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Fred nodded. “It’s not fair. He’s what keeps this whole group together. With him gone, I don’t know who’s supposed to make everybody toe the line. Because I’m telling you, it’s, uh, it’s, uh, um.”
He trailed off, at whatever was on my face I guess, because I was momentarily speechless. And then I felt my cheeks start to burn. “You’re telling me that they’re taking Marco?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Oh, hell no.”
Chapter Twenty-six
The new senate chamber was really something, even for vamps, whose motto was go big or go bigger. The floor was brand-new and shining, with a gorgeous sunburst mosaic that covered most of the huge space. The yellows, oranges, and whites, with little flecks of gold here and there, faded to blue near the edges under a marble colonnade. The color bled upward, blurring the lines where floor met walls and walls met ceiling: first a pale cerulean, then azure, and finally cobalt. The ombre ended in midnight high overhead, on a cavernous vault where a million little stars glimmered across the sky.
Taken as a whole, it looked like the huge sun was floating in space, as if I’d shifted into the middle of the void. The illusion was so good that it left me feeling a little unsteady on my feet. I stared dizzily up at the stars for a moment, wondering how they did that. Maybe lights? Maybe tiny mirrors that caught the diffuse lighting from under the colonnade? Maybe—
Maybe I should be thinking about something else right now, I thought, because everybody was staring at me.
It looked like Batman had been wrong this time.
The latest senate meeting didn’t appear to be over yet, after all.
I was suddenly grateful for the people I had backing me up these days. Like Tami, who’d forced me to eat some toast with peanut butter before I left, because I hadn’t had anything but a beer all day. And Fred, who’d given me some arguments to use on Mircea instead of grabbing him by the collar—still the current favorite choice. And the girls, who’d done my hair and dressed me in the gown they’d picked out the day before, when they were raiding Augustine’s.
I was pretty sure it was the one he’d meant for me, because it practically screamed “modern Pythia.” It was a pale blue chiffon with a flowy skirt and gathered sleeves, but with a bodice that would have done Boudicca proud. Silver metallic strips molded to my torso, forming an armor-like creation that stood out from the soft material underneath, like I was about to go into battle and hadn’t finished getting dressed yet. It was over the top, it was in your face, it was full-on goddess-y, and it had made me feel more than a little self-conscious.
Or it had, until now.
Because now, there were at least a hundred equally overdressed people staring at me from around a slab of mahogany that looked like it had taken a whole forest to build.
The huge length of dark, shiny wood was covered in papers and report folders, and a hazy, hologram-type map hovered in the air above it. The map was oversize and 3-D, with what looked like a mountain range poking upward into the air. It was also partly see-through, allowing me to note the surprise, annoyance, and—in a few cases—fear on the faces of the powerful creatures sitting around it.
Daniel-the-Ditsy vampire wasn’t the only one to find the Pythian power a little disturbing.
What I found disturbing was that, once again, I hadn’t been invited to an obviously important meeting. From what I could tell, every mover and shaker in the supernatural community was there—except for the covens, of course. And except for the Pythia, who had yet to attend a single discussion about the war, probably because I hadn’t been told they were happening!
I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. Possibly the fact that I was already pissed off about Marco. Or worried about Pritkin. Or that I was just over. It. Plenty of people in this room were fast enough to remember my existence when they wanted something, but could give a damn otherwise.
And there was only one way to fix that.
“Cas— Lady Cassandra,” Mircea said. He was on his feet, as if he’d been speaking before I popped in, so he didn’t rise. But he did smile at me. “What a pleasure.”
“I’m sure.”
I looked around for a spare seat, but didn’t find one. So, I shifted one from beside the wall, where a bunch of extras were lined up. And where several guards had been standing, although they were halfway here now, looking grimly determined. Until I did a Hilde and shifted them, too—about five miles away.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, shoving the chair toward the table. It was an ornate thing of gilded wood that made a loud screech, scratch, squaaaawk on the pretty new mosaic. But I finally got it wedged into a too small spot between a guy in a burnoose and a woman in a business suit. “I don’t have a secretary yet,” I said, climbing over burnoose guy. “And my bodyguards are terrible about reminding me of appointments. What were we talking about?”
I sat down and looked around brightly.
All that had taken only a few seconds, but everyone’s expressions had already shifted back to neutrality. Except for the consul, who looked like she’d been sucking on a lemon. And Caedmon, who was grinning openly. And Mircea, his dark good looks on display in a suit so finely cut that it would have made Augustine weep with envy if he wasn’t already having a breakdown.
Strangely enough, Mircea had looked almost relieved for a second, when I first arrived, or maybe I’d imagined it. The expression had vanished so fast that I couldn’t be sure. And I didn’t have time to wonder about it, because another vamp—a woman—hit the table hard enough to cause all the papers to jump.
“Finally! Maybe we can get some answers around here!”
I didn’t recognize her, but I suspected who she was, and not only because of the ebony beauty on display in a low-cut, stark white gown. But because of the broad gold necklace she wore that matched the armbands hugging her biceps and the golden net around her hair. The necklace looked like something an old-fashioned knight would have worn to protect his throat, yet it didn’t quite manage to hide the jagged red line that appeared sometimes when she moved, an ugly reminder that the lovely head with the Nefertiti profile had once been completely severed from her body.
Ismitta, I’d been told, had been ambushed right before the war began, presumably to get her out of the way. Our enemies had been right to fear her: attacked by overwhelming odds and decapitated, she had nonetheless risen up, tucked her head under her arm, and fought her assailants to a standstill. “Badass” didn’t quite cover it.
She’d been away for a while, recuperating, but I guessed it was all hands on deck these days. I briefly wondered why she hadn’t used a glamourie on her terrible wound. There were plenty that would have covered it without any slipups. But then, maybe she wanted people to see.
