Who knew he should do something, but had no idea what.
For a moment, he just stood there, hugging the wall and staring like everyone else. Both because the spectacle deserved it and because, while he wasn’t sure what to do, he knew instinctively what not to do: he must not give any indication that he had any special knowledge of what was happening. The farce of a man being chased about by his own pet, which was now spanking him with the flat of the sword every few steps or so, might look amusing, but that could quickly change.
Very quickly.
Mircea had recently brokered an agreement with the Vampire Senate for his dhampir daughter, whom they would normally have killed on sight, to remain unharmed—as long as she stayed under his care and in Venice. Even then, the agreement was good only until she grew up, but at least it gave her a modicum of safety. A modicum that would last exactly as long as her mental abilities remained unknown.
For his kind respected power above all things—as long as it was theirs. But power they didn’t have and couldn’t counter, in the hands of a despised dhampir? Dorina would be dead the moment they knew.
Dorina, Mircea thought softly, careful not to raise even his mental voice. Because many of the vampires here tonight were senior enough that they might pick up on a stray thought, as he had done. That is sufficient. Go home now.
He’ll hurt the bear some more if I do!
I don’t think he’s going to be hurting anything tonight, darling, Mircea thought, which was an understatement. The mage was hysterical, staring around between blows, yelling the names of other mages whom he seemed to believe were pranking him. And then tripping over something, Mircea didn’t see what. And huddling in a little ball, arms over his head, whimpering every time a sword smack landed.
Can you get home alone? Mircea asked. Surreally, the bear looked his way, and nodded.
He swallowed. Go then.
And she did. Because Dorina was always obedient, although one had to remember to state exactly what was required. Otherwise, she had an impressive ability to find ways around even some of his most carefully worded instructions.
Like that one, he thought, as the sword was discarded, flung away into some bushes.
In favor of the whip.
No, no! Mircea thought, but it was too late. Because the whip, which had been sizzling against the ground like a snake made out of lightning, was even easier to use than the sword. The bear scooped the nonburning handle into its mouth, and turned toward the doors to the main part of the house, which were open again thanks to everyone coming this way.
Everyone who suddenly found themselves facing a huge, angry, fire-wielding bear.
Things went about the way one would expect after that, with Mircea being all but trampled as a houseful of finely dressed people screamed and fought and stepped on one another in their panic to get away.
By the time he made it back to his feet and into the house, it was to see overturned tables, shattered vases, burning draperies, and a long, blackened, still-smoking line on walls and floors and furniture, showing where the bear had been. He ran to the front door, just in time to see a fiery whip flaring in the distance, appearing to levitate down the bank of a canal. Because the dark hulk that carried it, and that his softhearted daughter was not about to leave behind, was no longer visible against the night.
Mircea sagged back against the wet bricks of the palazzo, feeling dizzy. And watching two finely dressed guards crawl out of the canal, cursing. And wondered, not for the first time, if he was up to this.
Parenting, he had discovered, was harder than he’d thought.
Chapter Fifteen
I awoke to rain seeping in the side of my tent and a crick in my neck. I poked my head out of a flap to see deep blue darkness spread over the lawn like a blanket, fey tents glowing faintly in the gloom, and somebody moving around in the kitchen. Well, okay, I technically heard the latter, not being able to see them from here, and because they were cursing softly.
My stomach growled. It seemed that half of a large swan hadn’t been enough to satisfy it. And I knew the drill: it was either stay here and stare at the top of my tent, because I wasn’t going back to sleep, or get up and do something about it.
I unfolded myself, cracked my neck, and padded into the kitchen. And found one of the royal guards staring at the coffeepot in annoyance. I grinned, and not just because the fey loved coffee, although they refused to admit it, since that would also require admitting that something about the human world was superior to their own. But because they refused to understand how electricity worked.
I plugged in the pot, and it started gurgling and burping its way toward heating some water. “Thank you,” the fey told me, looking slightly abashed. “I always forget to do that.”
“No problem.” Coffee sounded pretty good. My body was all wonky from sleeping much of the day; I could use a pick-me-up. Of course, I could use some food, too.
I mentally started running down the list of takeaway places open at one a.m. that might still be willing to deliver to us, when a package of something appeared under my nose.
“I don’t know that humans will like them,” the fey said, a little awkwardly. “But they go well with coffee.”
“They” turned out to be hard little wafer things, which could have passed for biscotti if I hadn’t been given them by a glowing blond god with a basketball star’s height.
I tried one.
They did, as it turned out, go well with coffee.
The fey and I sat at the kitchen table, chowing down. He wasn’t one I’d had any contact with, and he looked young. Not that they all didn’t. I’d yet to see a wrinkle or an age spot, even on Caedmon, who looked maybe thirty on a rough day.
This one didn’t look much younger, maybe twenty or so, but he felt younger. The easy assurance with which Caedmon did everything, as if he were an actor on the final take after days of rehearsal, was totally missing here. This one had not only forgotten to plug in the coffeepot; he’d also been standing in the dark until I’d switched on the light, which had made him jump. And seemed fascinated by the self-sealing coffee bag, with its little zipper closure. And was now examining the condiments in the center of the table, delicately sniffing the Tabasco sauce before rearing back in alarm.
And blinking at it worriedly.
“We don’t usually put that in coffee,” I told him, and he nodded, setting it back in place.
I got up and rummaged through the cabinets, which were pretty much back to normal. There were a few oak sprigs poking out here and there, but nothing that interfered with functionality. And the apple tree was completely gone—a pale scar cut across the ceiling boards, some of which were still out of alignment, but other than that, you’d think it had never existed. Even the old ship’s lantern was back in place and shining smugly, because I guess it had won.
Okay, it had definitely won, I thought, noticing a discreet pile of apple logs stacked by the stove. That was a little disturbing, but not surprising. This house had had issues long before the fey showed up.