“Oh. Oh no,” Witch’s Companion said softly. “You’re not paparazzi at all, are you? You’re—”
The voice abruptly cut off, and her little black fluttery thing suddenly stopped moving and floated gently to the floor, like it was made out of tissue paper.
I bent down and picked it up.
And my bracelet started slamming into my pulse point hard enough to bruise.
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER IS IN AUGUST—”
My head jerked up, but I didn’t see anything. The shop was designed to keep people’s attention on the expensive wares inside, not on whatever was happening on the concourse, and it worked pretty well. All I could see were glimpses of the usual morning crowd, passing along the drag in colorful tees and unfortunate spandex.
I stood up and started walking cautiously toward the front.
“This is so typical,” Augustine said bitterly, from behind me. “She’s been the official Pythia for weeks now, but has she held a press conference? Given an interview? Made a single statement to anyone? I spend all my time trying to get press, and she spends hers avoiding it! It’s no wonder we’re inundated on a daily basis with nosy types, prowling around, hoping for a—”
“Cassie?” Fran?oise said, coming up behind me.
“—story, which wouldn’t be so bad if they were planning to mention the shop or the brand—”
“Cassie?” Fran?oise said again, and then froze, her hand on my arm, as I pulled back a couple of the hanging floral strands in the window.
And no, I thought blankly, those weren’t paparazzi.
“—but no. Couturier to the Pythia and do I rate so much as a mention?” Augustine asked, while on the concourse across from the shop, an army was assembling. They looked like tourists, but they weren’t. And I didn’t need the bracelet almost vibrating off my wrist to tell me that.
“Mon Dieu,” Fran?oise whispered as a wave of power washed over us like a hot breeze, causing the hair on my arms to stand on end. And the tacky T-shirts, too-tight shorts, and beer bellies of the crowd to ripple and change. And melt into what would have looked like black commando gear, if not for the long coats that commandos don’t bother with, because they don’t carry weapons that they mind everyone seeing.
War mages do.
Only I didn’t think these were ours.
It looked like nobody else did, either, because Fran?oise suddenly turned and bolted for the counter, and the Graeae released Augustine, who hit the floor along with half his merchandise. Something slammed into place in front of the shop a second later, an almost transparent field wavering just beyond the pretty bow windows, which would have looked more at home on a Rue de Something in Paris than in the Wild, Wild West, because Augustine gave a crap about Dante’s theming.
He obviously felt the same way about its wards, because that was a shield flickering out there, not that it mattered.
It wouldn’t hold against that kind of firepower.
There wasn’t a lot that would.
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER IS IN—”
I grabbed for my phone, before remembering that I didn’t have it on me. And Fran?oise was already on the house one behind the counter, presumably calling security. But the casino’s guys were used to dealing with drunks and shoplifters and people who won a little too regularly for chance. They couldn’t handle this.
My guys could.
“Here.” I looked up to find Carla holding out a phone. I took it and punched in the number I knew best while kiddo did a twirl on the tile, her pink tutu swirling out around her. I stared at it and tried to get my thoughts in order.
It didn’t seem to be going so well.
My brain kept insisting that this wasn’t supposed to happen. This happened other places, and then I came back here to eat and sleep and banter with my bodyguards in safety. Unless I tripped over one of the cots that were currently strewn around my suite, that is, because the court I’d recently ended up with needed a place to sleep.
And oh God.
My court.
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CAS—”
Pick up, pick up, pick up, I thought as the phone rang and rang. It was midmorning, not a vampire’s favorite time of day, but normally my bodyguards worked around the clock. But yesterday hadn’t exactly been normal.
Not that I was sure what that was anymore. But I was fairly certain it didn’t include an almost-dead master vampire, who happened to be the font of energy for the extended family that ran this hotel. Including the group of senior-level masters who formed my bodyguard, and who were normally miniature armies all to themselves. But who had been left limp as rag dolls after he was forced to almost drain them to keep himself alive.
Which might explain why this attack was happening now.
And why nobody was answering the goddamn phone.
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CA—”
“Get back! Get ba—” I yelled at the reporter, who didn’t need it because she’d felt the same massive energy surge that I had. She grabbed her kid and threw herself to the side, just as the burst hit.
And all but destroyed the front of the shop, ward and all, splintering the windows and slinging a wash of glittering glass and burning wood through the air.
Straight at me.
And at Augustine, who I hadn’t noticed come up behind me until we were both blown backward off our feet. And through several racks of what had been expensive clothes and were now burning tatters. And into a decorative column.
Which we bounced off and hit the floor, face-first, about the time that the shield he’d thrown around us failed.
I looked up through a haze of blood and saw him raising a similarly messy face with a snarl. The half-fey designer had always looked a little girlie to me. The perfect hair, the too-pale skin, the flamboyant clothes had just never registered as dangerous.
I was revising my opinion.
Until he suddenly turned tail and ran for the back, disappearing through a curtain.
And, okay, I thought. Maybe I’d been right the first time. But I didn’t have time to worry about it.
Because someone else was calling my name.
And this time it wasn’t a spell.
Chapter Six
“Cassie Palmer?” The new voice wasn’t the harsh, almost metallic tones of the locator spell. Instead, it was quiet, calm, amused. “Is that really you?”
I got back to my feet, pushing shattered glass away from my bare soles. And picked my way across a minefield to the burning hole that had once been the front of the shop. And looked out.
And saw a man in war mage gear standing on the other side of the concourse, holding a knife to the throat of the terrified girl he’d positioned in front of him.
She wasn’t the unfortunate reporter from Witch’s Companion.
I knew that because I knew her.