Cassie shifted them to the greasy spoon they had visited so long ago, before the dragon incident that had nearly killed them both. The jukebox was playing doo-wop slightly too loud and the customers were yelling over the music. The whole restaurant smelled like fried food. It was hectic. It was perfect.
By unspoken agreement, they avoided the weightier topics that hung between them. Cassie told him about her two-dozen initiates and their housing troubles. She explained Tami's intervention and their recent annexation of the Consul's palatial apartment. Several rooms on the lofted second floor held the girls and the misfit children; several down below accommodated her, Tami, Rhea, and the on-duty security. Her former apartment had become barracks for the off-duty guards.
John was mostly silent, glad to hear her relaxed and happy instead of exhausted and terrified. Although he would never admit it to her, he had always enjoyed chasing Cassie through their running circuit because she forgot herself there. She forgot the weight of the world resting on her shoulders, forgot their enemies, forgot everything except Pritkin I swear to god I'm dying and you are a goddamn sadist and I hate you.
"You've chosen your castellan well," he told her when she paused to take a bite. She crooked an eyebrow at him.
"Castellan," she repeated, savoring the word. "I like that. She's not just an organizer. She commands the castle's forces." Then she grinned. "Did I tell you how she punched Marco right in the nose?"
He shook his head, but Cassie's reply was cut off by a sharp buzzing noise from her phone. She scowled down at the text message on the screen.
"Bad news?" he asked.
"Rico says that Jonas is at Dante's."
She picked up the phone and started typing furiously with her thumbs.
"I'm telling Rico—that I'm eating lunch—and Jonas can wait—or he can make a goddamn appointment."
She slammed the phone back down on the table and he wanted to kiss her frown away. Instead, he reached across the scarred formica tabletop to take her hand. He squeezed it gently and stroked her palm with his thumb. He was rewarded with a luminous smile. John always saw the demigoddess in her when she smiled like that—her eyes were as endlessly blue as the sky, and her red-gold curls caught the light like a crown. Sometimes he wondered if this was merely her effect on him, or if others saw her this way, too.
"Hilde thinks that Jonas got used to too much access," Cassie mused, squeezing his hand back. "Agnes would never tell him 'no.'"
"Knowing Lady Phemonoe, I have trouble believing that," John responded dryly. "She was very… firm in her opinions."
"Yes and no." A shadow passed across Cassie's face. "I didn't tell you, did I? Rhea is Agnes and Jonas's daughter."
John frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
"Agnes gave birth to her in secret. She didn't tell Jonas because she was afraid he would try to use Rhea for the Circle's benefit. Agnes left her with a coven witch, and Rhea returned to court as a young girl—an anonymous one from a no-name family, who Jonas ignored."
He was speechless. Surprise and horror warred inside of him, accompanied by a distant pang of sadness that he remembered from his childhood. Being unwanted, not belonging, always wondering how he fit into the world.
"Does Jonas know?" he asked eventually.
"He does now. Rhea told him. Blew up at him, really, because he was trying to strong-arm me and wouldn't admit it."
John stared down at their entwined hands on the tabletop.
"I could never do that," he finally said, so quietly that he could barely hear himself over the restaurant noise.
"And I would never do that to you." When he glanced up, Cassie was watching him intently. "But I wouldn't need to."
Then her eyes crinkled, and her mouth puckered as if she were holding back a grin.
"The only thing you try to control is my intake of refined sugar."
And he couldn't help but smile, too.
"You're the one who told room service to replace all my coffee with herbal tea, thank you."
"Only after the second pot, which I think is entirely reasonable!"
Without breaking eye contact, John reached down for the last piece of pizza and took an exaggerated bite. Cassie made a tiny noise of protest. Small revenge, he thought.
"Mm mmm," he said around the mouthful. He swallowed. "I've earned it. There's no pizza in hell."
"They have cheesesteaks, but no pizza?" she asked suspiciously. John could only shrug.
"I can't explain it."
