I ignored him. “Give me a hand up.” Tomas thought I was talking to him and bent over, forcing Billy Joe to dodge out of the way. I sat and looked about. There were eleven dead wererats, including Jimmy. His glassy rat eyes stared at me accusingly through the dissipating smoke, and I swore. “Damn it! I wanted to talk to him!” I rounded on Pritkin, who was standing with his arms raised theatrically, almost like he was pushing on something, only there was nothing there but air. “You killed him before I could ask about my father!”
Pritkin wasn’t paying me any attention. His eyes were focused outside our circle and he didn’t look good. His face was red, his eyes were glazed and the cords on the sides of his neck were bulging. When he spoke, it was in a strangled whisper. “I can’t hold much longer.” That didn’t make sense until I noticed a faint blue tinge to the air around us and realized that we were standing inside the mage’s shields. He’d created a defensive bubb
le around us by expanding his own protection, but it looked thin and weak, not like his old shields at all. Perhaps he’d stretched it too far; personal shields were designed for one person only. He was right; it wasn’t going to last.
“We have to get Cassie out of here,” Tomas said, and I noticed that his face also looked strained. Not as if he were bench-pressing a few hundred pounds like Pritkin, but as if he was terrified. He wasn’t watching the mage, though, or anything beyond him. He was looking at me.
Louis-César was the only one who seemed normal, with no visible signs of strain on that pleasant face. “Mademoiselle, if you have recovered sufficiently, may I suggest that you return to MAGIC? Tomas will take you.”
Pritkin mumbled something and a glowing symbol wrote itself in the air for an instant, so close I could have reached out and touched it, before dissolving into the shields. I knew what he was doing since one of the mages at Tony’s had set up a perimeter ward on his vault using words of power. I had been intrigued that he could build a protective spell on something as intangible as a spoken word, but he’d explained that he was using it as a focus for his own energy.
Magic comes from many sources. The Fey and, to a much lesser degree, lycanthropes are said to get theirs from nature, drawing on the massive energy of the planet as it moves at terrifying speeds through space. Gravity, sunlight, the pull of the moon, can all be converted to energy if you know how. I’ve even heard speculation that the Earth generates a magical field the same way it does a gravitational one, and that someday, someone will figure out how to tap it. That is the holy grail of modern magical theory, though, and no one has managed to do it so far—although countless hours have been lost trying. Until the mystery is solved, human magic users can borrow only a tiny amount from nature; most of their power has to come from themselves. Except for dark-magic users, who can borrow tremendous magical energy by stealing the lives of others or from the netherworld, but they pay a huge price for it.
Some mages are inherently stronger than others, but most use some kind of cheat to enhance their abilities. Most have talismans to gather natural energy like batteries over long periods, to be disbursed at the mage’s command, like Billy’s necklace. Some form links with other magic users that allow them to borrow power in time of need, like the Silver Circle. Others enlist as allies magical creatures who can absorb natural energy better than they. I didn’t know what Pritkin might be using besides his own power, but it didn’t appear to be working too well. His shields glowed a bit brighter after the symbol touched them but almost immediately dulled again. Something was sapping their strength, and at a very fast rate.
I looked around but couldn’t find the source of the threat. The parking lot looked quiet if not exactly peaceful—the burning hulk of a couple of nearby cars showed dimly through the dispersing blue smoke. I narrowed my eyes at Louis-César but doubted he’d tell me much. Luckily, I didn’t need him. “Billy? What’s going on?”
“To whom are you speaking?” Louis-César began to look less than calm for the first time. “She may have a concussion,” he told Tomas. “Be careful with her.”
I ignored him because Billy was floating near Pritkin and he’d started gesturing wildly at him, then all around, then out at the night. “Billy! What in the world are you doing? It’s not like anyone else can hear you—spit it out!”
“Your familiar cannot help you, sybil.” The voice came out of the dark, and I noticed that the five vamps lounging around the outer edges of the lot had been joined by a friend. He was hard to see in the predawn light, but the feeling emanating off him wasn’t nice. It made me glad I couldn’t see his face. “I have warded against him. No one can help you, but then, you do not need it. You are in no danger, sybil. Come with me and I guarantee that no one will harm you. We value your gifts and want to help you develop them, not to keep you hiding and afraid all your life. Come to me, and I will let your friends, if they are friends, go in peace.”
