“They’re war mages. They’re
never
happy.”
“Anyway, if I were you, I’d assume they know. Which means that staying around here probably isn’t healthy.”
Crap.
I got dressed in record time despite the fact that none of the clothes fit. The blue polo strained over Pritkin’s shoulders, the khakis were painfully tight in the thighs, and the waist was at least two sizes too big. But I tucked in the shirt, which helped a little, and ran barefoot down the stairs. Billy floated behind me, looking full of himself. I was going to owe him big for this.
I found them in the kitchen. Marsden was by the stove, turning sausages in a frying pan, while Pritkin was intent on a paper. The lurid title proclaimed it to be
Crystal Gazing,
which I hadn’t known they had here. It was a pretty disreputable tabloid that didn’t seem his style.
“Billy says the Circle knows I’m here. You may have more visitors soon,” I told Marsden.
“Good morning, Cassie.” His electrocuted hair was extra fluffy today, a bright halo around his head. It was kind of awesome. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“I’ll skip it. We need to get out of here.”
“The wards will hold,” he said placidly. “Now, one egg or two?”
“I’ll just have toast,” I told him, hoping to hurry this along. I didn’t have his confidence in the wards.
“She’ll take two eggs, a side of sausage, mushrooms, potatoes and toast,” Pritkin corrected.
“I can’t eat all that!”
“You can and you will. You may starve your body, but you do not get to do it to mine.”
“I don’t starve my—” I broke off, getting a look at his plate. It had everything in the list he’d given Marsden, plus a side of what looked like baked beans. And an entire pot of syruplike coffee sat off to the side. “I thought you were a health nut!”
“You need to eat more,” Pritkin said, taking a bite that appeared to have some of everything on it. “I almost cut myself on your shoulder blades this morning.”
I ignored that. “We don’t have time for breakfast, anyway. The Circle could be on the way here now!”
“Doubtful,” Marsden said, looking unconcerned. “If Saunders is aware that we are in discussions, he will expect us to go to him and be preparing accordingly.”
“We aren’t in discussions! You brought me here against my will!”
“I’m sure you will have no difficulty explaining that to the Circle,” the conniving old man said.
Pritkin looked up, scowling. “We’re being railroaded!” I pointed out.
“Yes, but not by him.” Pritkin pushed the paper toward me, and the screaming headline momentarily made me forget everything else.
CASSANDRA PALMER’S DARK PAST
“We knew it was only a matter of time,” he said, as I snatched it out of his hands.
Pythia or Pretender?
While a successor to the recently deceased Lady Phemonoe has yet to be officially announced, sources inside the Silver Circle allege that the power may have gone to obscure, noninitiate Cassandra Palmer. “If true, this would be a disaster,” said a high-level source who asked not to be named. “Her background speaks for itself.”
Indeed it does.
Crystal Gazing
has learned that her mother was Elizabeth O’Donnell, onetime heir to the Pythia’s throne. This is the same initiate, it will be recalled, who was disgraced and dismissed after she eloped with Roger Palmer, a man in the employ of Antonio Gallina, the notorious Philadelphia crime boss. Her daughter is believed to have been brought up at Gallina’s court, using her abilities to forward his nefarious activities. Since then, rumors have linked her name with that of Gallina’s master, Vampire Senate member Mircea Basarab. The Senate had yet to comment on these allegations at press time.
Yeah, I bet the Senate was about as thrilled as I was to have my background splashed all over the press. Pritkin was right—I’d known it was coming—but it was still a blow. The article even included a picture. My own face stared up at me, not from a photograph—I hadn’t had one of those taken in longer than I could remember—but from a composite sketch. My chin was too big and the artist had given me a better nose than I actually possessed, along with a sulky, hostile expression. But it was close enough.
I sat down because my knees felt a little weak. How was I supposed to go anywhere, do anything, now? If this had come out a day earlier, the pawnshop guy could have excused himself, placed a call and had a dozen war mages there in five minutes. I hadn’t fully realized how much I’d relied on anonymity until I didn’t have it anymore.
