Everything stopped, including Louis-Cesare. Who burst through the door and then just stood there, still as a statue, staring at the tableau. The only good thing was that it was Dumb and Dumber, aka Purple Hair and Blondie, who had apparently decided on another target but had been misinformed. Because Radu wasn’t on the Senate.
He was, however, protected by a couple of people who were, one of whom had started to breathe heavily.
“Oh, hello, Dory,” Radu said, because Radu is special.
I climbed down and glanced at Louis-Cesare’s face. And started talking fast. “How about we take a moment?”
“How about he dies?” Blondie said carelessly. Because he obviously had a death wish.
He was also the only one with a lethal weapon. Purple Hair looked like a proper badass, in a shiny black jumpsuit straight out of the Catwoman catalogue, but she’d opted for a gun. While not ideal, it wouldn’t do lasting damage to a second-level master like Radu.
Blondie, in khakis and a frat boy polo, hadn’t been so nice.
It was about to get him killed.
“I have a roomful of important guests downstairs,” Kit said quickly. “We need their cooperation for the war and this is not going to help!”
Everyone ignored him.
It’s kind of hard to look commanding while holding your junk.
“Put the stake down, and move away,” I told Blondie. “That’s Mircea’s brother, Radu. He doesn’t have a seat on the Senate—”
“I know that!” he sneered. “We’re here for you!”
“You’ve tried that twice, and it hasn’t worked out so well,” I reminded him.
“Twice?” Louis-Cesare hissed, and yeah. The gorgeous Frenchman wasn’t looking so refined right now. The blue eyes were tinged with silver, the color they turned whenever he pulled up power. And the fangs were out, a drop of his own blood glistening on that luscious lower lip. He looked . . . feral.
“They’re just being stupid,” I told him, staring at the blood. And fighting a strange urge to lick it. “Making a try for my Senate seat—”
“I’m on the Senate,” Louis-Cesare said, his eyes solid silver now. “Why don’t you try me?”
And, okay, I might have been wrong about one of them. Because Purple Hair flipped the gun around, walked over, and handed it to me. “Let him go,” she told Dumber.
Who lived up to his name. “What the hell? What is wrong with you?”
“He’s going to kill you if you don’t,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“He can’t do that! I haven’t challenged him!”
“But he can challenge you. Now step away!”
But Blondie was either really stupid or really entitled or both. Because his chin got a stubborn tilt to it. “We have no quarrel with you,” he told Louis-Cesare. “We just want a fair fight with that bitch of a—”
Annnnnd, that’s why you’re careful what you wish for, I thought, as Louis-Cesare disappeared. Not like he did with his master power, because he didn’t need the Veil with this joker, but moving so fast that it almost looked like it. The next time I blinked, he was by Blondie, who he grabbed and threw into Marlowe. Because I guess he wasn’t finished with him yet.
And then a bunch of guys, Marlowe’s men at a guess, ran in and started chasing the fight around the ballroom. I considered interfering, but seriously, it was like twenty to one. I thought they could handle it.
Probably.
I bent to help Radu instead, but found that he’d already freed himself.
“You were loose all the time?” Purple Hair asked.
“Your friend isn’t very good at bondage,” Radu said, tossing the cuffs on the floor and a shining curtain of dark hair over his shoulder.
Radu was Mircea’s younger brother, but only by a few years. Something that ceases to matter when you’re both on the wrong side of five hundred. But while Mircea looked thirty, maybe thirty-five on a bad day, Radu could have passed for a teenager—if an elegant one.
And tonight was no exception. Louis-Cesare’s Sire was sporting a sapphire and gold patterned robe and some plain—if buttery satin can be called that—lounge pants. It was an attractive set, leaving a deep V at the neck that showed off naturally bronzed skin and brought out the startling turquoise of his eyes.
“It . . . wasn’t bondage,” Purple Hair said slowly. “And why didn’t you do something?”
“I didn’t want to make you feel bad.” Radu patted her gently on the arm. “You were trying so hard.”
“How did you know I’d be here?” I asked her, as she stood there, blinking at Radu. Who tended to have that effect on people. For his part, he wasn’t trying to rescue his son, who clearly didn’t need it, but had instead started puttering around in some plastic storage containers stacked behind the chair.
“Hello?” I tried again, snapping some fingers near her head. “Find me? How?”
“Phone,” she said, still looking at Radu. Before shaking herself and refocusing on me. “We tapped your phone, and overheard you talking to Vincent—”
“Vincent?”
She looked pained. “The happy one.”
Oh, Burbles.
“So we knew you’d be here sometime tonight. We persuaded a few party guests to include us in their group and, well . . .” She shrugged.
I frowned. With the mental gifts I’d seen her use, I could well believe that she could persuade some humans—even magical ones—that she was their best friend, at least long enough to get in the door. But there was something I didn’t get. “How did you bug my phone? You never had it.”
“There are ways to do it remotely. It’s not my thing, but Trevor said—”
“Trevor?” Despite everything, I felt myself start to grin.
She bit her lip.
“You’re partnered with a guy named—”
“There aren’t a lot of people willing to take you on!”
“For reasons,” Radu murmured, still puttering.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He beamed at her. “Such a pretty girl. You wouldn’t like being on the Senate, you know. So many boring meetings.”
“It’s the pinnacle of our existence! It’s what we live for, fight for! The chance to lead—”
“Yes, yes, that’s what they tell you,” he said, examining something he’d pulled from one of the cases. “Until you get on it. Then it’s all fiscal reports and bad coffee.”
She blinked at him some more.
“Hey!” I called to Louis-Cesare. “Don’t kill Trevor. I need him to fix my phone.”
“Trevor?” He looked confused for a moment, and then down at his bloody lump of a club. He tossed it away, and it tried to crawl off, before being trampled by the cavalry chasing their boss.
I turned back around, to see Purple Hair glowering at me.
“Don’t blame me,” I told her. “How did you think coming to Mircea’s apartment was going to go?”
“We didn’t have a choice!”
“You couldn’t just catch me out somewhere?”
“Like the theatre?” she asked sourly.
I grinned. “Dry out yet?”
She scowled. “Sure. This is all funny to you.”
“It actually wasn’t that funny,” I said, but she wasn’t listening.
“Like running around in old sweats or—” She gestured at my sensible underwear. “Here the rest of us are, trying to be as intimidating as possible, and you go around like that. Like we’re all just ridiculous and you don’t have to care.”
“I don’t actually dress with you in mind.”
“I know. That’s what’s so infuriating. Everyone else is so concerned with their image, and you just . . .” Her lips tightened. “You walked out of that house the other day, no weapons, no makeup, barefoot. And I wondered why my skin suddenly tightened. I realized later: the most intimidating look is not to have one at all.”
“And yet you came back.”
“What else is there? You don’t know what it’s like, starting with nothing and clawing your way up, year after year, century after century. Until, finally, you get within sight of everything you ever wanted, only to have the rug ripped out from under you.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Bullshit! Daughter of a senator, dating another one, you’re practically royalty!”
“And a dirty dhampir.”