She nodded.
"Isn't a mage some sort of a magician? A wizard? Wouldn't that mean he knew magic?"
A frown creased her brow. "Do you not have any mages where you are from?"
I made a half-shrugging motion that committed me to no particular answer.
"I thought they were everywhere, but I guess not. A mage does indeed know magic, he's a master wizard in fact, but it's dark magic that he practices. You might have gathered that Perdy and I feel strongly that it's our duty to spread the word about me Goddess's love to those who make use of the dark powers"—I made a little grimacing moue. I had been on the receiving end of Perdita's lectures about the power of Wicca more than once in the last twenty-four hours—"and she felt particularly that the Venediger could be turned from his path of destruction if only he would embrace the Rede."
"But he didn't," I said.
"No, and it was only last week that she finally admitted that nothing would turn him from the dark path. That's part of the reason why she feels so bad—she had intended on resigning her position, feeling it was wrong to stay working for him when he embodied everything we hold abhorrent, but now ... now she feels she has to stay on, at least until a new Venediger appears."
I closed my mouth from where it had been hanging open, trying to at least appear as if I had a few wits left. "The Venediger is a... uh ..."
"It's a position within the Otherworld, yes. You don't have them? No, you wouldn't, not in the States. Everything there is a democracy." She smiled. "Here we stay with the old ways. The Venediger is a position of power, a person who controls the Otherworld of each country."
"Sounds kind of like a paranormal Mafia."
She didn't laugh as I expected her to. Instead she looked troubled. "I'm afraid that's an accurate comparison. The Venediger—the one who died—long held France in his grip. No one challenged him, because of the power he held. Those who were foolish enough to cross him once never did so a second time. It was a virtual dictatorship. Our only hope of avoiding the same fate is if the next Venediger will be one of our own."
I couldn't keep my surprise from showing at that comment. "A Wiccan? A Wiccan can be a Venediger?"
She nodded. "Female Venedigers aren't common, but they aren't unknown. All that is needed to acquire the title is the ability to beat the other aspirants."
"How many people are there who are likely to try for the job?" I asked, wondering if Perdita had wanted the Venediger gone not because of his history with Bael, but because she wanted his position ... but that was stupid. Drake killed the Venediger; Bafamal admitted as much.
"Right now there are few people in France who have the power needed to control the Otherworld."
"The wyverns are powerful," I said slowly, my mind twisting and turning as it tried to work through a convoluted thought.
"Yes, but they are too bound to their septs to ever become a Venediger."
"Does Perdita—?"
I
hesitated, unwilling to put my thoughts into words. I didn't want to offend Ophelia with my question, but I had to know the truth. All of it. "Does Perdita have the power to become the next Venediger?"
"Perdy?" Ophelia's nose scrunched as she thought about the question. "I suppose she does. She's a very powerful Wiccan. Oh!" Her eyes went round as she clutched at my hand. "You don't think she intends to do it, do you? Become the Venediger? I hadn't thought she would, but you may be on to something. It is just the sort of challenge she would enjoy. She might just do it."
Every bell and siren that composed my mental warning system went into Red Alert double overtime. Ophelia's innocent act rang false, completely false. The question was, why did she want me to think Perdita hadn't considered the job of Venediger?
The answer to that was easy—she had to know I was beginning to suspect Perdita's motives. She would naturally be expected to cover up the acts of a dearly beloved sister.
And with that thought, a light clicked on in my head. I saw it all, saw the whole plan, each jigsaw piece of it fitting smoothly into the next. All those knowing looks between the two of them, Perdita's copy of the
Steganographia,
Perdita's lectures about people who tapped into the dark powers, Ophelia telling me that Perdita had had a relationship with Drake—it all came into focus as I sat watching Ophelia wring her hands with pretend worry. Even the vague something that bothered me in watching the video of Bafamal dropped into place—Drake had told me that dragons couldn't summon demons. He might have been lying, but thinking back, I was of the mind he had been telling the truth. That meant that someone else had to have summoned Bafamal. Ophelia prattled on about how wonderful it would be with a Wiccan in charge while I wondered idly if she knew that I was familiar with the fact that a dragon couldn't summon a servant of Abaddon.
