by Adams, Cat
with Bruno, I thought I saw a flash of
anger cross his face, but it was gone so
quickly that I might have imagined it,
replaced by a façade of bland
professionalism.
I had to admit he looked good, as he
had the night of the dinner on Serenity.
As always, I was drawn to his honey-
colored eyes, though I noticed that his
warm, light-brown hair was getting a
little
long,
almost
breaking
into
unmanageable and, in Creede’s opinion,
unmanly curls. The golden highlights in
his hair seemed more prominent than
usual and I realized he’d gotten a little
tan during his time on the sirens’ island.
He was wearing a perfectly tailored
charcoal gray suit, paired with a
starched white shirt and striped tie.
“Bruno. Celia.” He didn’t smile and
his tone was frigid. Still, what had I
expected? We’d broken up badly and I
was standing in front of him with the
man who’d been his chief rival. But it
hurt just the same. I couldn’t just turn off
my feelings for him, much as I might
want to. I forced myself to put a good
face on it and gave him a pleasant
greeting, as did Bruno.
“Princess.” Baker appeared at my
elbow, saving us all from further
awkwardness. I had no idea how she’d
gotten here. I hadn’t seen her on the
plane. But here she was, and her timing
was impeccable. She was calling me by
title because everyone was watching. I
could sense it. “If you’re ready, I can
escort you and your guest to your
rooms.”
“Our luggage?”
“Has been taken to your suite.”
I nodded and took Bruno’s arm while
Creede watched with narrowed eyes.
“Cool. Lead the way.”
She led us through rooms and
hallways that were, not surprisingly,
palatial:
polished
marble
floors,
towering pillars leading up to intricately
patterned and gilded ceilings. Original
oil paintings by the great masters hung
on the walls, recessed alcoves held
sculptures by Michelangelo, Rodin, and
others whose work I was too unschooled
to recognize. The artworks were
displayed
beautifully
and
looked
completely unprotected. But looks were
quite deceiving. I could feel the spells
guarding the individual pieces from
yards away, burning so hot against my
senses that they stole the breath from my
lungs.
“Celia, are you okay?” Baker stopped
in her tracks, her eyes a bit wide.
“Fine,” I gasped. “Let’s just get away
from the art gallery, okay?”
“Right.” She moved forward again,
picking up the pace. The pain didn’t
abate until the hallway finally opened up
into an expansive chamber where a huge,
curving staircase climbed three stories.
The room was lit by three crystal
chandeliers, each bigger than my car.
Light sparkled from dangling crystal
teardrops the size of my head, shooting
rainbows over polished marble floors,
walls covered in pale blue-green
watered silk, and the thick Oriental rug
that covered the center portion of the
staircase.
I stopped in my tracks and stared like
I’d just fallen off a turnip truck. “Oh,
wow.”
Baker grinned. “I know. Wait till you
see your suite. You’re a decorated hero
now. The king wanted to make sure you
were ‘comfortable’ and to make sure
everyone knows how grateful he is for
everything you’ve done for him and for
the kingdom.”
Oh, my.
We climbed the stairs to the third
floor, where Baker led us to my suite.
Some suite—if the three floors of my
dearly departed office building had been
laid out on a single level, they still
would have been smaller than this place.
The rooms were everything out of my
wildest childhood Cinderella fantasies,
including, in one bathroom, a walk-in
tub that would pass for a swimming pool
in some neighborhoods and had all sorts
of whirlpool jets. It was so incredibly
inviting
that
I
turned
to
Bruno
immediately and said, “Out. Now.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a bubble bath calling my
name. Scoot.”
“I could join you. The tub’s big
enough.”
He
grinned,
dark
eyes
sparkling, flashing the dimples I’ve
always found so irresistible. But there
was a shadow of unease beneath the
seemingly confident expression. I could
sense it. I didn’t like that unease. I’d had
enough of it in my own life.
I made sure he knew I was teasing as I
pretended to hesitate. “Well … I
suppose I could use someone to scrub
my back.”
He laughed, and for the first time all
day, the haunted look left his face.
Later, clean and sated, we slid
between the sheets of my almost
criminally comfortable bed, and slept.
