"You know as well as I do that the family does not take disloyalty well," he murmured. "That is especially true from a demon/vampire hybrid that most regard as a freak. And the fact that I have recently taken over temporary control on this coast hasn't won me any more admirers. There are many waiting for me to put a foot wrong, and betraying the boss would definitely qualify.”

I hadn't been prepared for candor, and it threw me. I stared at him as a surge of fear fluttered through my stomach and up to my throat. I tamped it down; I couldn't afford to show uncertainty now. If I didn't find some way to get Casanova to open up, pretty soon Myra would be doing the same to me—with a knife.

I leaned across the table and played my best card. "I understand all about the family's idea of revenge. But think about it. "If Tony gets staked by me or the Senate, you'll be in a perfect position to grab some property. Wouldn't you like to own this place yourself?”

Casanova ran a hand through his shoulder-length chestnut hair, which fell in perfect waves without any obvious artifice. He was dressed in a raw silk suit in a rich brown that almost matched his eyes. I wasn't an expert on men's clothes, but his saffron-colored tie looked expensive, as did his gold watch and matching cufflinks. Casanova had caviar tastes, and I doubted Tony overpaid him—generosity wasn't one of his character traits.

He looked around longingly. "What I wouldn't give to redecorate," he said. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is, getting patrons past the ambiance?" I could see his point. The gloomy opium-den interior and dragon's-head bar, complete with an occasional wisp of steam emanating from its carved nostrils, didn't exactly scream romance. "My boys have to work twice as hard as they should. I engineered a water leak last month to give me an excuse to gut the lobby, but there's so much left to do, and don't even get me started on the entrance! It scares off half the would-be customers before they make it in the door.”

"So, help me out here.”

He shook his head regretfully, expelling a thin stream of smoke with his sigh. "Not possible, chica. If Tony found out, he'd ruin me. I'd have to find a new body after he staked this one, and I've become somewhat attached to it.”

It figured Casanova didn't want to risk it. Hanging out on the sidelines, waiting to see who won, was the practical move—and practicality is pretty much the defining vamp characteristic. Unfortunately, that option wasn't open to me.

A legacy from an eccentric seer had recently left me Pythia, the title for the world's chief clairvoyant. Agnes' gift came with a whopping amount of power that everyone wanted to either monopolize or eradicate, but I was stuck with it for the moment since she'd thoughtlessly died before I could figure out how to give it back. I hoped to pass it on to someone else, assuming I lived so long, but in the meantime, Tony wanted to kill me, the Senate wanted to make me their stooge and, oh, yeah, I'd also managed to piss off the mages. What can I say? I'm an overachiever.

"Tony isn't going to win against the six senates," I said flatly. "They have reciprocal agreements—if one is hunting him, they all are. Sooner or later, they'll catch up with him and he'll start blaming everyone else for what happened. They'll stake him anyway, but ten to one he'll incriminate you and a lot of others before then. Help me out and maybe I can get to him before they do.”

Casanova studied me while he stubbed out his cigarette in a black lacquered ashtray. Dark eyes swept over my outfit, and a faint smile came to his lips. "Rumor has it that you're Pythia now," he finally said, stroking the back of one long-fingered hand lightly over mine. "Can't you use your power to deal with this? It would be worth a lot to me." My skin felt warmer than usual where he touched me, a feeling that spread outward along my arm. His voice dropped an octave, going husky. "I could be a very good friend, Cassandra.”

He raised my hand, turning it over to run a finger lightly down the middle of the palm. I was about to make a sarcastic comment about my so-called power when he bent his head. His lips brushed along the line he'd drawn, silken soft yet feeling like they left a brand, and I forgot what I'd been about to say. He looked up at me through dark lashes, and it was like staring into the face of a stranger, one with a darkly beautiful visage and a hypnotic gaze. I remembered the old saying that the only difference between Don Juan and Casanova, the world's two greatest lovers, was that when Don Juan ended relationships, the women hated him, and when Casanova left, they still adored him. I was beginning to understand why.

I snatched my hand back before I was tempted to use it to drag him over the table. "Cut it out!”

