Ride the Storm (Cassandra Palmer 8)
“Hildegarde von Brandt, a formidable member of Lady Herophile’s court—”
“Gertie’s?” I said sharply, and got a nod from him—and a warning look from Rico, who was back at Rhea’s side after being shifted to the lobby with most of the other vamps. He didn’t seem happy about having two more Pythian acolytes hanging around.
He wasn’t the only one.
“Yes,” Jonas said, softly. “Her abilities were always formidable. If a fail-safe system was in effect, I can see her being chosen.”
“But why keep it a secret? How am I supposed to ask for help if I don’t even know they exist?”
“Ask them,” Jonas said dryly. “All I know is, that damn paper came out, and I shortly thereafter received two very unhappy visitors who demanded an audience with you. After what you’d been through, I think they were afraid that you wouldn’t see them without an introduction. I made the call and you know the rest.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t know anything,” and walked over to the women.
“Lady,” they murmured with Hildegarde nodding in lieu of the dreaded curtsy.
Like I gave a damn.
“Why are you here?” I asked abruptly.
They exchanged a glance.
“We’re supposed to be here,” Abigail said, after a moment. “If the court is in need. It is why we exist—well, why the position does—”
“The court’s been in need for a while. The court was just blown up,” I pointed out.
“The building was blown up. The court was rescued by you,” Hildegarde corrected, with equanimity.
Unlike her younger counterpart, she seemed completely unfazed by all this. The bullet-ridden wall, which I’d caught Abigail staring at, had passed without so much as a raised eyebrow. The motley crew of punked-out witches and pissed-off vamps had been managed with a cheery “Well, hello there.” And now a distrustful, beyond-annoyed Pythia was being regarded kindly, but with no discernible worry.
Maybe because she’d just seen me have trouble walking up a flight of stairs.
If they wanted to hurt me, they could have done it already. So that left the question of what they did want. “What do you want?” I asked.
“To help you,” Abigail said, her thin face distressed. “When I read the paper—I knew I should have come sooner—”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I did— Well, I tried. When Lady Phemonoe died and Myra was named a rogue by the Circle, I sent a letter to the Lord Protector—”
“To Saunders?” I asked, naming Jonas’ predecessor. The one who had been corrupt as hell, and had wanted my head on a platter before I found out what he’d been up to.
He’d almost succeeded.
And damn, I could have used a couple of acolytes then!
“Yes,” she confirmed. “He was . . . He made me uneasy. I felt his answer was just an attempt to gain information about me. I’d written anonymously, and he didn’t like that. But we’re not supposed to reveal ourselves unless absolutely necessary, and I didn’t know him. I set up a meeting, but he had people there, and ambushed me. I got away, but it was a close thing, and before I could decide what to do next, Jonas had removed him and assumed his role. And you had been named Pythia.”
Hildegarde nodded. “I had considered coming forward as well, but everything resolved itself quickly, and the court did not appear to be in danger. As far as I could tell, this was merely a disputed succession, with the Circle trying to retrieve both of you to see where the power would go—”
“They were trying to kill us and put their own candidate on the throne!” I said heatedly.
“But that wasn’t the story the papers put out, was it?” she asked mildly. “And I have been away from court for some time. My old avenues for gossip have long since dried up”—her lips twisted—“and died off, in most cases.”
“We’re not supposed to reveal ourselves unless absolutely necessary,” Abigail repeated. “If everyone knew who we were, and there was an assault on the court, they might target us, too.”
“And then where would we be?” Hildegarde agreed.
“Where I’ve been for the last four months?” I snarled, and then leaned on the wall and put a hand on my head, because that wasn’t helping. “Why are you here?”