For once, Alphonse refrained from a snide comment on the quality of Casanova’s stable. “And now you got more.”
Sal looked at me and I looked defiantly back. I wasn’t budging until I knew about Rafe. She sighed. “I’ll go. This place is fucking depressing. What does everyone want?”
As soon as she left, I rounded on Alphonse. “How could turning someone weaken a first-level master? They do it all the time!”
Alphonse tilted his head back against the wall. For a moment, I didn’t think he’d bother to answer. But then he cut his eyes my way and I must have looked pretty frantic, because he sighed. “For a master to turn a non-magical human, yeah—it’s no problem,” he told me. “Three bites from the same vampire in quick succession and that’s pretty much it. But Rafe was already turned.”
“So?”
“So to break the bond, Mircea has to drain Tony’s blood from Rafe and replace it with his own. Normally, it’s exhausting, but no big deal. A first-level master’s blood is pretty damn potent, so it doesn’t take a lot. But Rafe’s so far gone, Mircea’s gonna have to lend him extra power just so he can survive the Change.”
“And that means draining himself dangerously low,” I guessed, wishing I hadn’t asked.
Alphonse scowled at a couple of orderlies who had been loitering around like starstruck teenagers ever since Mircea showed up. They quickly found somewhere else to be. “The master’s gonna be hemorrhaging power whether this works or not,” he rumbled. “I’m here to see that he doesn’t pay for it.”
There didn’t seem to be much else to say, after that. The three of us sat there silent, unmoving and, in the case of the vampires, not even breathing. I couldn’t tell how Casanova and Alphonse were feeling, because they’d lapsed into the non-expression vamps use when there’s no reason to impress the humans. But I felt anxious, miserable and utterly useless.
For some reason, my brain kept going to the presents Rafe used to bring me whenever he went on a trip. They were always thoughtful, fitting whatever I needed at the time. As a rambunctious tomboy, I’d received a plastic gladiator helmet from Rome and a matching sword that I’d used to chase him through the halls of Tony’s farmhouse. As an adolescent girl who wanted to appear more grown-up than she was, I’d been given small bottles of perfume from Paris, perfectly child-sized but filled with adult fragrances. And right before my escape from Tony’s, Rafe had slipped me my very first fake ID.
He had never asked for anything in return, had never seemed to expect or want anything. He was probably the only person in my life I could say that about. And now he was dying.
I usually wasn’t a violent person. I’d seen so much of it growing up that it had lost its glamour for me, even before everybody and their dog started attacking me. So it took me a few minutes to put a name to the feeling flushing my cheeks and curdling my stomach. I didn’t know who was behind the attack today, or even for certain that anyone was. But I knew one thing.
If I ever found out, I’d kill them.
Chapter Thirteen
I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I woke up with my head against Marco’s shoulder, which somebody appeared to have drooled on. My eyes were gummy and I felt like I’d been hit by a large truck. My shoulders and back were in knots and my head was pounding. But Mircea was outside the screen, leaning heavily on Alphonse’s arm, and Rafe was—
“Rafe!” I bolted up the aisle, grabbed him and held on tight, whispering things that hurt against my throat. He still looked like death, but he was on his feet, and the skin that showed under the pale blue hospital gown he’d acquired was crisscrossed by scars but whole. The cracks were gone, the redness was gone, and he was standing. I was seeing it, and I could barely believe it.
“He br
oke your bond,” Sal said, and the look she sent Rafe was half relief, half jealousy. She’d been after Mircea to do the same for her and Alphonse ever since they came to Vegas, but so far, he hadn’t had the time or the energy to spare.
Rafe didn’t notice the undercurrent. He just nodded, looking dazed and amazed and utterly exhausted. He glanced at me, but I wasn’t sure he even knew who I was.
“My son requires a room,” Mircea told Casanova.
“I have something ready. Your rooms are waiting as well, of course. And the Consul requests an audience at your earliest convenience.”
“Tell her I will see her in an hour,” Mircea said. Casanova blinked and started to say something but swallowed the words. Instead, he mutely led the way out of the infirmary.
Dante’s had two penthouses, one in each of its twin towers, with the second reserved for the hotel’s owner. The best thing about them from my standpoint was their sheer inaccessibility. Each suite took up a whole floor and the only way in was through a private elevator with key-code access. And just in case Spidey scaled the building or a bunch of ninjas rappelled out of a helicopter, we were joined by a dozen guards as we crossed the lobby.
Six took the elevator up ahead of us, and the rest waited to follow. Marco, Mircea’s two guards, Casanova, Sal and Alphonse came up with us. And even in the plush elevator, which boasted its own padded bench seat and twinkly chandelier, that was a squeeze. I was all for security, but I didn’t see how anyone was supposed to draw a weapon if we couldn’t even move.
“Do we need a whole platoon?” I asked when we finally got the doors closed.
“The order went out after MAGIC fell: no one of senatorial rank is to go anywhere without an escort,” Mircea informed me.
“But you’re a master vampire.”
“And you are Pythia,” he said pointedly. “At the moment, our power merely makes us better targets.”
“Not for long,” Casanova said, his voice muffled because he’d ended up squashed behind two huge vampires. “The Senate has a staff working to strengthen the wards.”
“Wards don’t have eyes and ears,” Marco argued.“They’ll never replace a well-trained bodyguard.”