"What are you going to do?"
I started, drawn out of my own dark musing by her question. "About Drake?"
She nodded.
I leaned back against the wall, wrapping my arms around my knees. I knew what the solution to the problem of the murders was, but as yet, I had no idea how to prove it. "I suppose I'm going to have to have it out with him."
She sucked her breath in, her blue eyes wide with surprise ... and perhaps a smidgen of pleasure. "A challenge? You're going to issue a challenge to him?"
I nodded.
Challenge
was a good word for what I wanted to do.
"How exciting! I've never seen a wyvern challenged."
"Yes, well, there's a first time for everything. A challenge might suit very well." I slid a glance her way. "It will allow me to reveal the truth."
"The truth is good," she said with a righteous nod. "I do hope I can help you. May I be your second? Perdy won't approve, but you are my friend. I can't turn my back on you when you're about to undertake something so terrifying as challenging a wyvern."
A tiny frown grew until my brows were pulled together, the awful suspicion bouncing around my head that there might be something more to a challenge than I had supposed. "Eh—"
She jumped up from the chair, turning to the cabinet of supplies. "I must cast a spell of clarity over you. Or no, perhaps one of protection would be best?"
"Protection?" I asked, getting a bit more worried.
"No one has ever challenged a wyvern and lived," she tossed over her shoulder as she rustled around the shelves. "Protection would be best, although clarity ... Oh, why can't Perdy be here to help me? She would know what to do."
"Um—"
She turned around, her arms full of jars of herbs, candles, and other supplies. "I'll just whip something up for you just as soon as we return from G & T."
"We're going to G & T?" I asked, now seriously worried and moving straight into panic land. "What... eh ... what exactly did you mean no one has ever challenged a wyvern and lived? You were talking about something a long time ago, right? Hundreds of years ago?"
"Goddess, no! Just last year someone challenged one of the wyverns—I believe it was Drake, although I was visiting my mother at the time. Perdy would know. She was still living with Drake then. One of the German mages accused him of stealing a very valuable ring, and challenged him. Drake killed the mage, of course."
"He did?" I squeaked.
She set her things down on the table next to the bookcase. "That is the way of dragons. It's one of the reasons Perdy and I have wanted the Venediger to see the True Path, so he would put his foot down about the violence that seems to follow the dragons." She drifted toward the door, her hands doing the usual graceful flutter that accompanied her conversation. "I'll just go get changed. Will you be ready in twenty minutes or so?"
I nodded, too dumbstruck to speak. Drake killed a man who challenged him? I stood up slowly and walked to the wardrobe, opening it to look at the face that stared out of the mirror hung on the inside door. My lips stretched into a suitably grim smile. "Out of the frying pan, Aisling, and into the fire ...
again."
"Are you sure this is a good idea? Inspector Proust closed the club down once—what if he comes back?"
"Perdy won't allow him entrance," Ophelia said, flipping a clump of her golden ringlets over her shoulder. Despite my insecurity at the situation, she spoke in a comforting tone of voice as we stood at the top of the three steps that led down to the club proper.
I looked behind us at the door that led to the street. There was no doorman, not even a bouncer in attendance. "How can she keep him from coming in?"
"Wards," Ophelia said, tugging my arm as she descended into the club. "Didn't you feel them when you came in? Come on, we'll get a table and have Perdy help us with the wording of your challenge."
I looked around the club as I obediently followed Ophelia. It looked the same as the last time I was there— smoky, crowded, music pulsing at almost a subconscious level. It was also wyvernless.
Well, almost.
"Cara,"
Fiat cried as a group of people between us parted. "I had hoped that I would find you here." ,.
Ophelia stopped and glanced back at me curiously. I made brief introductions. "A word of warning, Fiat—if you or any of your goon squad even looks like you're thinking of abducting me, I will scream bloody murder. I know for a fact that G & T is a neutral territory, and anyone who violates that neutrality will be in very hot water."