We woke to furious pounding on the
door and Griffiths bellowing, “Princess
Celia, you and the mage DeLuca are
needed in Princess Adriana’s suite at
once!”
“Hang on a sec!” I shouted back as I
climbed out of bed and scrambled
around looking for something to wear.
As Bruno slid into yesterday’s jeans, I
frantically opened drawers and doors
until I found my underwear, jeans,
blouses, and jackets.
We were dressed and out the door in
a flash, following Griffiths at run down
the short hall between my suite and the
royal compartments.
The corridor was crowded with
people, most of whom I recognized as
Secret Service from one country or
another. Thorsen towered above the rest,
his
long
hair
loose,
expression
thunderous. Even dressed only in
drawstring pajama bottoms, he was
imposing as hell. As we neared
Adriana’s rooms, I noticed that everyone
left just a bit of distance between
themselves and Igor, who was standing
near the door. It was probably
completely unconscious, but telling. It
reminded me of how everyone acted
around Bruno’s Uncle Sal.
“Princess, Mage DeLuca.” At Igor’s
gesture
everyone
&n
bsp; stepped
aside,
allowing us to enter the royal chambers.
Igor led us through a beautiful living
area crowded with people. Queen
Lopaka, dressed in an elegant peignoir,
sat on a couch, her arms around her
daughter, who was shaking and looking
like she was about to vomit. King
Dahlmar
paced,
his
expression
thunderous. His brother was at his side,
quietly speaking in rapid Ruslandic,
presumably in an effort to calm him
down.
Igor murmured something to the man
guarding the bedroom door, who stepped
aside and gave me my first glimpse of
what lay on the bed.
It took a minute for my mind to wrap
itself around what I was seeing. It was
just so unexpected and so incredibly
gross.… I was looking at the severed
arm of a young woman that appeared to
have been torn from her body at the
shoulder. The end had been cauterized,
and even from where I stood, I could
smell the overpowering sulfur scent of
demon. Carved into the arm, around an
elaborate curse mark that matched those
of the other Guardians of the Faith we’d
found, was a message, in English.
Prepare to die.
31
It was Okalani’s arm. Oh, they’d run
magic and DNA testing to confirm it, but
I knew. There was this little mole near
the wrist that I recognized.
Shit.
I managed not to throw up, but only
barely. The poor kid. Someone had
ripped off her arm and then forced her to
teleport her own flesh through shields,
all to send us a message. I wasn’t the
only one sickened by the thought.
Since the arm had been part of
Okalani, it should have been possible to
use it to track back to her. But I watched
helplessly as multiple efforts by some of
the best mages in the world failed.
Bruno, Creede, and the best mages of
Rusland and Serenity all tried, with a
similar lack of results.
“Is it because she is dead?” Adriana
asked in a whisper. She looked at
Thorsen, but it was Creede who
answered.
“No. She’s not dead. The binding oath
mark would have disappeared if she
were.”
Adriana swallowed hard, trying not to
be sick again. I couldn’t say I blamed
her. My stomach was roiling.
“My question is, how did they manage
to teleport this atrocity into the
princess’s very bedroom? Don’t we
have shields? Who is responsible for
security here?” Prince Arkady was
glaring at Igor.
“Okalani had learned how to teleport
through shields. She was … is, the most
powerful telepath I’ve ever even heard
of.” My voice was strained. I knew I had
to hold it together and not think too hard
about what Okalani was going through. If
I did, I’d remember my own past, all of
it, completely unfiltered. I couldn’t let
that happen. Not here, and not now. It
would make me useless to Adriana, to
anyone, probably for days.
I forced myself to think about the
words my therapist had said to me again
and again. The past was over. I had
survived it. The only way it could harm
me now was if I let it. I would not do
that. I needed to think about the present
and the future. I went over to the door, as
far away from the arm as I could get and
still be in the room. Leaning against the
doorjamb, I took deep, steadying
breaths. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t
pretty, but I brought myself under
control.
“If that is true,” Arkady growled at
me, “why was no one advised? This
‘message’ could have been a bomb
instead, and have killed us all.”
“I was advised,” Igor said calmly, “as
was the king. The palace shields have
been modulated. Nothing that can do us
physical harm could make it through. We
decided that leaving them open for
something nonlethal might lure our
enemies into giving us something that
could be tracked backward. As it has.
