An hour later, Louis-Cesare and I were on a plane racing the sun for California. If we didn’t win, it was no big deal. We were ensconced in a private jet, owned by the Senate, that was equipped to keep its occupants from ever experiencing unfiltered sunlight. Not to mention that the vamp sitting in one of the luxurious swivel seats across from me was perfectly able to stand the sun if need be. All the older ones could, at least for a while, although they paid for it in enormous power loss. Since I had a vested interest in keeping Louis-Cesare’s power level at high, I was glad for the tinted windows.
I wasn’t pleased at the way things were shaping up, but at least we were going to be meeting José and Kristie at the end of this jaunt across the country. The Senate had pulled some strings and gotten Kristie away from the mages, and had released José from their own holding cells. The two miscreants had been told that if they helped me complete my mission satisfactorily, all charges would be dropped. I’d talked to them by phone at one of the seedier clubs in Vegas where they were celebrating the news. I didn’t object, since they could catch a plane in an hour or two and still beat us to ’Frisco. I was just hoping their party didn’t turn out to be in lieu of a last meal. Neither of them knew what the mission was yet, and when they found out, they weren’t going to need me to tell them the odds on all of us coming back.
The sound of a phone being snapped shut caused me to look up. Narrowed blue eyes bored into mine. I raised an eyebrow in a deliberate imitation of Mircea. “Yes?”
“We need to discuss your involvement with the Fey,” Louis-Cesare announced.
“I don’t have any involvement,” I told him, getting up. There was nowhere to go, but I needed to move. My hands wanted to shake, my skin felt twitchy and my mouth was bitter with adrenaline. I was all wound up with no one to pound.
“You have not perpetrated any attacks on the Fey?”
“No.” As evidenced by the fact that I was still alive. I was enough of a predator to know when I met a greater one, and the Fey leader had shaken me more than I wanted to admit. I don’t like running, but in this case retreat had been a good idea. Of course, I didn’t intend to admit that to Louis-Cesare.
“Then why did they assault you?” His voice held the same faint sneer he’d used in Mircea’s presence, the one that indicated disapproval of everything I was and had ever been. It would have made me uncooperative even if I’d had a clue. Since I didn’t, blowing him off was easy.
“You heard their ambassador. We imagined the whole thing, or else the Black Circle fooled us with an illusion to fracture our alliance.” I hadn’t been privy to the conversation, held via cell phone once we were airborne, but with my hearing, eavesdropping was easy.
Louis-Cesare made a sound that, by anyone less elegant, would have been called a snort. “The Black Circle is the bête noire of the magical world, and so a convenient scapegoat. Those were no mages today.”
I didn’t say so, but I secretly agreed. Human magic had a very different feel. What I couldn’t understand was why either the mages or the Fey would concern themselves with me. Maybe I’d managed to piss off somebody important lately, but no one came to mind. The kind of creatures I hunt, most people are glad to see dead.
Louis-Cesare let the subject drop, but immediately switched to another equally annoying. “Lord Mircea has briefed me on what he knows of his brother’s tactics—”
“I very much doubt that.” I managed not to grimace. My nerves needed a break, not a reminder of how much trouble we were in. I prowled around, but it didn’t help. I still felt like my skin was on too tight.
I flipped through a stack of uninteresting magazines the steward had provided, wanting to feel them tear under my hands. It wouldn’t have been much of a loss—apparently the Senate doesn’t read Rolling Stone—but I carefully replaced them in their little rack. It had been a while since I was wound this tight, with everything an itch: the breath of air from the overhead vents, the smooth vibrations of the plane beneath my feet, the crackle of ice cubes as Louis-Cesare poured himself a couple fingers of something.
I needed a drink. Or a fight. Yeah, a good fight would be just the thing.
“Pardon?” Louis-Cesare looked irritated when I confiscated his glass, downing the stuff in a gulp. It was clear, with little smell or taste, but it could have etched metal.
“They have too much history to have laid it all out for you,” I gasped, “even if Mircea talked nonstop for the past few days. What you got was the Reader’s Digest condensed version.” And probably not even that—Drac wasn’t exactly a popular topic round the dinner table.