“He’s a spy! You don’t really think this is a simple trace, do you?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “And what are you afraid he will discover, dulceaƫă?”

“You know damn well that’s not the point! I grew up being followed around by Tony’s thugs.”

“And you resented it.”

“Of course!”

“And therein lies the difference between us,” he told me seriously. “I was also accustomed to such attentions from a young age. I never went anywhere alone; it was too dangerous. From the time I was born, I was a target for rival factions of the family, for jealous nobles, for invaders. A pawn in a political game that threatened constantly to engulf me and everyone I valued. I learned early on: safety was far more important than privacy.”

I stared up at him. I rarely saw Mircea look completely serious; he would joke on his deathbed, if he ever had one. But there was no humor in his face now.

“I still want it off.”

“I will make inquiries.” He leaned over and kissed me lingeringly. “Now, do I have your word?”

I sighed. “Yes! Now will you please . . .”

He ran his eyes over me, and some heat sparked in their depths. But he undid the cuffs. “Pity,” he murmured, grabbed his jacket and was gone.

I spent the rest of the morning in the pool, swimming laps and avoiding the growing number of masters inside. A steady stream of gold-eyed vampires from Mircea’s Washington estate filtered in all day, replacing Alphonse’s crew. A few curious types stared at me through the living room windows, but none were willing to brave direct daylight to come out and say hello.

I came back into the apartment itself only when Sal returned from a shopping trip. I helped her carry a few dozen packages to her room, and I couldn’t help but notice that some had Augustine’s distinctive blue and silver seal. He was becoming as famous for the boxes as for the contents. Sal sat a large one on the bed and we watched it do its thing. It unwrapped itself and then refolded into an origami dragon complete with tiny, useless wings and little silver flames coming out of its mouth.

It slowly waddled to the edge of the bed and toppled off while Sal held up what I originally thought was a burlap sack. “This is for you. It’s going to solve these wardrobe slips you keep having.”

I regarded it warily. “Does Augustine know you bought it for me?”

She grinned. “Worried?”

“A little.” I had enough problems without my skin turning blue or whatever he’d dreamed up this time.

“Relax. He thought it was for me.”

“And you think it’ll fit?” Sal was three inches taller than me and built like Mae West.

“Just try it,” she prompted. “It’s the new thing.”

It didn’t look like a new thing. It looked like an old thing: a plain slip dress and jacket made out of coarse brown fabric. But it had been a nice thought. I pulled it on over the bathing suit and turned to look in the mirror.

I blinked a couple of times, because what I was seeing didn’t make sense. I was suddenly wearing an elegant little cover-up in a deep blue that complemented one of the bands in my suit. It had a drawstring neckline, a mesh body and flippy little skirt. It was actually cute.

“It’s called a wardrobe-in-one,” Sal told me, opening more packages. An origami lion prowled to the edge of the bed before leaping off. It was soon followed by a paper eagle, which unfolded foot-long wings and soared to the top of the dresser.

“I don’t get it,” I told her, watching the dragon emerge from under the bed, a large dust bunny in its claws.

“The idea is an outfit that can morph along with the wearer’s needs, allowing you to go from work to shopping to evening with no need to change clothes.” She ran the hem of the cover-up through her fingers, her eyes narrowing. “I thought he was using some kind of glamourie, but this actually feels like different fabric.”

“It’s really cool,” I told her, and then bit my lip. “It must have been a lot, though.” She’d already bought me several outfits, none of which had been cheap. And it wasn’t like I could return the favor. I assumed that the Pythia usually received some sort of salary, but—surprise—I hadn’t been getting a check. And Mircea’s shiny new credit card was staying on his dresser where it belonged.

“We hicks have to stick together. Especially around here.” She shot a glance out the door. At first, I didn’t see anyone there, but then I noticed the edge of a finely pressed pant leg peeping past the door frame. One of Mircea’s masters was loitering in the hall.

He wasn’t there to eavesdrop—he could have done that from across the apartment—and besides, he’d stuck a leg out so we’d know he was there. Why he wanted us to know, I had no idea. But I could feel my cheeks reddening as my blood pressure soared. Maybe Mircea didn’t mind tripping over people all day, but I hadn’t had five hundred years to get used to it. And it was getting old fast.

