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Typical.
The phone rang.
“Can’t you turn that off?” one of the guards groused. He was an attractive blond I didn’t recognize. Probably one of the new guys.
“It’s my private line. Could be important,” Marco told him tersely.
“Your private line? How the hell—”
“I don’t know, but I’m getting it changed tomorrow. Just play your cards.”
“I would if I ever got any worth a damn,” the guy muttered.
They anted up. I folded. The phone rang.
“Damn it, Marco! I can’t play with that thing going off every five seconds!”
“Then don’t play,” Marco told him.
“Just tell the mage to go fuck himself—”
“What mage?” I asked, and everyone froze.
“Thank you,” Marco told the guy viciously.
The phone rang. Marco had left it on the table, and it had jittered its way over to me. So I picked it up. “Don’t,” he said.
I flipped it open and checked the readout. PRITKIN. I shot Marco a look and put the phone to my ear. “Hel—”
“Goddamnit, Marco, you’re supposed to be—” He cut off abruptly. “Cassie?”
“What is it?” I asked, feeling my heart rate speed up.
“There’s no emergency—not right now,” he said, apparently hearing the alarm in my voice. “But I need to see you. I’m coming up.”
“The hell you are,” Marco said, grabbing back the phone. “I already told you—”
“I want to see him,” I said, crossing my arms.
Marco looked at me, clearly frustrated. “You need to rest!”
“I’m playing cards and drinking beer. How is that not resting?”
“You were gonna go back to bed soon.”
“I slept all day!”
The doorbell rang.
Marco got to his feet, looking conflicted.
“What are you going to do—bar the door?” I asked, also standing up.
“I got orders,” he said defensively.
“Mircea told you to lock Pritkin out?”
“Just for tonight. He don’t want the mage here while you’re vulnerable.”