He finished off the slice in just a few bites, finally quieting the hunger pains that had troubled him all morning. He felt relatively sturdy, considering that he had fasted for a fortnight, but even his revived demon nature couldn't fill the ache in his belly. Without thinking, he licked a spot of greasy tomato sauce off of one thumb.
And he felt a twinge, like a faint crackle of static, along his skin. He glanced upwards and saw Cassie watching him from across the table. Her eyes were following his mouth.
He licked his lips and she unconsciously echoed his movement.
"Are you ready to leave?" he asked, all innocence.
"Yes," she replied, a little too quickly. She dug through her pockets and threw a few crumpled bills down on the table—the Pythian treasury must have come through, he thought wryly, and he smiled as he reached down to help her out of the booth. Her hand felt warm and soft in his grip, as warm and soft as the gentle breeze that ruffled their hair when they stepped outside the door.
They circled around the back of the diner, away from watchful eyes, and John slid his arm around her waist just as they shifted.
Perhaps she was surprised, even knocked off balance, because when they rematerialized in a long hallway inside of Dante's, she stumbled against a wall and momentum drove him against her, pressing her body against the wallpaper.
The static fizzing along his skin felt stronger, and he felt simultaneously like a bird of prey going for the kill and an adolescent boy fumbling for release. He was aware of every inch of her body against his own—the brush of her knee, her hipbones barely jutting out against him, the soft inward curve of her sides leading up to her chest which was rapidly rising and falling, and the weight of her glorious breasts, thy breasts are better than wine…
He didn't have to think about kissing her because his lips were already there, drinking her down.
Drinking.
He peeled away from her, feeling ashamed, as his body and essence screamed at him to do otherwise.
"I'm sorry," he panted. Cassie's mouth was slightly open, her cheeks flushed, her pupils huge.
"You're trying to eat me," she murmured. His traitorous mind conjured an image of him kissing his way down her body, down to the sweet crux of legs, while she quivered and whimpered above him. His favorite.
"I was not monitoring myself," he said tightly. You sick bastard, he followed up, silently, to himself. "I apologize for… taking liberties."
"Pritkin. I don't mind," she said. Her voice was still a little breathy. "Damn it, I could do this all day. But Jonas is waiting upstairs. And we're in a hallway." She reached down and straightened the shirt that he had inadvertently pushed up around her waist.
"I feel like a teenager," he admitted, and he realized that he was blushing bright as the sun. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fuck."
She snorted out a laugh. And then started giggling.
"What?" he asked, somewhat offended. Because not only did his body ache with disappointment, his incubus-tainted soul did, too. Which is how I got my reputation as the angriest son-of-a-bitch in the Corps.
"Do you remember when Gertie walked in on us?" she said between laughs.
"Who?"
"The Victorian Pythia. She was always covered in cherries. Rosier and I found you in the 1790s, in Paris, but you recognized me from that time with Mircea and you did your best to mug me…"
Oh, yes. The memory was faded, but some things were difficult to forget. He had been surprised and angry when he stumbled upon the little blonde witch again, but instead of strangling her, he ended up kissing her. And more. If the Pythian forces hadn't intervened…
"You mean Lady Herophile V." He paused as another memory floated upward. "You know, I met her at court, sometime around 1930. She was very old. And she gave me the strangest look."
"I'm sure she thought I was a nymphomaniac," Cassie said ruefully. "She caught us in flagrante delicto twice within three days."
Those disordered memories gave him a headache, and they did nothing at all to calm the sexual tension that was still running through his body. He took several steps backwards from Cassie and his back hit the opposite wall.
"I just need a moment," he said tightly, and closed his eyes. He had more than a century of practice. Even breaths, like the rhythmic motion of waves in the middle of the deep blue sea… the hot desert wind locked below the waves, unable to reach the outside world.
Instead of raging, his demon-nature… pouted. Overall, petulant was exactly how he felt.
When John opened his eyes, Cassie was staring back with good humor.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go."
….
..
….