I stomped over to the door and poked my head out. And immediately wished I hadn’t. It was Nicu, the one master I’d already had a run-in with. Of course.

“Yes? Can I help you with something?” I asked.

Those flat gold eyes met mine and held, but there was no attempt to overwhelm me this time. “You are the master’s woman,” he said. And stopped.

I didn’t intend to discuss my personal life with a guy I barely knew. Besides, there was no point. From Nicu’s perspective, I was Mircea’s woman because Mircea said so. My feelings were irrelevant.

I sighed. “And?”

“Your bodyguard is not here.” He sounded disapproving.

“Marco’s shift starts at sundown,” I said, not getting his point. Assuming he had one. Maybe this was the ancient master version of small talk. “I’m not planning to go out until then.”

“I will guard you until he arrives.”

I tried to remember Marco’s lecture and be diplomatic. “That’s great. Really. But, um, there’s only Mircea’s people here, so I don’t think—”

“There are others,” he said, cutting me off. Apparently, this manners thing worked only one way.

“What?”

“You are in a room alone with the traitor’s child.”

I still didn’t get it, but then Sal was there, smiling coldly. “He means me, Cassie. Because the toad who made me betrayed his master and joined the bad guys. Leaving me and Alphonse—and the rest of Tony’s old stable—under suspicion.”

“Mircea’s going to change her as soon as he gets the time!” I told Nicu heatedly. “Just like he did for Rafe!”

I may as well have saved my breath. Nicu just crossed his arms and settled back against the wall, those coinlike eyes fixed on Sal. He’d obviously said his piece and he was done.

“Come on.” Sal tugged on my arm, getting me away from Nicu before I said something stupid. “Don’t you want to see what I bought for me?”

Half an hour later, we had a paper menagerie stalking, slinking and crawling its way around the floor and Sal was in a good mood once again. She spun in front of a floor-length mirror, the deep coral charmeuse of her skirt hugging every curve. And I decided this was the best chance I was going to get.

“Um, so. Do you know anything about the Senate members who were hurt in the war?” I asked casually.

“Four were killed, two were injured,” Sal replied promptly, adjusting the fit of the top, which already fit like a second skin. “Although Marlowe’s pretty well recovered, or so he lets on. I hear he got hit in the head one too many times and keeps it bandaged up when he isn’t around people. But that could just be a rumor. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “Mircea said the Senate’s been overworked lately because of the casualties, and I was just wondering about them. Were any women injured?”

“Only Ismitta.” Sal held up a triple strand of pearls and admired the effect with the dress. “She put up a hell of a fight, even after they got her head off. I heard she killed two guys with it tucked under her arm.”

“But she’s dead now?”

“Oh, no. Other than Marlowe, she’s the only one to have survived. But with an injury like that, well, even a first-level master is going to be out for a while. I heard she’s gone back to Africa to recover. There’s some shaman over there supposed to have had experience with this sort of thing.”

“Africa?”

“Yeah. Don’t know what part, though. She looks kind of Ethiopian.”

Ismitta wasn’t the girl in the photos, then. So the pretty brunette probably wasn’t on her deathbed. Which meant that there was no reason why I couldn’t just ask Mircea about her. For some reason, that didn’t make me feel any better.

The fun ended with the arrival of a fussy little man in a rumpled suit, with a big bag and a bigger scowl. The wardsmith Mircea had promised. Apparently he’d just finished a shift with the detail trying to bring the casino’s wards up to the Senate’s exacting standards. By the shadows under his eyes and the snap in his voice, it seemed like maybe he was feeling a little overworked. But that changed when he got a glimpse of my ward above the back of my swimsuit.

“Oh, yes, yes.” He traced it reverently with a fingertip. “I’ve heard of this, of course, but never thought to see it. They said it was lost years ago.”

I didn’t feel like going through that whole story. “Can you fix it?”

“I’ll need to remove it. If I may?”

I paused and then nodded reluctantly. It had never left my skin since my mother had placed it on me as a child. But it wasn’t much good to me in its current form.

The mage said an incantation and I felt a trace of heat running along the familiar pattern on my back. Magical wards dissolve into the skin when on the body, mimicking the look of a tattoo. Off the body, they look like small gold charms, such as the one now filling his palm.