Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,17

way to Rothgay’s many branches worldwide.

Of course, there’d been a couple of derelict types lounging around outside the famous store, looking like panhandlers but in reality serving as guards, because Rothgay’s carried the kind of stuff you needed a license for. I wasn’t sure a coven witch would get a license, considering it was the Circle that issued them. But even if not, there were plenty of alternatives. The presence of a large supernatural community and a sizable contingent of the War Mage Corps ensured that you couldn’t swing a dead cat in Vegas without it coming back smelling like wormwood.

Yet the covens needed more?

“We don’t like the Circle to know what we’re buying,” Zara said, lighting a small herbal cigarette. She smiled.

I smiled back—before I realized the implication.

“Jas—uh, Zara,” I said, trying not to look as freaked-out as I was. “It would be a really bad idea to attack the Circle when they’re in the middle of a war.”

“Is that what you meant?” Saffy asked, sitting forward.

Zara blew some fragrant smoke at her. “It’s been mentioned.”

“Really, really bad,” I added.

“Why would anybody even think of such a thing?” Saffy demanded. “What good would it do to beat the Circle only to have the gods come back and destroy us all? Besides, you know why we can’t attack them, even in peacetime—”

“I know,” Zara agreed lightly. “I’m not the one suggesting it.”

And before I could ask what Saffy meant, she was telling me. “The Circle’s power supports a spell, one laid thousands of years ago, to keep out the gods. Without them, it would fall, and those bastards would be back and we’d all be screwed! Like we are if anyone actually goes through with this!”

I nodded, because for once, I probably knew more than she did. She was talking about the ouroboros spell, one cast by the goddess Artemis to protect the world after she kicked all the other godly butts to the curb, with “the curb” being their own dimension. There was some debate as to why she’d done this, but none whatsoever about its usefulness.

Of course, I could be wrong about that, I thought, seeing Zara’s expression.

“The spell does exist,” I told her.

“Perhaps—”

“No perhaps. It does.”

“Perhaps,” she repeated, showing teeth this time. “But it was very . . . convenient . . . that we only learned of this during our war with the Circle. We had a truce once, to fight a more pressing enemy. They broke it, attacked us when we were at our most vulnerable, and then, when our leaders vowed to fight on nonetheless, told us this story. And, somehow, persuaded the Mothers to believe it! As a result, while we never accepted the yoke they call their rule, we also did not continue to fight back.”

She looked at me soberly. “And now, there is another war.”

“Yes, one we have to win.”

“Perhaps.” It seemed to be her favorite word. “Or perhaps the Circle want an excuse to finish us off.”

“You don’t believe that!” Saffy said, looking shocked.

“I’m merely telling you what’s been said,” Zara replied innocently. “The Circle has viewed the covens as a thorn in its side for centuries. What if they see this war—whether needed or not—as a way to persuade us to ally with them as they did once before? And to complete the betrayal they started then?”

I was the one sitting forward this time. “You know who I am; who my mother was.”

“I know what they say.” Zara’s beautiful eyes narrowed. “Daughter of the virgin goddess, one of the only true demigods left on earth.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“Frankly, I don’t know what to believe.”

“I saw it!” Saffy said, breaking in, and almost vibrating at my side. That tea was apparently really overrated. “You weren’t there, at the Battle on the Drag. She took on a whole dark mage army—”

“Yes, so you’ve told me. A number of times.”

“—and won! All by herself—”

“I wasn’t by myself,” I corrected quietly. “And if it hadn’t been for you, I’d have died there.”

Zara raised a perfect eyebrow at me. I guess she hadn’t expected candor. Unfortunately, it was all I had to work with, as I’d never been particularly good with diplomacy. But, for once, it seemed to be an asset.

From what I’d seen of the covens, they didn’t do diplomacy all that well, either.

“The stories are true,” I told her. “Artemis was my mother. But she was greatly diminished when she had me, and died shortly thereafter. And in any case, demigods