“A hazard of office.” Pritkin shrugged. “There were many who did not care for Lady Phemonoe.”

Yeah, like the ones who had killed her. “She once told me that I’d be the very best of us, or the very worst,” I admitted. “I didn’t know what that meant for a long time. I think I do now. Either my reign will see the office finally under the control of the Pythia, instead of the Circle or some ancient being, or it will see me, and everyone else, become slaves to that creature.”

“That won’t happen.”

I almost pointed out that it very nearly had happened, but I didn’t feel like getting into a fight. “Which kind of brings us to something else I wanted to ask you,” I said instead. “The Circle maintains the ouroboros spell now, right?”

“Yes. Power is drawn from the Circle collectively, as no one mage could possibly sustain such a thing alone.”

That was what I’d been afraid of. “Okay, so exactly how many ‘blows’ can the Circle take before they can’t keep up the spell anymore?”

“I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“I can’t. All I can tell you is that when the spell was laid, the Circle was considerably smaller than it is now. Presumably we have some leeway before a crisis point is reached. But as the war heats up, there will be casualties. And every loss will become progressively more dangerous.”

“Because it could be the one that lets the old gods return.”

“They’re not gods! They’re strong, but primarily because their magic is so different from ours that it is difficult to counter. And there is certainly nothing godlike about their attitudes! Petty, arrogant, cruel beings without a shred of—”

“My point,” I said, raising my voice, “is that if the Circle weakens too far, the spell snaps. So how do we keep that from happening? It’s a little hard to save the lives of a bunch of people who are still trying to kill me!”

Pritkin ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. “I am well aware of that! We will have to manage some kind of rapprochement. If we continue to fight amongst ourselves, our enemies will have a definite advantage.”

“And even if we win the war, if the Circle is weakened enough that the spell shatters—”

“Then we’ve lost anyway.” Pritkin finished for me grimly.

“How would you suggest we begin? The Circle hates me.”

“I don’t know. With its current leadership…I don’t know,” he repeated. “It will not be easy. But above all else, you have to show them that you are not a puppet of the vampires. That isn’t the case, I know,” he said, forestalling my protest, “but that is how it appears. You live here, surrounded by them; you wear Mircea’s mark; you are bound to him by the geis—”

“About that last one—I assume you are going to help me break it?”

There was a commotion outside, then the door burst open and Casanova ran in. He batted away Sal’s hands. “Let go of me, woman!”

“What else have I been doing?” Pritkin asked incredulously. “What more would you have me do?”

Casanova looked at me. “Feeling better, are we?” It didn’t sound concerned. It sounded pissed.

“Not particularly, no.” I looked at Pritkin. “Cast the spell, of course.”

“Good,” Casanova snapped. “Because, thanks to you, neither am I!”

“What spell?” Pritkin asked, looking confused.

“The one to remove the geis!” I said impatiently. “I had to destroy the Codex, remember? I don’t have it. But you do, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you paying attention?” Casanova demanded.

“Maybe when you stop insulting me, I’ll think about it,” I told him.

“Because Françoise won’t do anything about those women, and the pixie won’t do anything for anyone until she gets some rune she keeps raving about, and somebody has to!”

“What women?”

“We already tried that,” Pritkin said, starting to look worried.

“The Graeae!” Casanova said, throwing up his hands. “They helped Françoise get the kids out—I personally think they just like killing demons, or anything else that stands still long enough—and now she won’t even attempt to trap them. And they’re currently all three downstairs! Together! If you hurry—”

“Tried what?” I asked Pritkin.

“The counterspell. I cast it for you in France. Twice.”

I stared at him, Casanova momentarily forgotten. “That was a fake. It didn’t work.”

“It didn’t work,” he agreed, “but it wasn’t a fake.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that all three of them are together right now!” Casanova raged. “Who knows when we’ll get this opportunity again? Get up, get down there and talk some sense into that witch!”

I stared at Pritkin. “It has to work. We’ve already tried everything else!”

He just shook his head. “I cast it on you not only in France, but here in our time as well. It failed. That is why I have been searching for an alternative.”

