Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,115

gilded wood that made a loud screech, scratch, squaaaawk on the pretty new mosaic. But I finally got it wedged into a too small spot between a guy in a burnoose and a woman in a business suit. “I don’t have a secretary yet,” I said, climbing over burnoose guy. “And my bodyguards are terrible about reminding me of appointments. What were we talking about?”

I sat down and looked around brightly.

All that had taken only a few seconds, but everyone’s expressions had already shifted back to neutrality. Except for the consul, who looked like she’d been sucking on a lemon. And Caedmon, who was grinning openly. And Mircea, his dark good looks on display in a suit so finely cut that it would have made Augustine weep with envy if he wasn’t already having a breakdown.

Strangely enough, Mircea had looked almost relieved for a second, when I first arrived, or maybe I’d imagined it. The expression had vanished so fast that I couldn’t be sure. And I didn’t have time to wonder about it, because another vamp—a woman—hit the table hard enough to cause all the papers to jump.

“Finally! Maybe we can get some answers around here!”

I didn’t recognize her, but I suspected who she was, and not only because of the ebony beauty on display in a low-cut, stark white gown. But because of the broad gold necklace she wore that matched the armbands hugging her biceps and the golden net around her hair. The necklace looked like something an old-fashioned knight would have worn to protect his throat, yet it didn’t quite manage to hide the jagged red line that appeared sometimes when she moved, an ugly reminder that the lovely head with the Nefertiti profile had once been completely severed from her body.

Ismitta, I’d been told, had been ambushed right before the war began, presumably to get her out of the way. Our enemies had been right to fear her: attacked by overwhelming odds and decapitated, she had nonetheless risen up, tucked her head under her arm, and fought her assailants to a standstill. “Badass” didn’t quite cover it.

She’d been away for a while, recuperating, but I guessed it was all hands on deck these days. I briefly wondered why she hadn’t used a glamourie on her terrible wound. There were plenty that would have covered it without any slipups. But then, maybe she wanted people to see.

Maybe she wanted her enemies to see.

I felt a shiver go across my arms, which wasn’t helped when she leaned over the table, glaring at me. “Well? Did you talk to the demons or not?”

“Demons?” It caught me off guard. “How did you know I was talking to demons?”

Mircea swiftly cut in. “I did not expect you to be back so soon,” he said smoothly. “It was a constructive meeting, I take it?”

It took me a second, because I was having a small fit at the thought of being spied on. But I didn’t think that was it. There was a small muscle twitching at the edge of his jaw, the tiniest of tells that he was hoping I’d pick up on . . . what, exactly? Some kind of bluff? How bad had the reaction been to what had happened yesterday, anyway?

I didn’t know, since I’d cut out early, but it didn’t look like it had been fun. So he’d told them I was checking on it, probably to calm everybody down. And, in usual Mircea fashion, he’d gotten lucky, because the demon high council had decided to kidnap me!

I wondered why he hadn’t just talked to the council himself, but couldn’t very well ask under the circumstances. I stood up, since that seemed to be what people did when they wanted to talk. And because the ones down the table wouldn’t have been able to see me otherwise.

“Uh, yes. Sort of—”

“Sort of?” Possible-Ismitta asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’re checking on it—”

“On what? What the hell is there to check on? It was either demonic or it wasn’t!”

I just stood there, reflecting on the fact that four months ago, having a senior vamp yelling in my face would have had me peeing myself. Right now, it was just really annoying. And I was annoyed enough already.

“Well?” she demanded. “Lord Mircea assured us that you would have some answers about that thing we fought yesterday—”

“We? I don’t remember you being at the fight,” I said.

There was a sudden, stunned silence around the table.

“What Lady Cassandra means is—” Mircea