And, okay, this was new.
Peering at us over the countertop were a line of wizened little . . . somethings. Grayish green and brown and vaguely hoary, had they been in a glade somewhere, I might have walked right past them and thought they were moss-covered stones. But here, under the bright lights of the carny’s booth, they were obviously . . . somethings.
“Spriggans, ride with trolls,” the carny said, seeing my surprise. He leaned in. “Don’t give them any money.”
“What?”
“They’ll go off and bury it somewhere, and then we won’t have a game, will we?”
“Do we have a game?” Louis-Cesare said, because he did not appear to be interested in things that ride with trolls. He appeared to be interested in the bears, eyeing them as if reevaluating his whole impression of me. “You truly wish one of these?” he asked, his eyes sliding to mine.
“Or two. Two is good.”
“Two.”
“And easy it is, sir, easy it is. Just take these,” the carny slid three spiky balls across the counter. “Fix ’em to the back wall there, just anywhere you please. Black circles get you a fine key chain, hand carved by some of the locals—truly stunning work. The purple areas get you a premium box of candy for the lady here,” he smirked at me. “And the green circles, well, those’ll get you one of these fine, handcrafted—”
“And the pink. Those are for the bears, yes?” Louis-Cesare asked.
“Uh, yes. Yes, indeed.” The carny broke off his spiel to nod at three tiny, bright pink circles amid the busy backdrop, which won the top prize. Still, the game didn’t look too hard to me. Both the balls and the backdrop were covered in a bunch of Velcro-looking stuff, and ought to stick together nicely—if you weren’t a troll with lousy eyesight. I glanced at Olga, who had started ambling this way, and wondered how many we could win before—
Pop!
Something went off like a gunshot, loud enough to make me jump. And then blink and do a double take, because the nearest little whatever was little no longer. In a split second, the spriggan had blown up to the circumference of an oversized beach ball. And in the middle of the stretched, mottled, knobby-looking hide resided a single off-white ball.
Okay, maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d thought.
“Olga’s coming,” I told Louis-Cesare, who had acquired a small frown in between his eyebrows.
“This will not take a moment,” he told me, and threw the remaining balls.
Pop! Pop!
More frowning.
“We can come back later,” I offered, as Olga came up behind.
“What you do?”
“Winning a bear.”
“Not here,” she said, chewing on something with tiny trailing feet and a tail. “He cheats.”
“I do no such thing!” The carny looked offended. “This is a game of skill, plain and simple.”
“Not with them,” Olga said placidly, as the little things watched her with shiny black eyes.
“He’s a vampire,” the carny said, passing over more balls. “With reflexes far faster than they’re used to. It’s more than fair—”
Pop! Pop! Pop!
“—why, it’s the easiest game anywhere!”
“You know, honestly,” I said, starting to wish I hadn’t brought it up. Because I’d been watching those little beggars, and they moved like lightning. And whenever they weren’t sure they’d be fast enough, they blew up like balloons, instantly covering so much space that there was literally no way to win. “It’s fine. Really.”
But Louis-Cesare was looking at me again, and he had that expression in his eyes. The one that said we weren’t going anywhere. “Three more,” he told the man.
“We could be here all night, and we have a match to—”
And then a bunch of things happened at once. The man handed over three more fool’s bets; a bunch of coins suddenly flashed in the air, a glittering wave not of silver but of gold, pure and shiny and gleaming under the lights; and a bunch of crusty beach balls deflated and scrambled like mad for the surprise treasure.
And three little Velcro balls landed in three little circles, each one smack-dab in the middle.
I stared at them.
And then at the ground, where the crazed somethings were scrapping and clawing and scuffling in the dirt.
And back up at Louis-Cesare, who was looking smug. “You just spent like . . .” I didn’t even know. “A couple thousand dollars on a bear.”
“Three bears,” he said complaisantly, and pulled them down from the row above our heads.
“That’s—you—wait—” the carny said. And then he said something else, but I couldn’t hear him. Because an eardrum-rupturing horn had just gone off, and I thought it possible I’d never hear again.
It time, Olga mouthed, as the whole field suddenly jumped up and started for the house.
Chapter Three
“You’re upset,” Louis-Cesare said, from amid a forest of bear.
He was carrying all three, one affixed to his belt where his sword usually went when he was somewhere he could wear a sword. The other two were under his arms, with the huge violently pink bodies lolling like drunken children. I frowned at them.
“I’m not upset.”
“We won,” he pointed out. “Most people enjoy winning.”
“We didn’t win. You basically bought them.”
“That is what is troubling you?” He looked surprised. “We can go back after—”
“No. The man was a shyster. I don’t—Why were you carrying gold?”
“Gold?” He blinked at me.
“The coins? The ones you threw?” I stopped, hands on hips, to stare at him, because if I’d just thrown a handful of gold at somebody, I’d damned well remember it. And then I almost got run over. Because the whole staircase leading up to the building was moving. Seriously, it was like an avalanche in reverse.
Louis-Cesare pulled me against his chest, inside the blindingly pink buffer zone. “For tips.”
“What?”
I thought I’d misheard, because my ears felt like they were under siege. The loudspeakers were screaming instructions, people were jostling and fighting, and a group of inebriated dwarves behind us were belting out what I guess was a fight song. They were not among the more musically gifted of fey, something they were making up for with enthusiasm.
“Tips!” Louis-Cesare shouted, and just made things worse. But then he rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign for stubborn wheel grease and light dawned.
And still made no damned sense.
“For who?” I shouted back.
“The court.”
“What?”
He bent his head down to mine. “The servants at court. Whenever they do anything for you, it’s considered customary to tip them.”
“With gold?”
“It’s better than favors,” he replied, with more cynicism than I’d have expected from him.
Louis-Cesare wasn’t just a vampire; he was a senator, and therefore one of the ruling elite of the vampire world. But while most of the people who reached those lofty heights were manipulative, sneaky, and deviously clever, Louis-Cesare had reached them because somebody else fit that description. Namely, Anthony, the charming rogue in charge of the European Senate. Who’d realized that having a champion with Louis-Cesare’s fighting ability meant that no one in their right mind was likely to challenge him—ever again. Giving Anthony all but absolute power.
Until recently, that is, when Louis-Cesare had gotten tired of playing bodyguard for an amiable tyrant and defected to the Senate’s North American counterpart, where his new role had yet to be determined.
But it wasn’t likely to be in central intelligence.