey launch pins,” she said, nodding at the Tomatoes of Doom.
“Then how—”
“I weel go and bring it out.”
I nodded and folded my hands behind my back to keep them from shaking. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. Okay, I did. Because this whole thing had gotten entirely out of hand.
Normally, the ceremony installing a new Pythia was no big deal. The guests typically included a handful of dignitaries from the major groups in the supernatural community: vamps, Weres and the Silver Circle. It generally took the form of a short meet and greet, sometimes followed by dinner. Last time, there’d been a brief photo op. And that was it.
Fast forward to today.
Last time I’d seen the guest list, it had almost two thousand names on it. That included the elite of the vampire world, who suddenly had a renewed interest in the Pythia, since I was the first in anyone’s memory who was not a Circle-raised Initiate. It also helped that I was dating—or married to, in their eyes—one of the senior members of the North American Vampire Senate.
Add that to the war, which had everyone more than usually worried about politics, and the fact that I was currently the darling of the magical tabloids, and suddenly the simple little ceremony was the hottest ticket in town. To make matters even more fun, someone had decided that it might help morale to broadcast the damn thing live. So in addition to however many people they finally managed to squeeze onto Mircea’s estate, at least half the magical community was expected to tune in via a simple spell.
I really, really wanted to call in sick. But since that wasn’t possible, I at least needed to look the part. For once in my life, I really needed to look good.
It suddenly occurred to me that Francoise had been gone a long time. A long, long time. I was actually starting to get worried when she finally reappeared, looking a little pale.
“What is it?”
“I . . . I don’t sink Augustine ’as started eet yet,” she told me.
I frowned. “But you just said—”
“I know what I said! But . . . but ’e must be behind.” She started to close the door, but I got a foot in it. The tomatoes dipped menacingly lower.
