He sat unwillingly.
"Here, caro, let me help." Marsilia took each hand and impaled it on the upthrust brass thorns.
He fought.
I could see it in the grimness of his face and the tenseness of his muscles.
I couldn't see that it cost Marsilia anything at all to keep him under her control.
"You've been naughty, no?" she asked.
"Disloyal." "I have not been disloyal to the seethe," he gritted out.
"Truth," said a boy's voice.
The Wizard himself.
I hadn't seen him--though I'd looked.
His light gold hair had been trimmed close to his skull.
He had a vague smile on his face as he strolled down from the top of the bleachers across from us.
He used the bleacher seats as stairs.
He looked like a young high school student.
He'd died before his features had had a chance to grow into maturity.
He looked soft and young.
Marsilia smiled when she saw him.
He hopped over the last three seats and landed lightly on the hardwood floor.
She was shorter than he was, but the kiss he gave her made my stomach hurt.
I knew he was hundreds of years old, but it didn't matter--because he looked like a kid.
He stepped back and reached out a finger and ran it over Bernard's hand and down to the chair arm.
When he picked it up it dripped blood.
He licked it off slowly, letting a few drops roll down the palm of his hand, over his wrist, until it stained the light green sleeves of his dress shirt.
I wondered who he was performing for.
Surely the vampires wouldn't be bothered by his licking blood--and I was sort of right but mostly wrong.
Bothered might not be the word, but there was a generalized motion from the stands as vampires leaned forward and some of them even licked their lips.
Ugh.
"You have betrayed me, haven't you, Bernard?" Marsilia was still looking at Wulfe, and he held out his hand.
She took it and traced the drying blood, letting her mouth linger over his wrist while Bernard quivered, trying not to answer the question.
"I have not betrayed the seethe," Bernard said again.