Rico was waiting for them at the front door. His shoulder holster was a stark black outline over his plain white t-shirt and his tattooed arms were folded over his chest. He was chewing on the end of an unlit cigarette.
"Jonas is in the sitting room. He said he'd wait until you returned."
"Thanks." Cassie raised her eyebrows at the vampire. "What are you doing out here?"
He shrugged gracefully, looking towards the heavens.
"Chi sa? Fred said the wards were acting up." He nodded his head towards John. "Mage got through Gianni and Val earlier."
"I'll go over the wards later," John said quickly, watching Cassie's brow furrow. "They're fine. I have my own tricks."
"I told 'em he was an okay guy, for a mage," Rico said genially, pulling open one of the doors and gesturing Cassie forward. As John moved to follow her inside, the vampire laid a strong hand on his shoulder.
John looked down at the hand, then up at Rico.
"Yes?" he asked pleasantly. On the inside, he was calculating the angle and force he would need to slice the vampire's arm off.
"You're not fooling anyone," Rico muttered under his breath.
"Excuse me?" John replied, less pleasantly.
"You smell like her, get it? Any one of us would know. I don't care, but some of the men, they may feel a slight on the master's behalf. Maybe you'll have to kick someone's ass."
"Ready and willing," John muttered, pulling out of the vampire's grasp. Rico grinned at him. Cassie was halfway across the atrium and he hurried to catch up with her, feeling unreasonably annoyed.
She paused in front of one of the door leading off the atrium.
"Any last words?" she asked him wryly.
"Remember that Jonas is not your overseer," he replied. Although Jonas often frustrated him, he had never been intimidated by the other mage. They had known each other far too long. Beneath all the fussiness and hot air, the man had a good heart.
Cassie made a rude gesture and stuck out her tongue. Then she pushed open the door and walked through with her head held high.
They emerged into a sitting room decorated in dusty blues. Jonas rose from an armchair as the door swung shut behind them. With dark, sunken circles under his eyes and lines cut deep in his forehead, he looked every one of his 179 years. But those eyes were sharp, watchful, and utterly lucid.
Jonas was tired, and he was not there to play games.
"I have spent the past 36 hours in a state of near-panic," he snapped. "And I need answers immediately. You will tell me what you have been doing!"
Cassie and John exchanged glances.
"Hello to you, too, Jonas," Cassie said dryly.
"I'm not in the mood for pleasantries, Cassandra."
"Jonas, if you want to take all of your stress and double it, that's about how I feel right now!" she snapped back at the mage. She dropped onto a plush, oversized couch and sank several inches into the cushions.
"Take a seat, Jonas," John added. He came around to join Cassie on the couch, and finally the older man lowered himself back into the chair. His stormy expression remained, and his dandelion hair swayed softly in the air, enervated by his power.
"Can I tell my men that they are safe? That their families are safe?" Jonas asked, his voice low but fierce.
"I don't know," Cassie told him, crossing her legs and leaning forward. "Ares is gone, and I took care of the final rogue, Joanna. What does that mean for the Black Circle and the war? My guess is as good as yours."
Jonas slumped against the back of his chair, but the furrows on his forehead deepened as he grimaced.
"As easy as all that?" the old mage said, disbelief in his voice.
"Not easy at all," Cassie growled back. Her fingers were curling into the arm of the couch. "I wasn't ignoring you for shits and giggles, Jonas. I was fighting your fucking war."
There was an ugly silence. Apologize, you bloody git, John thought to himself, staring at Jonas with laser focus. After a few moments, the other man sighed heavily.
"Forgive me, Cassandra. You must understand, I've been worried sick." Jonas pursed his lips. "Will you please explain to me what has happened?"
John looked at Cassie, and he wondered how much she would tell the Lord Protector. He still had his own questions, but it was not his place to ask or interfere. Cassie must stand on her own if she is to demand any respect. Even if John had to clench his jaw shut until it ached.
