Fay used the rose thorn to prick his finger, raising a drop of blood. He peeled off one of the rose petals, mashed it between his thumb and forefinger, then mixed the blood with it until it turned into a pink paste. Sam saw none of this as she hovered over a dish of caviar.
“Let me refill your glass.” Fay took it from her, slipped the paste into it, then poured champagne on top, muttering words under his breath. He handed it back to her. “Drink up.”
She smiled. “Thanks.” She sipped, smacked her lips.
Immediately her eyelids grew heavy and a dreamy smile spread across her face. She took a step closer to Fay, a soft purr coming out of her.
“I think you should take off your clothes,” Fay said.
She nodded, set her champagne glass aside. She pulled off her shirt, to reveal heavy breasts held back by a sports bra. She unclasped it, let them fall. Brown nipples poked out like pencil erasers.
“Very nice,” Fay whispered.
She smiled, unzipped her shorts and let them fall, stepped out of them and peeled her white cotton panties down over her hiking boots. Her pubic hair had been cut into a narrow line.
He cupped a breast, ran a thumb over a nipple. Sam gasped pleasure. He reached down to her seam, and she closed her eyes, moaned.
Fay thrilled at the moist warmth. Being the most powerful wizard on the planet was going to work out just fine.
Clover threw open a window, puffed the cigarette as she gazed upon Prague from her third-story window. Not a lot of traffic this time of night, but this part of the city never did shut down entirely. It was actually a pretty neat town, she thought. If she hadn’t been here on Society business, she would probably have found a number of ways to amuse herself. Maybe catch the night scene, scope out a few bands.
But then again, she wouldn’t have been here in the first place if it hadn’t been for the Society. She’d jumped at the opportunity. What in the hell would she have done with her life back in Evansville, Indiana? Jesus.
It was the Society that allowed her to go places, do things, be part of something. She couldn’t help thinking she’d bungled things with Allen Cabbot. She puffed, frowned, promised herself she’d do something to make up for it. Prove to Fay and the rest of the Council she wasn’t a fuckup.
Wouldn’t it be kick-ass to get promoted, learn some of the big spells, get in on the real secrets? Damn right. That would be cool.
She should probably get back to Fay. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. But the bed looked so comfortable. It would be easy just to fall into cool sheets, catch a few hours of shut-eye. She’d been awake nearly the entire time since fleeing Zizkov, only stealing a quick catnap here and there.
Clover went to the vanity mirror and looked closely at her face. There were dark circles under her eyes, and not the cool kind she did herself with makeup sometimes. Real dark circles. She thought her face suddenly looked ashen too. As a matter of fact, it was getting paler by the second, and wrinkles were forming. What the hell?
An old woman’s face replaced her own, emerged from the mirror.
“Motherfucker!” Clover stumbled back, fell onto the bed, and scooted back all the way to the headboard, her arms flung up to fend off the apparition.
“It’s me, Clover,” the old woman said. “Do not be alarmed.”
Clover blinked, looked more closely at the pale figure, who hovered, mostly transparent, the rest of the room visible behind her. Wait. Clover knew this lady. “Margaret?”
“Yes, child. Where are the others?”
“Sam is here,” Clover said. “We can’t find Amy. Where are you?”
“I’ve gone beyond,” Margaret said. “But I managed one last spell, something I set up ahead of time just in case. You must listen to me, Clover. Jackson Fay is a traitor. He has betrayed the Council. He murdered Blake and me.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why else would I appear to you in this fashion?” asked the ghost. “Fay has betrayed us.”
“But he’s in the other room right now. With Sam.”
“Flee, child. Go while you can.”
“But Sam.”
The ghost began to fade. “I must warn others. My time is limited. It’s… difficult to judge time where I am. I think I’ve only been this way a few short hours, but another part of me feels as if I’ve always been here. So gray and silent. I must go.”
And she was gone.
Clover sat on the bed, stunned.
Sam. Clover could not-would not-leave without Sam. She went to her backpack to search for something she’d prepared several weeks ago, a spell she’d been afraid to try. Now was the time.