Fiat laughed, his blue eyes unreadable. "Ah,
cara,
you have such fire. You truly are worthy of being a wyvern's mate. Drake doesn't deserve you."
"No, he doesn't," I said dryly.
"As for violating the rules of G & T—" He smiled. "—who is there to stop me from doing whatever I desire with you? The Venediger is dead. No one has claimed his tide."
"We will stop you," Ophelia said suddenly, pushing her way in front of me. "Aisling is my friend. Perdy and I will stop you from harming her."
Fiat dismissed Ophelia's declaration with a flicker of his eyes. He lifted my chin with one cool finger, taking a long moment to study my face. "So determined, so forceful. But still mortal."
"She might be mortal, but she is challenging Drake Vireo," Ophelia trumpeted. "It is not everyone who has the courage to do so."
As it had the night I had called Drake Puff the Magic Dragon, the entire room went silent.
Respect dawned in Fiat's eyes as he considered me. "So, the Guardian plans to challenge her mate for control of the sept."
"No," I said quickly, shaking my head to add emphasis. "It's not like that—"
"Yes, she is," Ophelia cut in, waving a hand at me to shut up. "She will challenge him, and when he fails, she will rule in his place."
"But, I don't want—"
"Yes, you do," she whispered, turning so Fiat couldn't hear what she was saying. 'That's how a challenge is conducted. Ostensibly it's for control of the sept, but the loser must abide by whatever terms the winner sets. If you make one of the terms that Drake must turn himself in to the police, he will have to do so when you beat him."
"If I
beat him," I pointed out.
She waved that away. "You will triumph. You will have me and Perdy in your corner."
I watched as she turned back to Fiat, wondering if I should tell her that I knew the truth about her twin.
"We are about to formalize the terms of the challenge. If you will excuse us," Ophelia said with lofty arrogance, pushing Fiat aside to stride toward the back of the club.
"I will see you later,
cam,"
Fiat said, imbuing the words with a dark promise that was echoed in his eyes.
"Not if I see you first," I murmured, wary of outright insulting him. I was beginning to see the folly in tweaking a dragon's tail.
"This way—Perdy's office is in the back." Ophelia was waiting for me at the entrance to a dark hall that led to the bathrooms. We walked past the bathrooms, turned a corner, and headed for the two leather-studded doors that opened off to either side of the hallway. One of the doors bore black-and-yellow crime scene tape.
"That's the Venediger's office. Perdy said the police have sealed it, but she has the Venediger's solicitor working on releasing the business papers to her," Ophelia said, nodding to the door on the right. She opened the door opposite. 'This is Perdy's office. It's smaller, but it's— Goddess above, no!"
I looked at the body hanging in the center of the room, abstractly noting the fact that whoever killed Perdita had used a rough rope as the binding that tied her feet and hands together behind her back. Her body was suspended sideways in midair, the same rough rope wrapped around her waist several times before it was attached to a hook in the black beam that crossed the ceiling.
"The Third Demon Death," I said, not even looking at the circle drawn beneath the slowly rotating body. I didn't have to. I knew what it would show.
Ophelia hit the floor in a dead faint.
18
I stood in the opening to the hallway and searched the club for a familiar face, wishing more than ever that Jim was with me. I needed someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn't take one look at Perdita's dead body and run screaming to the police, but how was I to tell who was who?
There was a slight anticipatory rustle to the crowd of people drifting around the club as everyone paused and looked at the front entrance. Drake sauntered down the steps in a show of masculine grace, Istvan and Pal in tight wing formation behind him. I stepped back, into the shadow of the dimly lit hallway, not wanting Drake to see me. He was the last person I wanted to call upon for help with Perdita.
Even as I scanned for someone familiar, the crowd rippled again as Fiat approached Drake with languid grace. The two men exchanged cheek kisses; then Fiat leaned in to say something private to Drake, his hand gesturing toward the hall I stood in. Drake lifted his head as if to smell the air. I stepped farther back into the shadows, retreating to Perdita's office.
Ophelia moaned as I patted her cheeks in the approved "vague assistance to woman who has fainted" manner.