He laughed, a rather strangled sound under the circumstances. "Of course not. I'm too old for a lamia to take an interest. I tracked the one I killed over the bodies of twenty children it used to sustain its abomination of a life. I won't let that happen again."

I fought down anger and turned to the window, parting the blackout curtain to see a flat, reddish-tan landscape and pale blue sky. Quite a group had gathered around the hole left by the grenade, but no one bothered us. I guess they figured we could take care of ourselves. I turned back to that hate-filled face. "What if you're wrong and I'm not some evil thing? Wouldn't you rather know for sure before killing me?"

"I already know. No human can do what you did. It isn't possible."

"A few days ago, I would have agreed with you. Now I know different." I found it hard to meet his eyes. I'd never had anyone look at me with that level of hatred. Tony wanted to kill me, but I was willing to bet that if he ever caught up with me his eyes wouldn't look like that. He viewed me as a royal pain and a way to seal a bargain, not as the incarnation of evil. Even though I knew Pritkin was wrong, I felt guilty, and that made me mad in a way his physical attack hadn't. I wasn't the homicidal lunatic here.

"You said you've hunted these things before. Isn't there some kind of test you use, to make sure you're right? Or do you kill anyone you suspect on sight?"

"There are tests," Pritkin said through clenched teeth, as if even talking to me was torture. "But your vampire allies wouldn't like them. They involve holy water and crosses."

I looked at Mircea in astonishment, and he rolled his eyes. What the hell kind of stuff was Pritkin reading? Bram freaking Stoker? Demons might be afraid of holy items, but vamps certainly weren't. Mircea's family crest showed a dragon, the symbol of courage, embracing a cross, a sign of the family's Catholicism. It decorated the wall behind his seat in the Senate, but I guess Pritkin had been too busy glaring at me to notice. I thought about giving him the lecture on vampirism being sort of like lycanthropy, in that it was a metaphysical disease. But I doubted he'd believe that the legends claiming that a demon came to roost in every new vampire had been caused by the hysteria of the Middle Ages. Pritkin seemed to see demons everywhere, whether any were there or not. In fact, the only ones of Hollywood's arsenal of weapons that actually worked on vamps were sunlight—for the younger ones, anyway—stakes and garlic, and the latter only if employed as part of a protection ward. Simply hanging the stuff over a door would have no effect at all—hell, Tony loved it on bruschetta with a little olive oil.

Mircea was no help; he only grinned at me. "And to think, I always believed that my least favorite things were bad wine and poor fashion." He smiled tolerantly at my expression. "Very well, dulceaţă. I think we can find a few crosses somewhere. And unless I mistake it, Rafe is keeping several vials of holy water imprisoned as we speak."

Rafe came forward with his box. It sounded like a bunch of Mexican jumping beans were inside, urgently trying to get out, and all of us looked at it doubtfully. "I don't agree with this," Tomas spoke up. "I was charged by the Consul to keep Cassie safe. What if he lies, and those things contain acid or explosives? You know we cannot trust him."

"Never trust a mage," Rafe agreed, as if quoting something.

"I will test them," Louis-César said and extracted a vial so quickly that I didn't have a chance to stop him. He didn't pour it over his own flesh as I'd half feared, but held the stoppered vial under Pritkin's nose. "I am about to spill this over your arm. If it is not safe to do so, it would be well if you told me now."

Pritkin ignored him, his glare still on me, as if he was more worried about what I might do than a roomful of master vamps. He obviously hadn't been around them long enough to understand nuances. Louis-César had said only that they wouldn't kill him—that still left a lot of possibilities wide open. I'd have been worried, but Pritkin was so busy giving me the glower of death that he barely noticed when a few drops of colorless liquid were drizzled over his skin. We all watched as if expecting his arm to start to melt, but nothing happened. Louis-César reached for me, but Tomas grabbed his wrist.

The Frenchman's eyes flashed silver. "Be careful, Tomas," he said softly. "You are not possessed this time."

Tomas ignored the warning. "That could be poison—he could have taken the antidote, or be willing to die with her. I will not have her harmed."

"I will take responsibility before the Consul if anything occurs."

"I don't care about the Consul."

"Then you had best care about me."

