"The Circle wants to meet? Since when?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "Since yesterday. Word came in shortly after you left to chase Agnes. Don't you read your messages?"

"What messages? I didn't get any messages!"

"Pritkin went by your place about a dozen times, but you were never there. So he started leaving notes with that huge guy."

"Marco."

"Yeah. That's the one."

"Marco didn't give them to me." Or even mention them—or Pritkin or the meeting. I was beginning to think that he was right. We had a communication problem.

Billy shrugged. "Mircea must have ordered him not to."

I opened my mouth to say that Mircea wouldn't do that but shut it again before the words got out. Who was I kidding? Mircea totally would.

"The Senate likes the idea of a Pythia under their control," I said, working it out. "And if the Circle and I make up—"

"You might get a little too cozy," Billy finished.

"So Mircea was delegated to get me out of the way before the meeting." I felt my face flush, remembering that scene in front of the mirror. So I was too precious to lose, huh? Too important to him?

"Uh, Cass?" Billy was looking at me a little funny. "The meeting is at Dante's—Pritkin insisted. Something about neutral ground. Anyway, we got less than an hour before the mages show up."

I started to stand, only to be jerked back down again. "I'm kind of chained to a sofa," I pointed out.

Billy grinned. "Bet Pritkin could get you loose."

I sighed. Yeah, but I'd never live it down. "He's in his room?" I asked resignedly.

"I think you'll fit," Billy said gleefully. "If we push."

I sighed. Never. And shifted.

Like me, Pritkin had recently gotten an upgrade in accommodations. They were roomier than the old version, but to be on the safe side, I landed in the corridor outside. And my large leather accessory landed on top of Marco's friend. He was a vampire and the sofa was built to be lightweight for air travel, so it didn't hurt him. It didn't make him too happy, though.

"Marco said you might show up," he said, lifting it off and dumping it to the side. "He also said you wasn't to be allowed to talk to the mage."

My eyes narrowed. "I'll talk to whomever I damn well please," I told him, trying to drag the sofa around so I could knock on the door.

He put a foot on the nearest couch cushion and took out a cell phone. "She's back," he told it while I pulled and tugged and got nowhere. "Marco says I'm to take you upstairs," I was informed.

"You and what army?" I grunted. "And get your foot off my sofa."

The vamp regarded my leather appendage for a second and then looked toward the elevator. The thought process didn't appear to be swift, but he did eventually arrive at the right conclusion—it wasn't going to fit. "I'll have to break it in two," he said, grabbing the other end. "Sorry, but I'm sure the master will buy you another one."

"It's Mircea's," I said quickly. "It's his sofa. And he's really, really attached to it."

The vamp looked suspicious. "To a sofa?"

"It's a designer original, hand-dyed to coordinate with the rest of the furniture on his BBJ. You mess it up, and they'll never get another one to match. It'll stand out like a sore thumb. It'll be embarrassing."

We stood staring at each other for a long minute, and the vamp blinked first. "I don't want to embarrass the master," he said slowly, reaching for his cell phone. But he'd forgotten to put his foot back on the couch, so I gave a mighty heave and slid over within arm's length of the door.

"Hey!" He was there in a heartbeat, with his hand on my arm. So I kicked the door instead of knocking. "You gotta go back upstairs. Marco said so!"

"Tell Marco to go to hell!"

"Trust me, I'm already there," Marco informed me from the stairwell.

Damn it! I tried to kick the door again, but Marco grabbed the end of the sofa and dragged me back out of reach. "You're coming with us. Deal with it," he told me.

An elderly couple came out of the next room while we were standing there glaring at each other. The man was wearing a blue polo shirt and a pair of plaid shorts that started around his armpits and just brushed his knobby knees. The woman had on a Chippendales souvenir tee, a pair of bright red jogging shorts and matching Keds. They both looked about ninety.

"You're gonna have to move your couch," the old man said. "The missus and I gotta get to the elevator."

"If you don't get to the buffet early, the eggs get all dried up," the woman agreed. "They should cook more eggs."

"You heard the man," I told Marco. "Move the sofa."

Marco rolled his eyes. "It's your fucking sofa. Why don't you move it?"

"That's no way to talk to a lady," the old man told him. "And how's a little thing like her going to move a big sofa like that anyway?"

"You look like strong boys," the woman chimed in. "Why don't you move it for me?" She batted her eyes at Marco's buddy, who started looking slightly panicked.

"Take the stairs," Marco told her. "It's better for you."

She frowned. "I had hip replacement surgery. I can't do stairs."

"Don't tell my girlfriend what to do!" the old man said, looking pissed. "This is a public hallway. You can't block the way like this! I'm going to report you to the management if you don't move this thing right now!"

The old woman beamed at him. "Isn't he something?" she asked me.

"Chivalry isn't dead," I agreed.

"You want this sofa moved?" Marco asked. "You got it."

He picked me up, dumped me on the couch, and yanked up one end. His buddy got the other, and the two vamps started carrying it down the hall. Either of them could have managed it alone, probably with one hand, but we had an audience.

The man and woman followed us to the elevators and pressed the button, and then we all waited until an empty car arrived. The door pinged and the two lovebirds got on. The woman held the door, but I shook my head at her. "It won't fit."

Marco glanced from the couch to the elevator and reached the same conclusion. Scowling, he put down his end of the sofa, shifted me to one side, and stomped a size thirteen foot down through the middle. There was a loud crack and the sofa broke clean in two.

"Oh, my," the woman said, her foot firmly planted in the elevator door. It looked like the eggs could wait.

"Oh, jeez." Marco's buddy was looking from him to the sofa, back and forth, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. "Oh, man, you shouldn't have done that. That was a special couch. That was Lord Mircea's favorite couch!"

"Lord Mircea doesn't have a favorite couch!" Marco told him, trying to shove me onto the elevator. But the piece I was attached to was still too big, especially with two people already on board.

Marco grabbed the sofa arm that my cuffs were stuck through as if he meant to wrench it off, but his buddy stopped him. "I can't let you do that," he said seriously.

Marco stared at him for a moment. "Can't let me do what?" he finally asked.

"I can't let you do any more damage to Lord Mircea's property. This is a special couch. See that leather? It was custom dyed. You can't just go out and buy another one, not and have it match." He surveyed the pieces with a worried frown. "The leather split along the seam. Maybe it can be repaired. Maybe we can—"

I never heard his suggestion, because Marco planted a fist to his jaw with enough force to send him sailing back against the wall. It shuddered when he hit, and a wall sconce tumbled to the carpet, shattering into pieces. The vampire didn't look so good himself, sliding slowly down onto his haunches.

Marco glowered at him. "Don't ever challenge my authority again. I'm in charge of this detail. You do what I tell you." He turned back to the sofa and got a grip.