“We do not typically use a master for such a menial task,” he was told.
“Menial? Is that how you consider your frontline defenses?”
The small amount of cheek showing between Muttonchops’s mustache and sideburns reddened. “This is a home, not a fortress!”
Marlowe looked pointedly at the dead man. “So I see.”
“It could have been anyone at the auction,” Mircea said calmly. “None of them would have had difficulty fogging the mind of even a low-level master.”
“That goes for a lot of other people,” I pointed out.
He shook his head. “I do not think any of the participants would have been eager to discuss the auction. Some of their families doubtless knew, but they were under their direct control. It would have been foolish to tell anyone else and increase the competition.”
And the chance that the fey will hear about it and hack your head off, I thought silently.
“Any one of them could have determined to do as Elyas did,” Mircea mused, “and have gone to the nightclub in search of the fey, either to make a bargain with him or to kill him.”
“Only when they arrived, they found that someone had beaten them to it,” I said. “And they either smelled Elyas on the air or actually saw him leaving. But why not attack him last night? Why wait?”
“Perhaps because the idea of killing a Senate member was more daunting than merely disposing of a fey guard,” Louis-Cesare said.
Marlowe shot him a cynical look. “Or perhaps because he had been invited here tonight and thought the party would be a good cover. If the culprit was on the guest list, he didn’t have to fog any minds to get in!”
Ray still hadn’t said anything, so I poked him. “Who was at the auction?”
He licked his lips, looking between Mircea and Marlowe. “I—I won’t have to testify, will I?”
“Yes,” Mircea told him, holding up the list so he could see it.
“But . . . but . . . in front of the Senate?” Ray’s voice dropped to a whisper. He looked terrified.
“I can tell them only hearsay. You were there,” Mircea pointed out.
“Yes, but . . .”
“And testifying might help your case.”
“My case?”
“The smuggling case against you.”
Ray looked like he’d almost forgotten that trivial detail.
“He also has master problems,” I put in.
Mircea’s lips twisted. “We will see what can be done. Assuming his memory improves.”
“Ming-de, Elyas, Radu, Geminus, and Peter Lutkin,” Ray said quickly.
“Cosmopolitan group,” I commented. “Ming-de from the Chinese court, Elyas from the European Senate, Radu bidding for Mircea, and Geminus—”
“Also North American Senate,” Mircea said, somewhat grimly.
“Oh, yeah. The prick.” He was one of the older senators, rivaling the consul in age, but not in power—or in anything else except ego. He also believed he was God’s gift to women and didn’t know how to take no for an answer. He’d grabbed my ass within thirty seconds of meeting me, and had not taken the resulting knife through the wrist well.
“I don’t know any vampires named Lutkin,” Marlowe said thoughtfully.
“He’s a mage.” Everyone looked at Ray. “Their money spends, too,” he said defensively.
“Lutkin was here tonight,” Louis-Cesare pointed out, tapping a name near the bottom of the list. “And Geminus. But none of the others.”
Marlowe’s expression brightened. “We can blame it on the mage. The others are too prominent or too unreachable in any case.”
“And if he did not do it?”
Marlowe looked at him like he didn’t understand the question.
“There were no silent bidders?” I asked Ray. “Nobody bidding by phone?”
“No. Seller insisted on a binding spell. And that don’t work unless someone’s physically there.”
“He was worried about fraud?” I asked incredulously. “With that group?”
“He was worried period. The guy was freaking paranoid.”
“He probably knew who was chasing him. He didn’t want to risk anyone using a glamourie and impersonating one of the bidders.”
“That’s what I figured.”
I frowned. “So he knew he was being hunted, knew he was in serious jeopardy, yet he still let his guard down enough for someone to . . .”
There was a sudden silence around the desk. I looked up to find everyone staring at me, a ring of bright, narrowed eyes. “Hunted by whom?” Mircea asked quietly.
There was no point in postponing it. “subrand.”
Louis-Cesare’s head jerked, like he’d been stung. “Comment?”
“And you know this how?” Marlowe asked, his expression darkening.
“He dropped by the house last night.”
“Dropped by?” Mircea asked sharply.
“In a manner of speaking.”
Marlowe glared at me. “Our spies have reported no such escape.”
“Then maybe you should get new ones.”
“I don’t need new ones. You clearly mistook another fey for him.”
“Doubt it,” I said drily.