Two tides of shimmering energy began to build, enough to raise goose bumps on my arms and to set my bracelet dancing against my skin. "Enough!" Mircea waved a hand and the power in the room faded considerably. He plucked the vial from the Frenchman's hand and sniffed it delicately. "Water, Tomas—it is only water and nothing more." He handed it to me and I took it before Tomas could argue.

I trusted Mircea, and besides, neither the bracelet nor my ward reacted to it. "It's okay."

"No!" Tomas reached for the bottle, but Louis-César knocked his hand away.

I looked at Pritkin, who was watching me avidly. "Bottoms up." I swallowed the whole thing. Just as Mircea had said, it was only water, if a bit stale. Pritkin stared at me, as if expecting wisps of steam to start coming out of my ears or something. "Satisfied? Or do you want to hang a few crosses around my neck?"

"What are you?" he whispered.

I went back to my chair, but it was covered in brick dust so I opted for the couch instead. The window had shattered when Mircea tossed the grenade through it, so I had to brush shards of glass onto the floor first. Pritkin had better have some answers, because he was really getting on my nerves. "Tired, stiff and sick to death of you," I told him honestly.

Mircea laughed. "You haven't changed, dulceaţă."

Pritkin stared at me, and some of that terrible anger faded from his face. "I don't understand. You cannot have drunk holy water and shown no reaction if you are demon kind. But you cannot be human and do what I have seen you do."

Mircea settled himself on the sofa after carefully dusting it off with his handkerchief. He picked up one of my bare feet and stroked it idly. I suddenly felt a lot better. "I have learned, Mage Pritkin, never to say never to the universe." He glanced at me, and his expression was wry. "It delights in giving us that which we declare most emphatically cannot be."

Louis-César looked expectantly at me, and I nodded. "Yeah, I know. If people will stop trying to kill me for a minute, I'll tell you about Françoise, at least as much as I can." I quickly explained about my second trip, in as much detail as I could remember without mentioning that a seventeenth-century witch appeared to be wandering around Vegas. I didn't want my cell, if I ended up in one, to have padded walls. "That is approximately what Tomas said," Louis-César commented when I was done. "But that is not as I remember it."

"Which leaves us with three possibilities." Mircea ticked them off on his fingers. "That both Tomas and Cassandra are lying for no obvious reason, that they hallucinated the same thing at the same time, or that they are telling the truth. I do not smell a lie on either of them." He looked at Louis-César, who nodded. "And must I point out the absurdity of a dual hallucination of that degree of detail, about events neither could have known had they not been there?"

"Which leaves us with the truth." Louis-César gave a sigh that sounded like relief. "And that means…"

Mircea finished for him. "That they changed history."

Chapter 11

"That's not possible." I felt that I was on pretty solid ground. "I see the past; I don't change it."

"The Pythia's power is passing," Pritkin murmured, as if he hadn't heard me. "But no. It's impossible." He suddenly looked like a confused little boy. "The Pythia cannot possess anyone. She can't have given you that ability; she doesn't have it."

"Leave that aside," Louis-César said almost breathlessly. He stared at Pritkin, his face eager. "Could the Pythia's power allow Cassandra to travel metaphysically to other places, other times?"

Pritkin looked even more unsure. "I need to consult my Circle," he said, his voice slightly unsteady. "I was not prepared for this. They told me she was only a suspected rogue. The Pythia has an heir. Her powers should not come to this… person."

"What powers?" I decided to press my advantage now that I was back to person status, however tentatively. Better to find out what he knew before he decided I was some other weird kind of demon.

"No." Pritkin shook his head adamantly. "I cannot speak for the Circle."

"You've been trying to speak for them all evening," Tomas said, grabbing the mage's shoulder hard enough that he would have stumbled if Mircea's power hadn't still held him. "But now that you can help us by doing so, you refuse?" Tomas' wrist had healed except for an ugly red scar; but his face was no better. His temper didn't seem to have improved, either.

"I… these are dangerous matters. I cannot speak of them without authorization."

"You said they know what you know," Tomas growled. "Contact them; get permission."

Pritkin looked about wildly, as if searching for help. He didn't find any. "I will try, but I know they will want to meet to discuss this. And they will want her brought before them. It will not be decided quickly."

"How long?" Louis-César had joined Tomas, and together they did intimidating really well. Hell, they did okay separately.

Pritkin made the mistake of trying to cover his nervousness with rudeness. He was far too offhand to deal with a senator. "I don't know. Perhaps days."