Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,164

their faces in shadow but their eyes glinting gold in the night. They looked like they had when I first saw them, what felt like ages ago now, and had thought them bizarre, disturbing, mysterious. Like dozens of cats staring at me out of the darkness. But I wasn’t disturbed any longer, because these were men I knew, men I trusted.

Most of them, anyway.

“I talked with Mircea tonight,” I said abruptly. “We reached a deal. I do a favor for the war council and he—”

“What’s a war council?” That was Lorenzo, from somewhere in the middle of the pack. I couldn’t see him, because he was only a few inches taller than me, having been born in an era when food wasn’t plentiful. But I recognized the Brooklyn accent he’d picked up in the last century or so.

I guessed I wasn’t the only one being kept out of the loop.

“What they’re calling the leaders of the Circle and senate these days, and anyone else helping out in the war. I stumbled into one of their meetings—”

“Stumbled? Why weren’t you invited?”

That was Santiago, one of Mircea’s Spanish masters. About half of Mircea’s guys, and as many as two thirds of his masters, were Italian, picked up during his extensive stay in that part of the world after he was cursed. But he had gone other places, too, including making the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela back in the sixteenth century, where he’d ended up with a runt-of-the-litter vamp named after the city.

The trip had not been out of religious fervor, although Mircea still considered himself to be one of the faithful—it was yet another way he differed from most vamps. But because a prominent priest had started a vamp-killing brigade. He had been telling the many pilgrims who came to the city every year that there was an evil spreading across Europe like a stain, and that they were the only ones who could wipe it out.

That was a problem, because people came from all over Europe to get the blessing of Saint James, who was supposed to have been buried there. What they mostly received instead was a cheap tin pin to wear on their cloaks, a quick blessing, and an empty purse. And, for a while, a vamp-killing kit, complete with instructions from the priest.

They were pretty good instructions. And the potions included with the kits—which the pilgrims were assured were different kinds of holy water—were pretty effective, too. There was only one requirement in return: ship all the bones back to Compostela.

The priest said it was to allow him to cleanse them of their evil, so that they would not curse the town or city with their presence. But in reality, he was selling them. Vampire bones were worth a fortune to potion sellers, since they greatly increased the effectiveness of any potion they were mixed with. But after the current consul came to power, the trade had suffered a serious blow, in part thanks to Mircea.

One of the first things he did for the senate was to help shut down the trade in Venice, and later to negotiate a pact with the mages regulating it throughout Europe. He’d thereafter been deputed to find the priest and end the con at Santiago, along with the help of some local vamps, one of whom was killed in the resulting fight. Since he’d died saving Mircea’s life, Mircea had absorbed some of his boys, who couldn’t find refuge elsewhere, into the family. That had included Santiago, who had been fiercely loyal ever since.

I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be seeing him much after this. Or probably most of the rest of them. Mircea was famously loyal to family, and from everything I’d seen, they felt the same way about him. Many of my guys especially, who had been kept on despite proving to be absolute shit with diplomacy, because letting them go to other families, where they might be mistreated, had been unthinkable.

Why on earth would they even consider leaving him now?

“I will be on the war council from now on,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady and normal when I wasn’t sure I remembered what that was anymore.

“Damned straight,” somebody else said. “Imagine not inviting the Pythia!”

There was a general murmur of agreement that almost made me tear up again. I remembered when I’d first arrived, and Mircea’s guys had alternated between fear of my power and annoyance at my person. They’d called this place