But Zheng just rolled his eyes. “I think everybody’s agreed. Putting up with you is punishment enough.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking sometimes,” Ray hissed, as we followed a couple of helmeted warriors down a highly polished hallway. “After what happened last night, you just run off? Like they’re not gonna care?”
“I needed to talk to Zheng-zi.”
“I needed to talk to Zheng-zi,” he mimicked. “No, you did not! You need to stay away from that guy. He’s bad news, okay? The whole family is.”
“It’s your family.”
“Not anymore. And I’m not crying over the loss, all right?”
I didn’t answer because it hadn’t been a question. And because I was busy trying not to fall on my ass. The smart gray pumps I’d been given to wear had a one-button strap, fashionable pointed toes, and the red soles of a famous design house. Unfortunately, they also had four-inch heels and no traction, although that might not have been a problem if the consul hadn’t been aiming to impress.
Not me, obviously, but the senior masters in town for the challenges obviously rated better. Including floors so glossy they would have been blinding had any sun been allowed to penetrate this far. As it was, they were slippery as hell, and falling wasn’t an option.
After my unauthorized detour, four guards had been delegated to see to it that I reached my destination. And they weren’t wasting time. I had the impression that if I slowed down, the two behind us would just flat out run me down.
And they could probably do it, too. Every one of them was a high-level master, second and third, at a guess. Which was why it was kind of impressive that the consul had persuaded them to wear the Halloween costumes they currently had on.
Of course, I’d heard that persuasion was her specialty.
Or maybe they just enjoyed dressing up like Roman centurions, complete with shiny gold breastplates, matching greaves, and helmets topped by huge red ostrich plumes. And they weren’t the only spit-and-polish types in evidence. Pretty much everybody I saw had on some type of special attire, to the point that I decided I owed Louis-Cesare’s people an apology.
This was not the kind of place where you wanted to be caught wearing sweats.
“They really went all out, didn’t they?” Ray said, looking about in awe at the mirror-like surface of the marble.
Or maybe it was the silk banners framing every door that got his attention, emblazoned with the Senate logo in vibrant red and gold. Or the pairs of guards, rippling with power, who framed the banners. Or the high-arched ceilings, or the floors inlaid with the consul’s personal emblem in lapis and coral, or the ancient statues and priceless vases stuck carelessly in niches, like bric-a-brac.
So, yeah. All out.
I couldn’t recall being that impressed the last time I was here. But then, I’d been trying not to collapse under the burden of the power that practically permeated the walls. Which wasn’t exactly fun at the moment, either, so it was a relief when we finally stopped in front of a door.
Which promptly opened in my face.
“When you said Jonathan, did you mean Waldron?”
I blinked at Marlowe, who had been looking worse every time I saw him and now appeared to have been dragged through a combine backward. He was still in the purloined clothes from last night, despite having had plenty of time to change. In addition to being ill-fitting, they were now dirty and torn and bloody. I stared at a hairy knob of a knee, which was poking through a rip on one trouser leg. He looked like a hobo.
“What?” I asked stupidly.
“The necromancer,” he said, and then popped back inside before I could answer. I guess the idea was for me to follow him, which I would have—if there hadn’t been two grim-faced soldier types still in front of me.
One of whom was flat out staring me down.
And fingering the pommel of the sword at his side. You know, the sword he looked like he’d like to show me personally just as soon as I gave him the slightest excuse. Like trying to push him out of the way, for instance.
It occurred to me that this level of animosity was a little unusual. Not if we had met somewhere at random—plenty of vamps have taken against me through the years for the terrible crime of existing. And that was without my occasional diplomatic failure. But here. Now. In the consul’s home, within a short distance of a bunch of people who would not be happy to see me in pieces.
Not until they’d questioned me, anyway.
Of course, if he’d been among those whose feelings got hurt last night…
But no. He’d still have to have his lady’s permission to provoke me, since anything else would end with him as target practice for the night. And, of course, she wouldn’t give it. She was classier than that.
Sure she was.
He was still staring at me, and I hadn’t really noticed before that the helmets had protrusions—nose guards and huge chin guards that obscured most of the face. But his stance was enough to make it clear that he was getting a little intense. Like he might not wait for that provocation. Which would be a shame, since if I was about to take a hit, I’d at least like to deserve it.