The city watch was supposedly there to keep order in the vampire population, but in Mircea’s experience they were the guardians of the elite. And as these were guarding the most elite of all, he supposed it made sense that they were so bright with power that his inner eye could barely look at them. They could have reined
that in while he fumbled around under his cloak for the letter granting him admission, but they didn’t. Watching him squirm was probably the most entertainment they’d had all night.
Until he couldn’t find it.
Damn! He’d been in such a hurry that he must have left it at home. And there was no possibility of getting in without it. He knew that even before one of them gave him a friendly shove that almost resulted in his taking a bath in the canal.
“Run back to your master, dog. Tell him you broke your leash!”
Mircea’s hand reached unbidden for his boot, and the knife therein. And then froze, stock-still, like the rest of him, when two swords suddenly flashed in his face. He hadn’t even seen them move.
“Or maybe we’ll tell him ourselves, when we deliver your gutted carcass.”
Mircea backed slowly away, hands where they could see them, and they let him go. The impression conveyed was that it was more from a desire not to get wet than any concern over him, or the feelings of his nonexistent master. A vampire forced to use one such as him as an errand runner wasn’t worth fearing.
But that was the thing about power, Mircea thought, as he nipped down an alley and started scaling the side of the palazzo: it made a person complacent. The guards out front were impressive in size and outfitted luxuriously, right down to the stone in the pinkie ring one had sported on a meaty finger, which exactly matched his emerald silks. But they were there more for show than anything else.
After all, who would be crazy enough to burgle the praetor?
The term was an old-fashioned way to designate the leading magistrate in a territory. And since Venice was one of the wealthiest and most influential vampire territories in all Europe, its praetor was rivaled only by the awe-inspiring consul herself. Mircea had a healthy respect for that kind of power.
But he was also running out of time to help his daughter, and he wasn’t going home empty-handed. Not when he knew that the praetor’s pinch-nosed bastard of a secretary always kept his window open, to air out his fetid work space. Fortunately, that was true even in a rainstorm, which was why all the papers near the window were already soggy even before Mircea slid neatly over them.
And then almost broke his neck anyway, because the place was a wreck.
The pompous creature insisted on calling it a studiolo, as if he were Petrarch, hard at work on his latest scholarly achievement, surrounded by art and antiquities. In reality, it was a cramped cubbyhole off the vamp’s bedroom, filled with dirty wineglasses and smelly plates of anchovies he kept forgetting about, which slowly moldered under tall piles of books, clothes, and household accounts. Which was why Mircea had to crawl under a table to get out of the mess.
But he managed it. And once he shed his soaked cloak in the quiet corridor beyond, he looked almost respectable. He ran a hand through his hair, stashed the cloak behind a vase, and joined the party.
And quite a party it was.
Mircea made his way through a chain of rooms, some devoted to dancing, some to gambling, and others to lounging and deal making, and all of them awash in people. For this wasn’t merely a party, just as it wasn’t merely a house. It was the vampire counterpart to the Doge’s Palace and every bit as splendid, with the same type of inlaid floors, mural-covered walls, and fine paintings and statuary.
Normally, he had to force himself not to dawdle in front of the latest piece of art, because there was always something new. But tonight, he felt his steps quicken, not slowing even at the sight of a faun caught in perfect, fluid marble. Or at the fascinating snippets of mental conversation that he wasn’t supposed to hear, but that floated his way anyway, thanks to his growing abilities.
“—merely pointing out that age isn’t the question; it’s all about power—”
“And you think the praetor is more powerful than the Lady?”
“Not now perhaps, but in time—”
“How much time? The consul is two thousand years old! If you really think—”
“I don’t think anything. Except that power ebbs and flows, like the tide. Best watch the current, see which way it goes.”
Mircea normally would have paused at that, because he had reason to have some loyalty to the consul in question. But there were always schemes and power plays, and he had more immediate concerns. And the consul was perfectly able to take care of herself.
Of course, the same could be said for the object of his search, whom he finally spied in an open courtyard at the end of the hall. And who spied him at almost the same time, lifting a glass and laughing. “Mircea! Come join us!”
The husky, somewhat masculine voice belied an elegant appearance, which could have stepped right off an ancient plinth. It helped that the elaborate hairstyles preferred by Venetian ladies, full of swags and braids and buns, mimicked closely those of old Rome. And that the current favorite style of evening gown, with its low-cut top and flowing draperies, could, if one squinted, be mistaken for ancient attire. Her coloring was perfect for the part, too: burnished olive complexion, huge brown eyes, and high, arched brows as dark as his own.
She drew the eye, but that wasn’t why he was here. It also wasn’t why she was surrounded by sycophants, flatterers, and hangers-on, who coveted the vast patronage she controlled. For the praetor, the most powerful person in Venice and one of the leading lights of the vampire world, was a woman.
It was one of the many things that Mircea was still adjusting to in his new reality, where either sex could make Children, where power trumped everything else, and where none of the old rules applied.
But he was getting used to it. Like he was getting used to the perpetual parties, because Lucilla seemingly did business nowhere else. Which probably explained why there was such a throng in the garden.
Although there might be another reason, Mircea realized, finally breaking through the crowd to see what all the excitement was about.