“My name’s Cassie. You’ve got the wrong girl.” I wasn’t interested in a conversation, but Billy Joe was trying to tell me something and I had to give him time to play charades.
“I used your proper title, Miss Palmer, although your name is interesting, too. Did anyone ever tell you its significance?” He laughed. “Don’t tell me they have allowed you to grow up completely in ignorance? How lacking in foresight. We will not make the same mistake.”
“Cassandra was a seer in Greek mythology. The lover of Apollo.” Eugenie had made sure we did myths of the Greeks and Romans as part of my schoolwork—apparently it was an important part of a young lady’s education back in her day—and I hadn’t complained because I thought it was kind of fun. I’d forgotten most of it but remembered my namesake. I’d thought Cassandra a good name for a clairvoyant, until now.
“Not quite, my dear.” The voice was full and rich and might have been attractive if it hadn’t been accompanied by that vague, underlying something that reminded me of rotten fruit: overripe and mealy. “Apollo, the god of all seers, loved the beautiful human Cassandra, but she did not return his affections. She pretended to love, long enough to gain the gift of foreknowledge; then she ran away. He finally found her, of course—like you, she could not hide forever—and exacted his revenge. She could keep the gift, he said, but she would see only tragic events, and no one would believe her when she prophesied until it was too late.”
I shivered; I couldn’t help it. His words cut a little too close to the bone. He somehow seemed to know he’d made a hit, and laughed again. “Don’t worry, lovely Cassandra. I will teach you that there can be beauty in the dark.”
“What is going on?” I hissed at Billy, more to block out that seductive, awful voice than because I expected an answer.
The dark mage responded, even though he shouldn’t have been able to hear a whisper that far away. “The white knight’s wards are failing, sybil. We will talk face-to-face soon.”
I decided that was not a talk I’d enjoy. I glanced at Billy Joe. “Do you remember those three days after I left Philly the last time?” He stared at me blankly for a second, then violently shook his head and started making wild gestures. Yep, he remembered all right.
I knew only one power word. It wasn’t a weapon but was designed to add stamina in times of emergency by drawing on the body’s reserves—all its reserves. It was dangerous to use, since if the power it gave ran out before the threat was over, you’d be as weak as a kitten when the bad guys caught you, but it packed a hell of a punch while it lasted. I’d used it to stay awake for more than three days straight after fleeing from Tony the second time. I’d researched it and practiced with one of the rogue mages at court, since I’d known from experience that it would take seventy-two hours for the trace charms on Tony’s wards to wear off. I’d gotten lucky the first time I left—I fell asleep on a bus, and my pursuers hadn’t been able to tell which of the half dozen vehicles that had just left the crowded station was mine. By the time they picked up the trail, I’d woken up, panicked and switched buses. I managed to stay ahead of them for the required three days, but I’d had several close calls and hadn’t wanted to try that trick twice. Tony’s guys had gotten a lot of practice tracking me during my first disappearance, and this time I wouldn’t have the value of surprise.
My plan had worked, but the price was high: when the jolt finally wore off, I slept for a week and lost ten pounds. I’d have probably lost a lot more—like my life—except that Billy Joe and I had figured out that the energy exchange between us worked both ways. He could give me juice as well as take it, and right now he was tanked.
Billy drifted lower, increasing the arm waving and scowling. He was obviously trying to tell me that he didn’t want to talk out loud, and there was only one alternative. I sighed. “Come on in.” A warm wash settled over me, and Billy flowed inside, giving me a replay of him digging his mother’s grave in Ireland as he settled down.
“Have you lost your mind?!”
“Just tell me if it will work—can we reinforce the shields?”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?”
I sighed. “Don’t bitch; you know you can spare it! Can we do it?”
“Shit if I know!” Billy was at his acidic best. “I don’t go playing around with words of power! If this thing backfires, it could be bad—real bad.”
“It worked last time.”
“You almost died last time!”