He blinked in surprise and reached for me again. This time, the warm feeling was stronger when we touched, sending a frisson of heat dancing across my skin. I had a sudden image of sultry Spanish nights, the scent of jasmine, and warm, golden skin sliding against mine. I closed my eyes, swallowing hard, trying to reject the sensations, but that only seemed to help them become more real. Someone pushed me back against a thick feather mattress, practically burying me in its plump folds, and I could actually feel the soft weave of the sheets under my hands. A fall of silken hair spilled all around me and strong hands skimmed down my sides, a teasing touch that barely registered but flooded my veins with heat.

Then, with no warning, the sensation changed, going from seductive warmth to scorching heat. For a moment, I thought Casanova's touch would actually burn me, but he released my hand before it edged over into real pain. I opened my eyes to find us still sitting in the bar; the only signs that anything had happened were my flushed face and pounding pulse.

Casanova sighed and sat back in his seat. "Whoever did the geis knew what he was doing," he told me, signaling for a refill. "Out of curiosity, who was it? I would have said there were none I couldn't break.”

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I rubbed my hand where it felt like he'd left an imprint of his fingers behind, and glared at him. I didn't appreciate the attempted distraction—I was not his afternoon snack—nor whatever had ended it so painfully.

"The geis. I didn't know anyone had a prior claim or I wouldn't—”

"What's a gesh?" He spelled it for me, which didn't help. A waiter brought us both new drinks and I gulped some of mine, my mood blackening by the second.

"Don't play games, Cassie; you know what I am. Did you think I wouldn't see it?" he asked impatiently; then something in my expression made his eyes widen. "You really don't know, do you?”

I stared at him resentfully. More complications; just what I needed right now. "Either make some sense or—”

"Someone, a powerful magic user or a master vampire, has put a claim on you," he said patiently, then corrected himself. "No, not a claim. More like an immense keep off sign a mile high.”

I sat there, feeling a new wave of heat creep up my neck. I remembered a cultured, amused voice telling me that I belonged to him, always had and always would. I was going to kill him.

"What does that mean, exactly?”

"A geis is a magical bond, usually involving a taboo or prohibition over personal behavior." He saw my confusion. "Do you remember the story of Melusine?”

A childhood memory surfaced, but it was vague. "A fairy tale; French, I think. She was some half fairy who turned into a dragon, right?”

Casanova sighed, shaking his head at my ignorance. "Melusine was a beautiful woman six days of the week, but was cursed to appear as a half serpent on the seventh. She married Raymond of Lusignan after he agreed to a geis prohibiting him from ever seeing her on Saturday, even though she refused to say why. They had many happy years together until one of his cousins convinced Raymond that Saturday was the day she spent with her lover, and he spied on her to find out the truth. That broke the geis, causing Melusine to become a dragon permanently and losing Raymond the love of his life.”

"You're telling me that story was real?”

"I have no idea. The point is, that's how a geis operates." His hand hovered over mine, but he didn't attempt to touch me again. "This one is the strongest I've ever felt, and it's been in place for some time now. It has a good grip.”

"Define 'some time.'“

"Years," he said, concentrating. "At least a decade, maybe more. And a decade isn't a simple matter of ten years. For purposes of the spell, it's measured as a percentage of your life span. You're what, early twenties?”

"I'll be twenty-four tomorrow.”

He shrugged. "Well, there you have it. For roughly half your life, someone has owned you.”

A new rush of blood flooded my face. I remembered a cultured, amused voice telling me that I belonged to him, always had and always would. I was going to kill him. "No one owns me," I said shortly, but Casanova didn't look impressed. "What does this geis do, other than to warn people off?”

I soon wished I hadn't asked. "The dúthracht geis is a strong magical connection—one of the strongest. During the Middle Ages, paranoid mages with nonmagical wives employed it as a variation on a chastity belt. I've also heard of it being used in arranged marriages, to smooth out initial awkwardness.”

He concentrated for a moment before continuing. "As far as I can determine, it allows whoever put it in place to know your emotions—your true ones, not whatever you're trying to project—so you can't lie to him. It also gives him a rough idea of where you are at any given time. He may not know your exact location, but he'll certainly be able to narrow it down to a city, and possibly further.”

I remembered the arrogant jerk who I strongly suspected was behind this telling me that he had been able to find me once because he'd had help from the Senate's intelligence network. Maybe he had, but it seemed there had been more to it. I wondered how many other times he'd told me only part of the truth.