Cassandra Palmer 1(67)
I was confused. «Maybe I'm being slow here, but why witches? Wouldn't humans be easier targets?» The women I'd freed had certainly been no welterweights, as one dead mage proved.
«For centuries, after their own bloodlines began to die out, that was their strategy. Have you not heard the stories about human infants being spirited away by the Fey?» Mircea asked. I nodded—it was standard fairy tale stuff. «Such children were brought up in Faerie and married into some of their great houses. It did improve their fertility, but they soon noticed that the magical ability in the children of such union s was considerably less than their own.»
«So they started stealing witches.»
«Yes, but an agreement was worked out between the Fey and the Silver Circle in 1624, stating that no more abductions were to take place.»
«I guess it's sort of void now.»
Mircea smiled. «On the contrary. The light elves swear they know nothing of this practice, and that it is solely the dark who are involved.» I frowned. From what Billy had said, it sounded like the opposite was true. «The dark, of course, claim the reverse,» Mircea said, noticing my expression, «but in any case, it is not our concern. We will not be drawn into Fey politics because of one person's greed, as we made clear to their ambassadors a few hours ago. Antonio will be dealt with, but that ends our involvement.»
I wasn't surprised. Despite their presence at MAGIC, the vamps had never been all that interested in other species' affairs. They cooperated as far as they did only to guard their own interests. «Just the one witch came forward? What happened to the other two?»
«They must have been dark,» Pritkin said, watching me narrowly, «under interdict by the Circle for their crimes. Otherwise they would not have been so quick to flee. Our witch learned little about them because they were gagged much of the time. But she said that one of them recognized you and insisted that they help you against the dark mage. Yet you said you did not know them.»
«I don't.» I couldn't tell him about Franchise—it would sound crazy and I didn't understand it myself. Magic users tend to live longer than most humans, but witch or no, if it had really been her in that French castle, she should be long dead of old age. Not to mention that it took some memory to immediately recall the face of a person seen for a few minutes hundreds of years ago. I'd recognized her because, for me, our meeting had just happened. But how she had known me was an open question.
«And I suppose you also do not know the pixie who aided you in freeing your servants? She is a well-known operative of the Dark Fey.»
Pritkin was getting on my nerves. «No, I don't. And they weren't my servants.»
«You told me you watched Franchise burn to death.» Louis-Cesar was apparently a single-minded kind of guy.
I decided to go with his comment, since Pritkin didn't believe anything I said anyway. «What happened to the mage? Did you kill him?»
«You see; she doesn't even try to deny it!» Pritkin came striding across the room. I'd have figured out he was pissed off even if I hadn't been able to see him, since my new toy jumped against my wrist with an almost electric tickle. I managed not to yelp, but I stuffed my hand farther into the pocket of the robe so the bracelet didn't show. Something told me Pritkin wouldn't be happy to see it.
Tomas had moved to stand between us. It unnerved me that I hadn't seen him do it, but I was grateful to have a barrier between me and the mage. The guys at Tony's had always believed that war mages were dangerous, bloodthirsty and crazy. Considering that the people saying this were multiple murderers who worked for a homicidal vampire, I tended to take their opinion seriously.
«Why would I deny it? Possessing him saved your life.» I hadn't expected a thank-you, but it would've been nice if he'd stopped glaring at me.
«I would prefer to die than be saved by the dark arts!»
«We'll keep that in mind next time,» Tomas said. I giggled. I wasn't trying to antagonize anyone, but I was dizzy from hunger and exhausted. At the moment, it really was funny. Only Pritkin didn't seem to think so.
Mircea stood up as someone rapped on the door. «Ah, breakfast. Tempers will doubtless be better after we have dined.» A young man wheeled in a cart that had me salivating from the smell alone.
A few minutes later, I was halfway through a tray of pancakes, sausage, hash browns and fresh fruit. It had been served on a nice silver platter with real china dishes, linen napkins and genuine maple syrup, mellowing my mood towards the Senate considerably. I'd just poured myself more tea when Pritkin made a sound of disgust. I couldn't imagine what his problem was; he had a tray, too.