And I was a coward who should just woman up and call him, already.
My hand actually stretched out to grab the phone, because that was the one useful thing I could do while flat on my back. But then it dropped. Because where did I start?
And where would it lead?
It was the same problem I’d had all week. I loved Mircea; I didn’t like keeping things from him. But telling him anything was basically the same thing as telling the senate, like telling Jonas would have been like telling the Circle.
Only I wasn’t dating Jonas.
Which actually made things easier sometimes. I didn’t feel guilty that Marco had bum-rushed Jules into one of the spare bedrooms before Jonas had a chance to get curious. This was family business; it didn’t have anything to do with him. And I didn’t think Mircea would appreciate having the Circle learn that I could unmake masters now.
But, technically, the same argument could be made for the whole Pritkin thing, which didn’t have anything to do with Mircea.
Yet I felt guilty for not telling him anyway.
And that was such bullshit! Mircea wasn’t any better at sharing than I was; in fact, he probably took the closemouthed prize. From the vamp’s perspective, I was married to the guy, yet I didn’t know what his favorite color was. Or his favorite drink. Or what he did all the time when he wasn’t here, which was most of the time lately.
I didn’t really know that much about him at all, and it was maddening. But worse, I couldn’t even complain. Because then he might—hell, he would—suggest an exchange of information, and there was so damned much I couldn’t tell him. . .
I stared at the phone.
It stared back.
I chewed my cheek for a while and then got disgusted with myself. I wasn’t going to wait around like this for hours. I’d have a stomach full of ulcers by then to go with whatever was making me so exhausted. I was going to do it. I was going to call him. I was going to do what I should have days ago and just pick up the phone and—
Someone knocked on the door.
I looked up, my heart in my throat, sure it was Marco with a phone in his hand.
And then Fred pushed open the door with a foot, because his hands were full of beer, one of them wrapped in a paper towel because we’re classy like that.
“Oh, thank God,” I said as he handed it to me.
He looked a little surprised at the fervency of his welcome. “Figured you could use a drink,” he said, and tossed my phone on a chair so he could sit down on the bed.
I drained half the bottle in one go and then flopped onto my back again. And stared at the ceiling some more, which looked slightly more friendly now that I had beer. But no more helpful.
“Is Jules all right?” I asked, after a minute.
“He’s human,” Fred said, with an odd lilt in his tone. Like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “He’s a little hysterical, sure, but otherwise, he’s fine. I mean, maybe not if he stays like this, you know, but for now . . . So there’s no need to go tearing yourself up over it, all right?”
Yeah. Unless I couldn’t figure out how to reverse this.
“Did everybody go home?” I asked hopefully.
“Oh, hell no.”
Of course not.
“Jonas and the witches are having it out. You know, I used to think it was just an old fairy tale, but witches really don’t like missing a party, do they?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “I guess not.”
“I tried to eavesdrop for you, but they’re in the kitchen under a silence spell. And they closed the blinds.” He looked aggrieved. “All I got was that they think he’s monopolizing you, and a bunch of arm waving.”
I hoped that arm waving wasn’t of the spell variety. “Is Marco with them?”
“No, he’s trying to get some sense out of that girl.”
“What girl?”
“Rhea something; I didn’t get a last name. You know, the witches brought her.”
“She’s not another witch?”
“Yeah, but not a coven leader. Best I could gather, she’s one of your court.”
“My—” It took me a second. “You mean the Pythian Court?”
“You got two?”
“I wasn’t sure I had one. It’s not like they’ve bothered to come by and say hi.”
“Well, now they have.”
Yeah, and I guess the outfit should have clued me in. “What does she want?”
Fred sighed. “I don’t know. But she keeps babbling something about this being all her fault—”
“What is?”
“Jules. Oh, not the getting-cursed thing; that’s all on him. But the other. It seems like having one of your coven around increases your power or something—”
“Wait.” This was going way too fast. “What coven?”
“Your coven.”
“Fred,” I said impatiently. “We’ve been through this. I’m not a witch. I don’t have—”
“Well, according to her, you do. That’s what the Pythian Court is—the Pythia’s coven. And coven members give their leader a power boost. It’s sort of the reason they exist,” he added when I just looked at him. “For a bunch of magic workers to pool their power. You know?”
Yeah, I just hadn’t known it applied to me. But that’s the sort of information that might have been useful, oh, a few hundred times. I frowned.
“I don’t feel like I’ve had a boost.”
“Maybe not now. But I think she’s saying that you wouldn’t have, er, overshot the mark with Jules if she hadn’t been here. And given you a lift you didn’t expect.”
I took a second to absorb that. “And she didn’t bother to mention this before?”
“She said she thought you knew. And I think she was waiting for the witches to leave before talking to you. I got the impression they didn’t get along that great.”
“Why was she with them, then?”
Fred didn’t say anything.
“Fred?”
“Maybe you want to wait and ask her—”
“I asked you.”
He sighed again. “She said she fled to the covens for protection. Seems there’s some kind of problem with your court. She wouldn’t say what, won’t talk to anybody but you, but she found out and went to the witches.”
“And they decided to drop her on my doorstep.”
“Pretty much. I got the idea they think she’s a nut, but they wanted to get a look at you anyway, and she was a good excuse. And she’s . . . well, maybe you’ll have more luck with her.”
Great. “Luck” in my life now meant finding out about some new problem I was going to have to deal with. When it already felt like I had plenty on my plate, thanks.
But one thing the whole situation with Mircea had taught me: putting stuff off rarely made it easier.
“Come on,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, because at least the room had finally calmed down. “Let’s go find out—”
Somebody started screaming.
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
It turned out to be Jules, standing in front of the balcony, a double shot of whiskey in hand, exercising his newly human vocal cords. But I didn’t think the transformation was to blame. At least, not entirely.
“Get back in the bedroom until we deal with this!” Marco ordered, as soon as I came out of the hall.
I didn’t answer, being too busy staring at the huge, gaping hole that had opened up in the far wall. The one with the fiery red edges and the disturbing sounds and the swirly black heart and the wind strong enough to flutter my hair. It looked like Casanova had been right, I thought blankly.
You knew it when you saw it.
“Cassie!” Marco snapped. “Get out of here!
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” he demanded.