“The Circle leaked this on purpose.”
“Very likely,” Marsden agreed. “It’s standard procedure before taking action that may be received negatively. A sort of preemptive public relations, if you will.”
“The measure they’re trying to prepare people for is my murder!”
He looked up at me, those blue eyes suddenly keen. “Which is why you need me, my dear.”
I sighed. “Let me have it.”
“Saunders won the last election by portraying me as a doddering old fool who was past his prime but was too stubborn to leave office. He promised a reenergized Circle, change, prosperity. What he failed to mention is that the prosperity was all going to him.”
“What are you saying?” Pritkin was leaning over the table, his hawklike gaze fixed on Marsden.
“That he’s been skimming, and very cleverly, too, ever since he took office. He’s increased the rate of the tithe from all of us and pocketed the difference.”
“That’s impossible. Someone would have noticed!”
“Someone did notice. And it landed him in one of MAGIC’S cells.”
“There’s an oversight committee—”
“Staffed by Saunders’ cronies. One of the first things he did after the election was to clean house. The only people in positions of authority today are those with an interest in keeping him there!”
“You realize I have no idea what you’re talking about, right?” I asked.
“Have you seen the tattoo our mages wear?” Marsden asked, rolling up his sleeve.
“No. Pritkin doesn’t have one.” It wasn’t like I could have missed it.
Marsden held out his arm. “It’s a silver circle, for obvious reasons. It’s used to link part of our power into a common fund to support such things as require a universal effort.”
“Such as Artemis’ spell,” Pritkin explained.
“Okay, following you so far.”
“The drain is supposed to be fixed at two percent of our magic—and no more. But Saunders quietly upped the percentage seven months ago—by almost half a point—and has been quietly selling the remainder.”
“And that’s illegal?”
“Highly! Not even the Council could approve such a thing. It would require the agreement of a majority of Circle members. And for that, he would need a better reason than lining his own pockets!”
“An extra half percent doesn’t sound like enough to take that kind of a risk,” I protested.
Marsden raised a bushy white eyebrow. It looked like a caterpillar crawling across his forehead. “Of one war mage’s power, perhaps not. But of a quarter million?”
“A quarter
million
?”
“That is the approximate number of war mages currently in service.”
I sat back in my chair. “Okay. That’s a lot of power.” I’d never realized exactly how strong the Circle was.
“That percentage could mean the difference between life and death for a mage in the field,” Pritkin said.
“It’s worst than that,” Marsden told him. “Saunders’ profitable sideline has warped his entire policy. He should have confirmed this child weeks ago. Instead he’s had the Circle hunting her down when they should be fighting a war because he’s afraid of what she knows or will soon discover through her clairvoyance.”
“But what about Agnes’ clairvoyance?” I asked. “She was still Pythia when he started this!”
“She was also frail and ill and preoccupied trying to locate her missing heir. The entire Pythian Court was bent on nothing else, leaving him a window of opportunity—which he seized.”
“And wants to retain,” Pritkin guessed.
“Yes. Having a Pythia over whom he exerts no influence come to power would not only mean the end of his profitable venture, but also very likely his exposure.”
“That would explain why he hasn’t wanted to meet,” I said, feeling sick.
“A reasonable precaution. A clairvoyant is much more likely to see the truth when confronted with it face-to-face.”
“What are you planning to do?” Pritkin asked grimly.
“To challenge him, of course.”
“Jonas—”
“It’s the only possible way, John. I could go public with my evidence, but Saunders controls the papers and has a stranglehold on the Council. The story would be hushed up and I would be silenced, either frozen in lockup like poor Peter or more permanently, given last night’s example.”
I looked back and forth between the two of them. “What’s a challenge?”
“It’s an old law but never rescinded. If a member of the ruling Council believes the Lord Protector is corrupt or dangerously incompetent, he can challenge him. And the fact that I lost the last election does not negate my appointment to the Council. I still have a month left on my last term, and I intend to use it!”
“I don’t get it,” I said as he set a pot of tea by my elbow. “Challenge him how?”
