"That last one sounds tempting. But it's not enough."

Mircea and I had skipped over the whole refusal thing and gone straight to haggling. There was no point in mentioning that Mircea would kill me if I said no. He would do it because he'd have no choice—if he didn't, the Consul would give someone else the job—and because he would be quick. Quicker than Jack. I didn't like the errand they had set me, but next to an evening with the Consul's bright-eyed boy, it was a picnic. But just because I had no other options didn't mean I shouldn't get as much for my services as possible. It was, after all, a seller's market. Who else were they going to get?

Mircea was looking as if he wondered whether acting outraged because I'd demanded the life of one of his oldest retainers would work. I rolled my eyes. "Don't bother. Giving me Tony's head is no big deal and you know it. He betrayed you—you have to kill him."

He smiled slightly. "True. But it would also solve a problem for you, would it not?"

"But it won't cost you anything. Isn't your life worth a little something?"

"What else would you like then, my beautiful Cassandra?" He stepped forward, a gleam in his eye, and I put the chair between us.

"Don't try it."

He grinned at me, unrepentant. "Then name your price."

"You want my help? Tell me what happened to my father."

Rafe gave a startled squeak and looked wide-eyed at Mircea, who sighed and shook his head in disgust. I sympathized; Rafe had always had a lousy poker face—I'd started beating him at cards by age eight—and he obviously hadn't improved. He subsided under Mircea's displeasure, but the damage was done. Mircea braved it out anyway, of course; I would have thought less of him otherwise. "Your father, dulceaţă? He died in a car bomb, did he not? Is that not one reason why you are upset with our Antonio?"

"Then what did Jimmy mean? He told me not to kill him, because he knew the truth about what happened."

Mircea shrugged. "Since he was the 'hit man'—is that not the phrase? — on the job, I am sure he does know details, dulceaţă. Why did you not ask him?"

"Because Pritkin blew a hole in him before I could. But you know, don't you?"

Mircea smiled, and once again I saw where Tony got it. "Is that knowledge your price?"

I looked at Rafe, and he looked back. I thought he was about to speak when Mircea's hand descended on his shoulder. "No, no, Raphael. It would not be fair to give our Cassandra information for which she has not yet paid." He smiled, and there was more calculation than affection in it. "Do we have a deal?"

I glanced at Billy, who was floating near the ceiling with an impatient look on his face. He didn't comment, so I assumed his news didn't have any bearing on my choice. I sent him an irritated look and he disappeared, in a snit because I hadn't dropped everything for him. Typical. I'd have preferred to find out more before agreeing to Mircea's terms, but I didn't have a lot of options. It's hard to push the price too high when you're a sure thing and the buyer knows it. I literally had no choice but to help them, so technically Mircea was being generous by offering anything. Of course, he probably wanted me doing my best on the errand, so keeping me in a good mood was worth a concession or two. Or maybe he was fond of me. No, that kind of thinking was dangerous.

"Okay. We have a deal. Tell me."

"In a moment, dulceaţă. First, I believe we need to inform the Consul. Tomas, if you would be so good? She may have final instructions." He noticed Tomas' mulish expression. "You have my word that we will wait the attempt on your return. You will be accompanying her, will you not?"

"Yes." Tomas looked at me challengingly, but I didn't object. If Rasputin did show up, it would be nice to have someone along, especially someone who had shown he could handle himself in an emergency. Even if it was only to have company when everything went to hell. Tomas started to say something else but stopped when Mircea stepped to my side and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Now, Tomas!" Louis-César looked impatient. Tomas glared at him but he left, slamming the door behind him.

"And we need the Tears, do we not, to be on the safe side?" Louis-César nodded and left right behind Tomas.

"The Tears? Do I want to know?"

"Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you." Mircea smiled reassuringly. "The Tears of Apollo are an ancient concoction. They have been used to aid in meditative trances for centuries. They are quite safe."

"But why do we need them? I didn't have them before."

"And you quickly ran out of energy before. They will help you, Cassandra. Remember, I have a vested interest in seeing that this goes well. I would not lie to you." I believed that answer more than I would have a heartfelt declaration of concern for my welfare, and nodded. I'd use the damn Tears, whatever they were. Anything to up the odds.

Mircea glanced at Raphael. "Would you be so good as to see if clothing has been arranged for Cassie? She must be tired of wearing such a bulky robe." He gave an odd little smile. "Take your time."

Rafe looked uncertain—I could tell he didn't want to leave Mircea and me alone for some reason—but he went. Mircea locked the door behind him and leaned against it, regarding me with suddenly serious eyes. "And now for the real negotiations, my Cassandra."

Chapter 12

I looked at Mircea warily. "I'm not your Cassandra." He began unbuttoning the remaining toggles on his shirt. "Give me a moment, dulceaţă, and we will see." He peeled off the shirt and tossed it over the end of the couch. He wore nothing underneath.

"What are you doing?" I sat up, my pulse leaping although he hadn't done anything really alarming. But he stood between me and the door, and that enticing face was suddenly pretty intense.

Mircea began removing his highly polished shoes. "I would prefer that we had more time, dulceaţă. I have long anticipated renewing our acquaintance, but did not envision quite this scenario. However" — he paused to place his shoes and socks neatly by the sofa—"I am beginning to learn that, with you, it is best to assume the unexpected."

I could have said the same about him. "Cut it out, Mircea. Just tell me what is going on."

He watched me steadily as he slowly removed the belt from the loops of his slacks. "You do not wish to be given over to the Circle, I assume?"

"What does that have to do with you getting undressed? What is this?"

Mircea prowled across the room—there was simply no other word for the way he moved—and knelt at my feet. He looked up at me soulfully. "Think of it as a rescue, dulceaţă. I am your knight come to save you from all those who would do you harm."

I choked back a laugh. "That has got to be the corniest line I ever heard."

Mircea put on an exaggerated look of outrage that brought a reluctant smile to my face. "You wound me! I assure you, once upon a time, as they say, that is exactly what I was."

I thought about it and, technically, he was right. Of course, real knights in shining armor hadn't been quite the same as the legend. Most of them had spent more time harassing the peasants for taxes than rescuing ladies fair. "Okay. And what are you now?"

He didn't answer, but I noticed that his eyes had turned a glowing cinnamon amber. The only time I'd seen that before, he had been threatening Pritkin's life, but he didn't seem to be angry now. He reached behind his head to slide the platinum clasp out of his long, dark hair. "The Circle demands your return, dulceaţă, and by our treaty with them, we have no right to refuse. If you were a normal human, a claim by any master would be enough to hold you, but not for a powerful seer. The Pythia's court has control over all such individuals." His hair spread over his shoulders and back like a dark cape. The contrast between his midnight hair and the pale perfection of his skin was mesmerizing.