Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,99

and was just slapping any old images onto the backdrop, like it was pulling stuff randomly from my mind but couldn’t be bothered to make sure that it fit or not. Hence the flailing snack machine. And the potted people outside the entrance to a building, waving back and forth in the breeze off the fires, with creepy, fixed smiles on their faces. And the bicycle and taxicab, the latter full of what looked like looted merchandise, throwing down in the middle of the street. I also saw a sapling just uproot itself and walk off, apparently getting tired of the bullshit, and found myself in full solidarity with the tree.

What the literal hell was going on?

“Some kind of attack,” Pritkin said, when I asked. “Although I can’t imagine who would be this foolish. The entire council will come down on whoever broke the peace.”

“Wouldn’t want to be him,” I said, gazing around.

Pritkin started looking worried for some reason.

“You haven’t been . . . up to anything . . . while I was away?” he asked.

“What does that mean?”

He shot me a look. “You know perfectly well what it means. Marco informed me that you went shopping yesterday and then to a meeting with the senate.”

“Um. More or less.” Now I was starting to get worried, too.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Did anything unusual happen on either of those two occasions?”

“. . . Define ‘unusual.’”

Pritkin’s frown tipped over into a scowl.

But he didn’t get a chance to reply, because we were being quick-marched into a familiar building. I don’t know what the demon council’s meeting hall actually looked like, but my mind had assigned it the facade of a drab, slightly shabby-looking hotel with the most boring lobby imaginable. And, thankfully, it was still as boring as ever, because whatever was happening outside hadn’t made it this far.

The beige carpet that met my bare toes when Pritkin sat me down was still beige and still in need of cleaning. The potted plants were still just plants, ones that looked like they’d seen better days. The reception desk was still a cheap wood laminate that had a few chips in the surface, and a fat little demon on the other side who looked relieved to see us. He waved us on back.

Only back to where, I wasn’t sure. The only place I knew in here was through the big double doors opposite the entrance, which led down a hall to the dark amphitheater where the council met. But I didn’t put up a fuss, because anything was better than hanging around the lobby.

I looked at Pritkin, who was staring at a spot near the doors, which looked as nondescript as everything else. It wasn’t. It was where he’d fallen, the spot where he’d been cursed, the place where he’d died. The demon spell that had sent his soul careening back through time and me on my epic journey to try to save him had all started here.

Right here.

I took Pritkin’s hand and squeezed it. “You all right?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at the spot some more. And then he nodded, a quick up-and-down movement of the chin that said as loud as anything that no, he was not all right. But I didn’t know what to do about it, except to keep hold of his hand as we were guided down a hall.

It was on the opposite side of the lobby from the one that held the bathrooms and the ratty old sofa where Caleb, Casanova, and I had sat while Pritkin’s trial went on. As bad as this was, it was better than having to sit around for hours waiting on what we all knew was a kangaroo court. The council hadn’t wanted justice; they’d wanted him dead, although I’d never understood why.

Yes, he was powerful, and that had been before his incubus abilities came back online, so to speak. Based on what I’d just seen I’d say he’d gotten an upgrade, but even so, he was one man. It didn’t make sense to me that a council of superpowerful, ancient beings would be so concerned over the fate of any single individual—especially one who hated the hells and never came here anyway—when they presumably had legions of soldiers under their command.

But they had been, and they’d killed him. And even though they’d reconsidered later, when they decided it might be useful to have a friendly Pythia on their side, and had given me the counterspell, I still wasn’t okay