“Well?” Casanova demanded.

“And?” I asked Pritkin frantically.

“Nothing. I do not understand why the geis is behaving this way. It shouldn’t still be there—it can’t still be there. And yet it is.”

“Are you even listening to me?” Casanova all but screamed.

“Yes!” I snapped. “The Graeae are downstairs, all together, and you want me to trap them before—” I stopped, staring at him.

“Yes. So let’s go.” He hauled me to my feet.

“My thoughts exactly,” I said, grabbing Mircea’s trap and Pritkin’s hand.

“Where are we going?” Pritkin asked, looking confused.

“To end this!”

We reappeared in Mircea’s suite at MAGIC. It was two weeks in the past, just after I’d dropped him off following our time in Paris. I’d concentrated on him instead of a place when I shifted, because I hadn’t known for certain where he’d be. But I hadn’t counted on catching him coming out of the shower.

“Dulceata?. Always a pleasure,” he said, unselfconsciously toweling himself off. He glanced at Pritkin. “Why?” he asked, obviously pained.

“He isn’t here to fight. We need to cast a spell on you,” I said quickly, and then realized that maybe I should have worked up to it a little more.

Under a lot of wet brown strands, an eyebrow raised in a sardonic arch. “You do not know magic, Cassie. Therefore I assume that what you meant to say is that he needs to cast a spell.”

Wow. Less than thirty seconds and we were already to the “Cassie” stage. I wondered how long it would be before we hit Cassandra. Before I could say anything, four large vampires rushed into the room, guns drawn and scowls on their faces. They stopped inside the bathroom door, and stood there, looking blankly from Mircea to Pritkin to me.

Pritkin drew a gun, but Mircea didn’t react, except to drape a towel around his waist. “Yes?” he asked politely.

“The wards,” one of the vamps said, a little awkwardly. He was taller and more muscle-bound than the others, but judging by the energy he gave off, also probably the youngest. “They indicated an intruder.” He scowled, his eyes on the gun in Pritkin’s hand.

“They were mistaken,” Mircea said smoothly, as if we weren’t standing right there.

Three of the vamps immediately bowed. “Our apologies, my lord,” one of them murmured formally. “I will have the wards checked before any erroneous reports are filed. Although it could take an hour or so.”

“See that it does.”

“Yes, sir.”

Three of the vamps started for the door, but the bigger one hesitated. “My lord, with respect, the Consul said most definitely that any unregistered persons should be detained and reported as possible—”

“But there are no such persons here,” Mircea repeated.

“My lord!” He swept an arm to indicate the scowling war mage and beat-up clairvoyant currently crowding Mircea’s bathroom. “They are standing right—”

“Do you see anyone?” Mircea asked one of the other guards.

“No sir!” he replied, looking right at me.

“They must have done something to fool your minds! There are two mages right—”

Mircea made a small gesture, and the vamp suddenly stopped talking. His eyes darted around my general direction, but could no longer seem to find me. “But—but there were people here!” Mircea raised an eyebrow and the vamp’s companions dragged him from the room.

I stared worriedly at the door. “Will they be back?”

“No. But they will have to report this, in an hour or so. I take it your business will need no more time than that? Because if so, I shall need to make further arrangements.”

“I’m not really sure how long it will take,” I said awkwardly. That depended on just how difficult he was about to be, among other things. “It’s, uh, kind of complicated.”

Suddenly he laughed and gestured for me to precede him into the bedroom. “With you, when is it ever anything else?”

Like the bathroom, the outer areas of the suite were lit with candles, not electricity. I remembered why: this was the night the war began, at least officially—the night MAGIC was attacked. The big wards were up, and they don’t mesh well with electricity. The dim light didn’t prevent me from seeing Mircea’s inquiring look, however.

I sighed and glanced at Pritkin, who had settled himself into the chair Tami would later occupy. He shrugged unhelpfully. We’d been over this already—there was no way Mircea was going to agree without some kind of explanation. But I didn’t have to like it.