“Tell her.”
Kit looked like there were a few things he’d like to tell both of us, especially Mircea. But he didn’t. His expression didn’t get any happier, though.
“It’s called the Push,” he said tersely, and Jules gasped. Like the clue bat had just found another victim. Marlowe ignored him. “It’s a method used to make a master in a few days instead of a few centuries. It originated in wartime, when too many masters had been killed and replacements were needed immediately to avoid disaster. I was made this way, and almost died as a result. Most who attempt it do, which is why it is used only in extremis.”
He didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it, so I didn’t ask. Except for the obvious. “And this has what to do with me?”
“You know how vampires are made,” Mircea said.
“Of course.”
“The bite infects the body, but the strength to rise again, to live as a new creature, that comes from the master,” he said, telling me anyway. “But with the Push, the new Child is not given merely the basic energy needed to rise, but much, much more. For most, it is too much, too soon. They can’t absorb it, and never rise, dying not from the power but from having too little time to properly absorb it.”
“You want me to age them up while their master feeds them power,” I said. I didn’t bother to make it a question.
“Yes.”
“And risk killing them if it doesn’t work?”
“There are many who would gladly take that chance. Many who have given up hope of such a thing, of a status they were never destined to earn.”
“And there’s a reason for that, isn’t there?” I demanded. Masters were the powerhouses of the vampire world, but they were also dangerous. Extremely dangerous. And hard to control.
Mostly, it didn’t matter, because there weren’t that many masters and the Senate ruled them with an iron first. And because the hundreds of years of time it usually took to make one gave even the most crazed specimen, even someone like Jack, the Senate’s happy-go-lucky chief torturer, time to gain a measure of self-control. Jack liked his work, but he didn’t go running around making extra for himself these days, as he’d done in life. When he’d had the cute little nickname of The Ripper.
But what if he’d gotten master status early—real early? What if he’d never had that time? What if he had the same power but none of the control?
I shuddered in horror, and that was one man. And if they were planning an invasion . . .
“How many?”
“Cassie—”
“How many?” I said tightly, hugging myself. The towel had felt okay before, but it was suddenly clammy. Like my skin.
“I don’t have the exact figure—”
“Then ballpark it!”
“No more than necessary—”
“The fact that you don’t want to tell me is really worrying me right now.”
Mircea frowned, like he honestly hadn’t expected this to be difficult. Like, sure, I’ll make you an army of master vampires to lay waste to faerie, no problem. And then pretend it’s not my fault when they turn around and do the same thing to earth!
“We will be careful about the selection,” Mircea said, watching me.
“You won’t have to worry about that.”
“Cassie—”
But before he could reconfigure his plan of attack, the same vamp who had called him out last time came back.
“Showtime,” Marlowe said grimly.
“We’ll talk later,” Mircea promised me.
“No, damn it! We’ll talk—”