Ride the Storm (Cassandra Palmer 8)

For a moment, we just stayed like that, in a weird tableau.

And then the younger woman bent, consternation on her face, and put out a hand—

Causing me to flinch back, breathing hard, because I didn’t understand this—I didn’t understand any of this!

“Lady,” she murmured, and let the hand fall. And looked, in apparent loss, at the older woman.

“Told Jonas not to do it this way,” White Hair said. “Damn man never listens!”

She released me and then just stood there, frowning. “I’d curtsy,” she said surreally, “but my knees, you know. I get down and I might never get back up.”

I stayed where I was, splayed against the railing, the blood pounding in my ears.

“Who are you?” I finally whispered.

“Your fail-safes, lady,” the younger one said. She came down the stairs and curtsied, as elegantly as if she’d been in a fine drawing room. But when she looked up, her face was fierce. “The Pythia doesn’t fight alone. The Pythia never fights alone!”

* * *

“I didn’t know,” Jonas said quietly, because we’d moved to Rhea’s room. He’d wanted to see his daughter, and I’d wanted to get away from the scene in the lounge.

An extremely pissed-off Tami—and God, it had been glorious—had taken the children and the chicken “upstairs,” whatever the hell that meant, while Roy and the vamps cleaned up. And attempted to calm down our new recruits. It hadn’t sounded like they were having an easy time of it, the witches having been exposed to two forms of magic they’d never encountered in a span of minutes, which hadn’t improved their mood.

But I, for one, was past caring.

“No one knew,” Jonas added. “That was apparently the point. To have a senior acolyte from each generation who retains her skills, in case of a serious threat to the court. From what I understand, the idea originated as a way to guard against a Pythia and her heir being injured at the same

time. An unconscious Pythia wouldn’t be able to pass on the power, but also wouldn’t be able to use it. Hence—”

“A fail-safe,” I said, staring at the two women, who were standing by the bank of windows, talking softly.

“Yes.”

“And you think we can trust them?”

“That, you’ll have to determine yourself,” Jonas said heavily. “I would have said we could trust Agnes’ acolytes, had I been asked, and I knew them better.”

“Then why did you bring them here?” I whispered. “If they’re working for the other side—”

“In that case, why would the Black Circle need Lizzie? Why risk so much to gain her abilities if they already have two acolytes, and with more power than I’ve ever seen her use?”

I shook my head. “Maybe they want her for something else—”

“We questioned her all night and half the day. If there’s anything of interest about that girl, I can’t find it.”

“But you took her anyway,” I said accusingly. We’d recently had a clash over authority—namely, him ignoring mine—and I thought we’d sorted it out. And then he went and did the same thing again!

But Jonas wasn’t looking apologetic. “You weren’t here. I didn’t know when you would be. And we are at war. If there was a chance—even a slight one—that she knew Ares’ plans—”

“But she didn’t.”

“No.” He sighed suddenly, and rubbed his eyes. It looked like Lizzie wasn’t the only one who had been up all night. “As far as we can tell, she was a stooge, nothing more.”

“And these women?”

“I know Abigail—the younger—from Agnes’ court. She left to be married a year or so after your mother’s arrival, and supposedly after giving up access to the power. She was competent, but as far as I knew, there was nothing remarkable about her.”

“And the other?”