My people will use this”—he gestured
to the severed limb—“to perform magic
to find the people behind these attacks.
We took a calculated risk, and it has
paid off.”
“A calculated risk?” Arkady packed a
lot of outrage into those three small
words. He turned to his brother. There
was a long, silent, staring contest
between the two.
I was the one who finally broke the
tense silence that had enveloped the
room. “Someone told me about a vision
a paid psychic had.” I didn’t give names,
but I was fairly sure Queen Lopaka, at
least, suspected who I was referring to.
“In the vision I had been captured and
Okalani was being tortured by a demon.
The men holding her were going to feed
me to the demon and livestream the
whole thing over the Internet.”
There were lots of loud reactions to
that.
“With that in mind”—my voice was a
little strangled, and probably half an
octave higher in pitch than usual, but I
plowed on, talking over the top of
everyone else—“does anybody have any
technology or magic that could track me
through demonic magics?” I looked from
Igor to Thorsen, then at Bruno and
Creede. “Just in case they manage to
capture me?”
“I can probably come up with
something.” Creede met my gaze, his
eyes dark holding more emotions than I
could count. “How much time do we
have?”
“I don’t know.”
Bruno was speechless; he looked
shocked and sick. He came up to me and
pulled me into his arms in a silent
embrace that was comforting for both of
us.
“Get me a mirror or my bowl and I
can find out.” Adriana pulled away from
her mother. Her demeanor had changed
totally—she looked strong, confident in
her abilities.
I was glad somebody felt that way. I
didn’t feel confident at all. I was pretty
much scared shitless. I needed to know
more, but I sure didn’t want to. “Bruno,
why don’t we give Adriana her wedding
gift now?”
A lot of quizzical looks greeted that
comment, so I explained. “Our gift is a
hand mirror, specially spelled for
clairvoyant use by Princess Adriana.”
“I’ll get it,” Bruno answered. He gave
me a quick squeeze, then let me go and
raced back to our rooms.
The embrace, I
knew, was a gesture meant to encourage
me. It would’ve worked better if I hadn’t
seen the raw fear in his eyes.
Adriana and Dahlmar ordered the
room cleared until only the three of us
remained. Bruno came back and handed
Adriana our gift, which was carefully
wrapped in shiny paper in the colors of
the royal houses. He would have stayed,
but John called his name from the door
and he left, probably to help work on
Creede’s ideas for tracking me.
We sat on the couch, Dahlmar and I
waiting
impatiently
as
Adriana
unwrapped the package and brought out
the mirror with a soft gasp of pleasure.
“Oh, Celia … it’s perfect. The handle
nearly melts into my hand with warmth.”
She beamed at me for a moment. “Thank
you. And thank Mage DeLuca. He must
have worked so hard on this.”
Collecting herself, she said soberly,
“If anything will help me cut through
their shielding, this should.”
Taking a deep breath, she started
muttering the ritual phrases that would
clear her mind and activate her talent.
I saw images start to flicker in the
glass, only to be covered by thick, black
smoke. Adriana conjured a wind, but the
glass refused to clear. I watched her
struggle, bringing all her formidable will
to bear. The fingers gripping the mirror
were white knuckled, her face flushed
and her body shook from the effort.
Useless effort.
I had to put an end to it. “Stop. Don’t
hurt yourself.”
She looked up and I was shocked to
see tears pouring down her cheeks. A
stray drop fell onto the reflective glass.
The clouds cleared. The scene revealed
wasn’t the one she’d been seeking.
Instead, the mirror revealed Adriana
herself, kneeling beside Dahlmar, both
in their wedding attire. They faced a
huge, carved marble cross the exact
shape of the Eldritch Cross Adriana was
wearing at her neck, except for a single
additional stone protrusion at the bottom.
In the mirror, Adriana pressed her hand
against the giant cross, and with the
grinding of stone against stone, a secret
door appeared in the wall directly in
front of them.
In the room, Adriana gave a gasp of
pain. With a deliberate jerk she broke
off the vision. I didn’t understand why
until I caught a glimpse of her hands. The
skin that had gripped the mirror was
burned and blistered, a result of a curse
that had been used to prevent her from
seeing what she had wanted to see.