“To a duel,” Pritkin said tightly.
Marsden nodded. “If he loses, the Circle will be without a leader, and the law says that in that case the most senior Council member will rule until such a time as an election can be held. And that would be me.”
“Assuming you win,” Pritkin pointed out.
Marsden shrugged. “Yes, but let me worry about that. All I want Cassandra to do is get me to him. And in return, I will personally see to it that she is confirmed as Pythia.”
“And you’re going to get the Circle to accept me. Just like that,” I said.
He shrugged. “It really isn’t up to them to accept or reject you.”
“They seem to think otherwise!”
“Hmm. Yes. But it is difficult to support that case when they have nothing to do with the actual selection.The power chooses the Pythia. It has always been so, and I have yet to see it choose poorly.” He flipped the edge of the scandal rag with a finger. “Your background notwithstanding, it
did
come to you. And there it ends.”
“No. It ends when they kill me and hope that it goes to a nice, docile initiate Saunders can control.”
“Something that will not happen once I return to power,” he said calmly.
He slid a plate in front of me a moment later, and it actually looked pretty good. The potatoes were browned to a perfect crisp and the sausages were still sizzling. I dug in.
“What do you think I can do?” I asked between mouthfuls.
“Saunders rarely goes anywhere in public,” he told me, filling a plate and joining us. “And when he does, he’s so well guarded I can’t get near him. But you can.” He stopped to sip some deadly coffee. “Security has been maximized due to the war, and his location is a well-guarded secret.”
Not tomorrow, I thought, shoveling in potatoes. Saunders would be at the reception for the consuls, waiting to meet with me. And I could get Marsden in. The question was, should I?
I knew Mircea was plotting something, or he wouldn’t have agreed to another meeting with Saunders. But it seemed more than likely that Saunders was planning something, too, and I didn’t think it was anything I’d like. If someone had told me yesterday that I’d seriously be considering a coup against the leader of the Circle, I’d have laughed. I wasn’t laughing now.
But I also wasn’t ready to join a coup. The problem wasn’t just that it was insane. A much bigger obstacle was those damn visions. They had me so freaked out that I was hesitant to do anything in case I made the wrong decision. It wasn’t a new feeling.
I’d spent the last month terrified of my position, sure that no human should have this kind of power. It had been reserved for a god, and even he hadn’t done so great with it. It had felt like a choking noose of responsibility, in which one wrong decision could destroy a world. But the catch was, if I didn’t act, I might destroy it anyway.
Maybe that was what the visions were trying to say: that if I didn’t use my power, it was the same as if I didn’t have it at all. And we couldn’t win this war without a Pythia. Unfortunately for our side, I wasn’t much of one.
I concentrated on eating for a few minutes, knowing that the draw Billy needed would wipe me out if I didn’t. Everything was good, except for the sausage. It coated my tongue with grease and just seemed to get bigger the longer I chewed. I’d have spit it into a napkin if the cook hadn’t been sitting right there.
“What is this?” I finally asked Marsden.
“My mother’s recipe,” he said absently. “Black pudding.”
I poked at the remainder on my plate. It didn’t look like pudding. It looked like a dark-colored sausage. “What’s in it?”
“The usual,” he said with a shrug. “Fat, onions, oatmeal—and pig’s blood, of course.”
I swallowed hard. Damn it, I knew I should have had toast. I drank tea until the queasiness passed and stared down at my likeness again. It really was pretty close. I guess a few of the mages I’d battled in the last month had paid attention. At least I made the front page, I thought dismally, flipping over to page two, where the story continued. And stopped dead at the first line.
Even more disturbing are rumors about Palmer’s father.
Pritkin said something, but I didn’t hear him. My brain had frozen in its tracks, fixated on the word “father.” Because I’d never known mine.
Tony had seen to that, engineering my parents’ deaths when I was four so he could monopolize my talents. As a result, I’d grown up knowing almost nothing about them. I’d recently discovered a little about my mother, but my knowledge about my father had been confined to the single fact that he had once been Tony’s “favorite human.”