Death's Mistress (40 page)

“If you show me to your kitchen, I can manage.”

I pointed. “It’s through there. What’s left of it.” He nodded and the guys filed out, except for Scarface, who continued to watch us from above.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, and sagged against the wall. Damn. That could have gone . . . well, a whole lot worse.

Louis-Cesare looked at me and smiled. “Lord Cheung is an honorable man.”

Lord Cheung had been in deep shit and just dug himself out, I didn’t say. Because pissing off Scarface wasn’t my idea of a good time. Not when I felt like I might fall over any minute.

And not when I still had a mess to deal with. I pushed myself off the wall.

“Where are your friends?” Louis-Cesare asked me, as if he’d been reading my mind.

“I don’t know.” I looked at the missing stairs. A few planks still clung to the walls here and there, and the top three steps remained in place. But that wouldn’t have helped me much, even if I hadn’t had one hand out of commission. “Maybe upstairs.”

“I will check.” He caught hold of the jagged edge of the floor above and pulled himself up. Scarface waited, arms crossed, eyes slitted, until he stood up, and then the two faced off. I held my breath; it looked like there might be trouble, after all.

Then Scarface grinned. “I never had the chance to watch you fight before.” He pursed his lips. “Not bad.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about, having been a little too busy not dying to pay attention to anyone’s technique. Louis-Cesare looked bemused as well, whether at the compliment or in surprise at who was giving it. But he nodded briefly.

Scarface started patting himself down, but his trophy got in the way. So he tied it to what remained of the banister by the hair while he searched around in his pockets. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing, and by the look on his face, neither could Louis-Cesare.

Eventually, Scarface located a pen and, after a moment, ripped down a hanging shred of wallpaper. He presented them to Louis-Cesare with a strange look on his face, half-hopeful, half-embarrassed. “You know, in case I don’t catch up with you at the Challenge.”

Oh, my God, I thought blankly.

Louis-Cesare gave me a fierce look, and I bit my lip while he hastily scribbled his name. I doubt it was very legible due to the nature of the paper, but Scarface seemed pleased. He folded it carefully and put it in his back pocket.

“You’re challenging?” I asked, as Scarface reclaimed his trophy.

“Damn right, I’m challenging. You’re looking at a future senator.” And the scary thing was, he wouldn’t be the strangest one I knew.

He eyed the remains of the fey. “You wouldn’t happen to know anybody who could get this shrunk by tonight, would you?”

“I think it takes a while. You have to remove the skull and then boil it . . .” I trailed off, because Louis-Cesare was looking at me funny.

“Damn.” Scarface cocked his head. “Then again, I could take it like this. Think I’ll intimidate an opponent?”

“You scare the hell out of me,” I told him truthfully.

That seemed to have been the right answer. Scarface laughed, clapped Louis-Cesare on the shoulder and somersaulted off the balcony, his grisly trophy bouncing against his thigh. I waited until he’d passed through the front door and went to retrieve my own.

Ray had ended up wedged in a corner by the back door. He had a muddy boot print across his face and one of his fangs had broken off. But other than that, he seemed okay.

“We got a bond now?” he demanded.

“Getting there.”

I tucked his head under my arm and went hunting for the rest of him. I was trying to haul his body out of a heap of broken furniture when Louis-Cesare came back. “They are not there,” he told me. “The rooms are disturbed, as if they were awakened abruptly, but there is no one anywhere above us.”

My breath came out in a sigh of relief. There was a huge hole in the floor, another in the wall where the pantry had been, and then there were the missing stairs. No way had anyone slept through that. If he’d found anything, it wouldn’t have been good news.

“I also cannot sense them,” he said, listening.

Neither could I, now that I concentrated. There were no shuffling footsteps, no telltale heartbeats, no frightened breathing. Just the ancient fridge dumping some ice cubes, the soft sounds of tea being brewed and the pounding of the rain.

“Perhaps they returned to Faerie,” Louis-Cesare said.

“Maybe.” But that didn’t sound right. Claire had been pretty adamant about not returning without that damned stone, and anyway, she’d have just been stepping right back into the mess she’d fled.

Of course, between
subrand and a palace full of assassins, I knew which one I’d choose.

There was probably another explanation, but I couldn’t think of it just then. I was feeling a little dizzy now that the adrenaline had bled away, and the lack of a meal in something like fourteen hours had given me the shakes. And Ray was caught on something, and one-handed I couldn’t seem to—

Louis-Cesare tugged him out and set him on his feet, and accidentally bumped my injured wrist. I sucked in a breath through my teeth. “What is it?”

