Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,48

out the little bulb-like sprayer. Then he turned it on himself.

“You see?” he asked. “Or, rather, do you smell?”

I didn’t, actually. Until I leaned closer. I closed my eyes and filled my lungs, but it wasn’t the smell of fish, even newly caught ones, that met my nose. It wasn’t anything I could name exactly. If I’d had to describe it, it would have sounded like the cover of a romance novel: a dark night, a full moon, a highwayman galloping past a field of lavender, a girl waiting in a tall tower by the sea, plaiting roses in her hair—

I broke away, laughing at myself.

God, I needed to get laid!

“What is it?” Rico asked, trying to sniff himself. I guess I didn’t look like a woman who’d just been breathing fish guts.

“You can’t smell it yourself. You have to have someone tell you,” I said. Or so the fey shopkeeper had insisted.

“Then what do you smell?”

“Not fish.”

The door to the suite opened before I could say anything else, and Saffy’s pink head poked out. “Hey! We found it!”

“Found what?”

“An outfit for you.”

Okay, now I was legitimately afraid. “Um, Saffy—”

“No, really. You’ll love it!”

She started tugging me inside.

“Cassie—” That was Rico, looking strangely desperate, all of a sudden.

“It’s hard to describe,” I said. “But you keep it. It smells better on you.”

“Better?” He looked at the little bottle in confusion. “What did it smell like on you?”

But Saffy had already pulled me inside.

Just as well.

Hilde had only smelled ozone.

Chapter Eleven

I didn’t wear the ridiculously elaborate outfit the girls had found for me, although I did keep it, because Augustine had been right—it was perfect for a Pythia. Or, at least, a Pythia going to a ball, which I wasn’t. I put on my sensible black skirt instead, with a cute blue blouse that was silky and ruffly and matched my eyes, and dressed the ensemble up nicely, thank you very much.

Then I went looking for Mircea.

He wasn’t in his office, where I scared a maid half to death by popping in just as she turned away from cleaning the desk. When the screaming died down, I tried his private rooms, but he wasn’t in there, either. I poked my head out of the door to the hallway, wondering where else to look, only to freak out the two huge senate guards who’d been posted there for some reason.

I frowned at them, but not because of the shiny-tipped spears they’d thrust in my face, which was par for the course around here. But because they shouldn’t have been there at all. Mircea had had guards when he was injured, the day the senate was attacked a month ago, but he’d long since healed. And of all people, he was able to take care of himself. Unless something else had happened—

My heart leapt to my throat, and I grabbed one of the spear shafts without thinking. “Is Mircea all right? Has he been hurt? Where is he?”

Instead of being upset—or worse—that I’d grabbed his weapon, the beefy-looking blond visibly relaxed. It looked like he’d been startled, but had belatedly recognized me. The same wasn’t true in reverse, but there were so damned many people around anymore, that wasn’t surprising.

“He’s fine,” he assured me. “Or he was last I saw him, earlier today.”

“Then what are you two doing here?” I demanded, letting him go, although my pulse was still pounding in my ears.

“We could ask the same of you!” The speaker was a tall brunet—because the consul had a height fetish where her guards were concerned—and good-looking if you liked the bruiser type. I didn’t, and I didn’t care for his tone, either.

“I’m supposed to be here,” I snapped. “But if Mircea isn’t injured, he doesn’t need guards.”

“Consul’s orders,” the blond told me.

“Why? Have there been problems?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Just all the time—”

“Don’t answer her! Why are you answering her?” the brunet demanded, thrusting his spear a little closer to my nose.

“He is smarter than you,” someone said from behind me.

I turned to find that the corridor, which was wide and marble-bright, was looking smaller and darker suddenly. Because a glowing golden demigod was striding down it. Now there was someone who didn’t need a calling card, I thought enviously.

“Lord Caedmon,” the brunet said, quickly lowering his spear and bowing. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to harass your secretary.”

I scowled down at my serviceable black skirt, Augustine’s laughter ringing in my ears. And then back up at Caedmon, one