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Maybe she wanted her enemies to see.
I felt a shiver go across my
arms, which wasn’t helped when she leaned over the table, glaring at me. “Well? Did you talk to the demons or not?”
“Demons?” It caught me off guard. “How did you know I was talking to demons?”
Mircea swiftly cut in. “I did not expect you to be back so soon,” he said smoothly. “It was a constructive meeting, I take it?”
It took me a second, because I was having a small fit at the thought of being spied on. But I didn’t think that was it. There was a small muscle twitching at the edge of his jaw, the tiniest of tells that he was hoping I’d pick up on . . . what, exactly? Some kind of bluff? How bad had the reaction been to what had happened yesterday, anyway?
I didn’t know, since I’d cut out early, but it didn’t look like it had been fun. So he’d told them I was checking on it, probably to calm everybody down. And, in usual Mircea fashion, he’d gotten lucky, because the demon high council had decided to kidnap me!
I wondered why he hadn’t just talked to the council himself, but couldn’t very well ask under the circumstances. I stood up, since that seemed to be what people did when they wanted to talk. And because the ones down the table wouldn’t have been able to see me otherwise.
“Uh, yes. Sort of—”
“Sort of?” Possible-Ismitta asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means they’re checking on it—”
“On what? What the hell is there to check on? It was either demonic or it wasn’t!”
I just stood there, reflecting on the fact that four months ago, having a senior vamp yelling in my face would have had me peeing myself. Right now, it was just really annoying. And I was annoyed enough already.
“Well?” she demanded. “Lord Mircea assured us that you would have some answers about that thing we fought yesterday—”
“We? I don’t remember you being at the fight,” I said.
There was a sudden, stunned silence around the table.
“What Lady Cassandra means is—” Mircea began, but Ismitta held up a hand. There was no smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, or any other indication I could see, but she somehow gave the impression of mild amusement anyway. As if somebody’s pet dog had just done a cute trick.
“No offense taken,” she said condescendingly—to Mircea. Because he was the dog owner. At least as far as another first-level master was concerned.
But Mircea knew better. Specifically, he knew me better, and probably read something on my face. Because his eyes widened slightly, and he opened his mouth, probably to say something to calm me down.
Too late.
“It was sort of a demon to the demons,” I told her flatly. “Called Kulullû. One of the Ancient Horrors, as they’re known, because they terrify even the demonic peoples. They’re old, they’re many times more powerful than most demons, and they’re usually insane. The demon high council trapped and imprisoned them millennia ago, but occasionally one gets loose and goes berserk. As I said, Adra—the head of the council—is checking on it.”
I sat down.
Mircea had a strange look on his face, part amused, part horrified, and part something I couldn’t name but that weirdly looked like pride. Ismitta and the rest of the table just stared at me. They appeared nonplussed rather than angry, like the cute dog had just taken a shit in the middle of the senate chamber and nobody knew what to do about it.
It didn’t look like they were used to being spoken to quite that abruptly, and by a lowly human, of all things, but to give Ismitta her due, she recovered quickly. And, this time, she addressed me. “You’re saying this wasn’t about the war, then?”
“Adra doesn’t know. That’s why he’s checking,” I added kindly.
She stared at me some more.
She looked like she was trying to decide what to do with that—not the information so much, but the tone, which had matched hers to me almost perfectly. A master vamp addressing her like that might have been taken as a challenge, but I wasn’t one. I was just Mircea’s little pet Pythia, so was she supposed to respond to Mircea?
I saw her flick a glance his way, but Mircea had gotten himself under control and was just standing there, trying to look like this was all perfectly normal. He was doing a pretty good job. He appeared calm, polite, and inoffensive, which seemed to confuse her even more.
What the hell is this? I could almost see her wondering.
Was he trying to undermine her? Because if so, why? They were on the same senate, even in the same clique, from what I’d heard. Ismitta’s absence had deprived the consul, who had formed a cabal with her, Mircea, and Marlowe, of an important vote. So Mircea was Ismitta’s ally, and not someone she’d expect to be angling for . . . what? Some kind of public showdown?