She found the plastic baggy, opened it, put the contents into her pocket. Ash. It seemed only like simple ash, but it had been prepared, with so many ingredients-herbs, a goat’s heart, and the crushed bones of a cripple. She’d had to do a little grave robbing for that one. It had all been mixed and blasted in an iron furnace. If she could catch Fay by surprise, fling it in his eyes and say the words-yes, it might work. He’d be paralyzed for several hours-or maybe only seconds. The old book hadn’t been clear. It was suicide to go against a wizard like Fay toe to toe, but that’s not what she had in mind. She just wanted to slow him down, give herself and Sam a chance to get the hell out of there.
She went to her bedroom door, put her ear against it but heard nothing. She turned the knob quietly and pushed the door open barely a sliver so she could take a peek.
She clapped her hand over her own mouth to stifle a surprised gasp.
Sam reclined naked on the couch, arms and legs spread, a clear invitation. Fay approached her. He was naked too, his erection pulsing at Sam, bobbing as he stepped closer to mount her.
Clover backed away from the door, searched the room with her eyes, and saw a large ceramic vase. She grabbed it, hit the door at full speed on the way into the next room. Fay looked up, startled, then backed away from Sam, his eyes momentarily showing surprise, then narrowing to anger. Clover raised the vase over her head with both hands, grunted, and heaved. It flew.
And cracked square against the center of Fay’s forehead, ceramic shards flying in every direction.
Fay cursed, stumbled back over a coffee table, and crashed into the room service carts. A tumult of dishes and silverware. Fay lay groaning, tangled in the tablecloth.
Clover was at Sam’s side in a second, grabbed her arm, yanked. “Come on!”
Sam only looked up at her, that dreamy expression on her face.
“Damn it!” Clover grabbed the closest ice bucket and dumped it on Sam’s head. “Snap out of it.”
Sam screamed, sputtered. “What the f-fuck?” She looked down, saw herself naked, and yelped.
Fay lurched to his feet, a gash on his forehead bleeding freely. He wiped the blood out of his eyes and glared rage at Clover. “Bitch!”
Clover shoved Sam. “Run!”
Sam jumped up from the couch, sprinted for the door.
“I don’t think so.” Lightning leaped from Fay’s outstretched fingertips, crackled and struck Sam in the back. She froze for a split-second as the entire room went white. Then she collapsed, eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open, smoke rising from her dead body.
“You son of a bitch.” Clover spun on Fay. She reached into her pocket, came out with a handful of ash, and flung it into his eyes, the long-memorized command words tumbling from her mouth.
Nothing happened.
Fay bent down, grabbed a napkin from the wrecked room service cart, and wiped the ash from his face. Then he began to laugh.
No. Clover shook her head, couldn’t believe it. I did everything right. I know I did. It should have worked.
“Surprised?” Fay asked. “Poor little girl can’t make her magic work.”
Tears welled in her eyes. No. There had been a mistake. This wasn’t right. Sam. Was Sam really dead?
Clover turned, ran for the door.
Fay cut her off, grabbed an arm, twisted it behind her back. Pain lanced up through her shoulder, and she went rigid. Suddenly there was a blade at her throat. She wept, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
“You spoiled the party,” Fay said. “Now, why would you do that?”
“I… I…” What could she say? Oh, Sam. Poor Sam.
“I would have let you join in,” Fay said. “Would that have been so bad? All I needed was a ride from the airport, and if you’re not going to provide me with any entertainment, then I’m afraid you’re no longer of any use, young lady.”
Clover drew a breath for a scream, but nobody ever heard it. Fay’s blade bit quick and deep.
FORTY
Allen got on his hands and knees, and peered under a thorny bush. “I mean, Jesus. You know? What am I supposed to think? It’s like I don’t even know you.”
Penny followed behind him, still buttoning her shirt. “It’s not an easy thing to tell somebody, okay? I mean, hell, remember Jenny Mackenzie from Victorian lit last semester? She got the clap over the summer and still hasn’t told her boyfriend.”
“This is different.”
“Of course it’s different. It’s always different.”
“But you’re very very different.”
“You don’t have to treat me any different,” Penny insisted. “I don’t need your… your racism.”
“Racism? It’s not like you’re Chinese.”