I reached out and ran a finger over the pretty crinkled top. The blood had dried, turning from a liquid to a powder that smeared as I moved the finger downward, leaving an ugly slash over the delicate yellow fabric. Each droplet was so small that it was hard to see on its own, but combined together, there was a lot of it.
No wonder Pritkin had freaked out.
I should be doing the same, considering that I’d been walking around covered in gore. But what I mostly felt was awe. How much blood had the fey had in him to leave such a puddle, and yet also to spray it everywhere?
I watched my finger move around as if on its own, and wondered what was wrong with me. I’d felt surprise, even shock, when I saw the blood on the little girl’s hand. That made sense; I could understand that. Like I could understand feeling revulsion now.
But I didn’t.
Like I hadn’t felt fear after that first jolt in Pritkin’s room.
There had been a surge of adrenaline, followed by the thrill of the chase and growing excitement when I knew I was close. My heart had been hammering, my blood had been singing, and I had been completely caught up in pursuing my prey. Because that’s what he’d felt like: prey. Not someone to be feared, except that he might reach Pritkin before I did. Just . . . prey. A stupid, small thing that had dared to defy me, and must pay for his insolence.
I glanced at the mirror, and for a moment, I didn’t know the face looking back at me. It was leaner, with the cheekbones more prominent and the eyes seeming bigger because of my recent weight loss. Tami had been right: I’d been running around so much lately,
shifting back and forth in time, that meals had ended up getting skipped. Not on purpose; it was just hard to keep track.
But for a minute, I didn’t know me.
And not just because I was thinner. There was something else there, too, visible now with less childish padding to hide it. Something sharper, almost predatory, what Shakespeare would have called a lean and hungry look. Something that I’d previously only seen . . .
On vamps.
My hands clenched in the ruined fabric, and the next thing I knew, I was crumpling my blood smeared clothes into a ball and stuffing them into the trashcan. I threw some used tissues and makeup sponges on top of it because there was no reason to freak out the staff. And then fished it out and blasted it to powder anyway, aging it to nothing along with the rest of the contents of the can, along with the can itself. Because I lived with vampires, damn it, and blood told them stories!
I just stood there after I was done, my heart hammering once more, my pulse pounding, and my face flushing under whatever was left of the crappy glamourie.
Damn it, Mircea! I thought. There are some things I don’t want you to pass over!
I finally got into the shower and lathered up, scrubbing my body so hard that I defied even a vamp’s nose to smell a thing when I was done.
Chapter Thirteen
I took my time brushing, flossing, moisturizing, and doing the rest of my usual nighttime routine, until my hands no longer shook and I felt more or less back to normal. Except for a serious desire to get this damned spell off, once and for all! I slid into my favorite silky blue bathrobe and reentered the bedroom with a purpose.
And found Marco back in place, of course. He’d once told me that it was part of his job to be terminally nosy, and he was very good at his job. But now there were also two women sitting in front of him, at the conference table opposite my bed.
They didn’t get up when I entered, also of course. The liaison from the Silver Circle to my court, a young guy named Reggie, always scrambled to his feet every time I entered a room. I kind of got the impression that he had to hold himself back from saluting. But the covens . . .
Were a different breed.
They didn’t salute. And if they had, I always got the impression that it would be of the one finger variety. They prided themselves on their autonomy, telling the Silver Circle and its rules to get bent, and mostly kept themselves to themselves.
Except where the Pythian Court was concerned.
It seemed that the war had even the mighty covens spooked. Not enough to play nice with the Circle, who they viewed as ancient enemies, but enough to get them thinking that maybe they needed allies, too. So, they’d chosen me, and sent three more-than-competent witches to join my court.
At least, I hoped they were competent, or I was screwed.
The women rotated out on a regular basis, needing a break from the crazy, and one of them was on her weekend. That left Vi, a female version of Marco only with more tats, and Saffy, a pink-haired, punk type, to hold down the fort. Along with the pretty, long haired brunette who had just come into the room.
“Oh!” Rhea said, and put a hand to her mouth as soon as she saw me.
As usual, she looked like a refugee from another age. One where they still used porcelain teacups and calling cards, and thought that high-necked, lace blouses were a nifty idea. And had pretty manners, which was why she didn’t ask me why my eyes were glowing.
The coven girls had no such problem, however. I walked forward and Saffy did a double take. “Son of a bitch! What happened to you?”
Vi didn’t say anything, but she abruptly stood up. It wasn’t out of respect, however. Judging by her expression, it was out of fascination.