“My wrist.”

“You never told me what was wrong with it,” he said, cradling it in one large hand.

“
subrand,” I said simply. “He broke it last night, too.”

Louis-Cesare paused, but he didn’t say anything. And after a moment, I felt warmth slide through the damaged tissue, wrapping the bones in a web of power that, whether it helped the healing process or not, felt damned good. I could still feel the throb in the injury with every heartbeat, but it was distant, manageable. I’d get it bound up in a few minutes, but for right now, this would work.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t reply, just pulled me against him. His hand was in my hair, his heartbeat under my ear, and it was oddly soothing. What was even more so was the fact that he was still in one piece. I wasn’t sure how, but I’d take it.

There were about a hundred things I needed to do right then, but for a moment, I just stood there. My wrist was throbbing, my legs felt weak as water and a massive headache was building behind my right eye. But he was warm and his shirt was soft and he smelled so damn good. I felt my whole body relax.

He didn’t say anything, but his arms tightened. And despite strict orders to the contrary, my eyes slipped closed. All at once, I just wanted to curl up and—

“Well, this is cozy,” Ray said, from under my arm.

Louis-Cesare pulled back with a sigh just as the door banged open and Christine stumbled in. Her pink silk gown was liberally streaked with mud, and the priceless lace was a soggy mess. She was dragging a couple of mud-covered suitcases and muttering something under her breath. She didn’t even appear to notice us, just dropped the suitcases near a body, turned and went out again.

Louis-Cesare looked after her, his face blank. “What is Christine doing here?”

“She said you told her to go with me.”

“She said—” He stopped, his jaw tightening. “I believe she misunderstood.”

“If you aren’t here for her, why are you here?”

“Because of
subrand,” he said, like that should in any way be obvious.

“How did you know he was going to attack?”

“He attacked last night, but did not achieve his objective. Why should he not return?”

“You skipped out
on your murder trial
on the chance he might show up?” I asked incredulously.

He frowned. Apparently, that hadn’t been the response he’d expected. “It appears fortunate that I did.”

“You’re supposed to be facing the Senate right now! What are you planning to tell them?”

“Nothing. There is no point. Whatever I say, the outcome has already been decided.”

“Mircea doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Mircea doesn’t know Anthony as well as I do.”

“Meaning what?” I demanded, as someone started stabbing at the doorbell. I stared at it a little desperately. “
Now
what?”

“The Senate’s men, in all probability.”

“You were bluffing.”

“Not about that. I assume it is why
subrand left so precipitously. His spies must have warned him that reinforcements were on the way.”

He started for the door, and I grabbed his shirt. “You called them?” I asked, hoping that the sinking in my gut was wrong.

“No.”

“Then why are they here?”

“To take me into custody, I should suspect.”

He pulled away, and after a stunned second, I followed Louis-Cesare through the ruined vestibule. The wind had picked up, billowing out the antique lace curtains and letting in the rain. And a lot of flashing lights. They strobed the small room in disco colors of red and blue, sending a flickering rectangle of light across the walls and making the shadows of the furniture jump.

We had visitors, but not the Senate. At least, not yet.

Across the muddy tire tracks, car parts and half a ton of couture that littered the lawn, I could see a dozen neighbors lining the street in their nightclothes. They were staring at the mess and the wreck of a house beyond it with the sort of keen-eyed horror people usually reserve for traffic accidents. And across the street, a third police car had just pulled up.

I should have expected it. The wards had dropped and the glamourie had gone with them. And half a dozen vampires ripping a Lamborghini apart wasn’t exactly quiet. We’d probably woken up half the neighborhood.

“Christine!” Louis-Cesare called urgently. She’d been squelching around in ankle-deep mud, trying to rescue the rest of her wardrobe, but she looked up at her master’s voice. “Assemble a small bag, if you please. We are leaving.”

She stared at him in confusion, her arms full of muddy couture. “But . . . but my clothes . . .”

“I shall buy you new ones.
Vite, s’il te plaît
.”

Her lips tightened, and for a moment, I thought Louis-Cesare was going to have a rebellion on his hands. Night was fading, and Christine’s good humor was going with it. But after a moment, she threw down the clothes and stomped past us, still muttering.