Karen Chance - Claimed by Shadow

Of course, I knew they were kidding themselves if they thought she would just fall in line with their scheme. As Agnes had put it when she reluctantly handed power to me, her heir had joined Rasputin because she was evil or because she was weak, and either way she'd make a lousy Pythia. The fact that Myra had shortly afterwards attacked me had me leaning towards evil. I might not want the job, but that psycho wasn't getting it, either.

I thought it over. Billy was right-we needed more help than he could provide, and a couple of war mages were perfect. Pritkin wanted to use and then double-cross me?

Okay, but two could play that game. I'd let him help me through the obstacles ahead, and as soon as we found Myra, I'd dump him and use the trap that had housed the Graeae on her.

I smiled at the mage. "Sounds interesting. Maybe we can work out a deal, after all.”

That afternoon was quite an education. Even though I'd been brought up at a vampire's court, my knowledge of magic wasn't great. Clairvoyants are viewed as the dregs of the magical world, people with little real talent who make a living telling norms what they want to hear. You know the type: "Your soul mate's name begins with a T - or S or R or any of the more common letters of the alphabet- but the clairvoyant needs subsequent sessions to figure out exactly who it is. Expensive sessions. I'd never done that, even when money had been more than tight. I might cheat casinos out of desperation, but I never mocked my gift. Most of the mages at Tony's, however, had put down any of my Seeings that came true to coincidence, and wanted little to do with me.

Vamps, of course, have an innate magic of their own, and I don't mean just the power that animates them. Most gain useful abilities if they survive long enough, and some of those can be pretty spectacular. I'd seen vamps levitate themselves and others, strip the skin off a body from across a room, and rip a beating heart out of a chest with little more than a thought. But the kind of magic the mages do is beyond them, and magic workers lose their ability if turned, so there are no vamp mages.

I think I learned more that afternoon about magic than ten years at Tony's had taught me. It started when Pritkin stripped back down to let Mac finish the tattoo, and I asked why he was bothering with that now. I was mainly asking to focus my attention on something other than his body, which was suddenly a lot more attractive than it should have been. I really hoped the side effects from encountering incubi were going to wear off soon.

"Like yours, my magic will not be reliable in Faerie," Pritkin said. He sounded like he'd rather tell me to go to hell, but since we'd just agreed to be allies, he had to play nice. I decided to press the advantage while it lasted, which I suspected wouldn't be long.

"What, you're going to flash your manly tattoo at the Fey?”

Mac laughed, but even though Pritkin's head was turned away from me, I could tell he was scowling. His shoulders tensed, and that tightened things further down in an interesting way. I got up to get another Coke.

"It's a special tattoo," Mac told me cheerfully, picking up something that looked like an electric toothbrush without the bristles. "If I do this right, it should imprint his aura- his magical skin-as well as the physical. When he throws his shields up, it'll manifest as a real weapon. And, as we learned the technique from the Fey, it should work in Faerie even better than here." He put the head of the toothbrush thing to the top of the sword and started to ink it in. Pritkin didn't flinch, but the muscles in his arms stood out a bit more. I sipped Coke and gave up trying not to watch him.

"I'm not getting it," I said after a minute. "You have weapons"-a serious understatement-"why not rely on them?”

Mac answered, although his attention remained on his victim's back, where he paused to wipe away some blood.

"Regular weapons won't do much against the Fey. You need magical stuff to hold up against the sort of thing they can dish out, but like John said, our magic doesn't work in Faerie." He went back to inking, and this time Pritkin did flinch slightly. "At least, most of it won't, and the sort of stuff that will, we don't have access to.”

"What sort of stuff?”

"Oh, different things," Mac said, his little tool humming as it tore through Pritkin's skin. He paused to consult the large grimoire he'd propped on the stool next to him, then muttered something over the partly finished tattoo. The image gleamed for a moment, then died back down. Mac grunted and went back to work. "What would really help would be some null bombs. Only they're hard to come by, and it's a death sentence to use them without authorization. And even were we willing to risk it, for some reason the Black Market doesn't trust us-too many years putting them out of business, I guess.”

"What are null bombs?”

"Wicked things, but good to have anywhere there's magic you don't know how to counter. No one knows who invented them, but they've been around for centuries. Dark mages take a null-a mage born with the ability to disrupt magic- and drain his life force into the sphere. It kills the mage but traps his lifetime's ability in one extremely potent package. If it's exploded, including in Faerie, all magic ceases or goes haywire for a while. How long depends on the strength of the null, and how many years of life he had left when he was drained.”

"Interesting." I felt vaguely sick. "What do they look like?" I carefully did not glance at my duffle, which was sitting innocently on the floor near the fridge.

I thought I'd kept my voice casual, but Pritkin must have heard something in my tone, because his head whipped around to face me. "Why?" His eyes were narrowed, whether in pain or suspicion, to the point that only a thin green line showed through his pale lashes.

I shrugged. "I was just wondering. Tony used to have weapons lying around all the time. Maybe I've seen one.”

Mac shook his head, his face intent on Pritkin's back. "Not likely, love. They cost a fortune, because nulls strong enough to make one are rare and well protected. Most of the ones floating about these days are left over from past centuries. The vamps used to hunt nulls before the truce, which is why there's hardly any left now. Most were wiped out, whole family lines destroyed to build up the vamp arsenals.”

"You've never seen one of the bombs, then?”

"Oh, I've encountered a few through the years. The Circle buys any they come across, to keep them out of the vamps' hands. Donovan's auction house acquired one in London, back in sixty-three. The Circle wasn't happy when they refused our initial offer and put it up for public bidding, but old man Donovan told them it was perfectly legal. The thing was old-I examined it and it had to date from at least the twelfth century-and of course there were no laws against making them back then." He paused to wipe down the tattoo again and grimaced at the amount of blood on his rag. "You want to take a break?" he asked Pritkin.

"No. Finish it." Pritkin's jaw was clenched, but his eyes were on me. I didn't like the suspicion in them.

"What happened at the auction?" I asked, hoping Mac would get around to giving me a description sooner or later.

"Oh, we bought it," he said, going back to work. "No choice, really. Cost a fortune, though, I can tell you. I kept calling in for authorization to go higher until the council told me to quit bothering them and just get the damn thing, no matter the cost. I don't think they planned on spending a quarter million on a little silver ball, though, considering the complaints I heard when I got back. But there was nothing they could do to me-I was following orders.”

The phrase "little silver ball" rattled around in my head while I tried to keep my expression vague. I must not have done too well. "You've seen one," Pritkin accused.