"Jo was a necromancer," Cassie said after a pause. She ignored Jonas's muffled exclamation. "As such, she discovered that she could travel through time in a very… unorthodox… way. Using ghosts rather than the Pythian power. She was difficult to track."
"A necromancer at court," Jonas breathed, clearly horrified. Cassie shot him a nasty look.
"Don't forget that I am, too, Jonas. Considering the other acolytes went rogue as well, it's kind of beside the point. But Jo didn't care about the power—she just wanted to watch the world burn. She used her talents, including her clairvoyance, to find a moment in time that was particularly vulnerable to Ares's intrusion."
"Vulnerable how?" demanded the mage.
"I'm getting to it!" It was clear that Cassie was running out of patience. "Remember the Spartoi and the Morrigan? We already knew that the gods had left behind half-fey children—some who are driving this war, and some who don't want anything to do with it. Somehow, Jo learned about a group of fey artifacts that were linked to the gods. Together, they had the power to rip open a portal from the gods' plane—going around the Ourobouros spell.
"Joanna manipulated a fey and human conflict in the sixth century, so all four artifacts were present. The Svarestri were her allies. They nearly succeeded… but we stopped them."
"How? Who is we?" Jonas spluttered. He looked back and forth between John and Cassie. "Last I saw, John was here-unconscious, for some reason, might I add—and there were no other war mages to travel with you. Surely you didn't bring vampires—or witches?"
"I had a companion provided by the Demon Council," Cassie replied obliquely. "And even better, I had other Pythias. Dozens of them."
"The Demon Council," he repeated blankly.
"They have their own reasons to keep the gods away from earth," Cassie said. "They've agreed to join our alliance."
Jonas was dumbstruck. His eyes traveled between Cassie and Pritkin before settling on the mage.
"John, I can't believe that you would condone this," he said.
"I think that the stakes are high," he responded after careful consideration. "These are extraordinary times, and Cassie has done well to seek powerful allies. The Council has been promised nothing beyond their own safety."
The older man's mouth hung open in silent protest. John felt Cassie shift beside him. Much to his surprise, she stood up and took a few steps over to Jonas. She crouched before him and took one of his limp hands in both of her own.
"Look, Jonas," she said, and compassion had replaced the frustration in her voice. Her blue eyes were wide and guileless. "I know that you are exhausted and scared. Believe me, so am I. But you are not doing this alone. This is not just a Circle problem. This is an everybody problem. You, me, and the covens, the vampires, and the demons. Even the fey, if we can convince them."
"That's all well and good, my child," Jonas said mournfully. "But who will do the work? You have proposed that four or five factions, at odds for centuries, if not millennia, cooperate for the greater good? Neither vampires nor demons have reputations for altruism."
Cassie pulled away from Jonas and stood up, throwing her hands in the air.
"I'm doing the work, Jonas! I've recruited them!" she exclaimed. "It's already happened! Now we just need a plan."
"Alright," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "Then what is next, Cassandra?"
"I think it's time to go on the offensive." Her gaze slid over to John. "Right, Pritkin?"
"I agree, although I would prefer to recruit some fey allies before we march into Faerie," John replied, choosing his words carefully. "We now have evidence that the Winter King is harboring the Black Circle, and perhaps the vampire Antonio as well. That gives us grounds to approach the Blarestri and Alorestri. The Dark Fey, too, could be valuable partners in this expedition."
Jonas pressed his lips into a thin line. His hair was waving less energetically than before, but he still looked skeptical.
"Forgive me for being negative, John, but it was my understanding that Cassandra is on rather poor terms with the Dark Fey king. Something about a broken promise to deliver the Codex Merlini."
Chaos is like jumping off a cliff, John thought for the second time that day. They were Artemis's words, which Cassie had repeated to him in the Shadowlands. He had a moment of clarity as he studied Jonas's lined face. The Lord Protector was bound by his habits and suspicions, just as all the other factions were. Cassie had succeeded so far through sheer creativity and unpredictability. And selflessness, although she would deny it.
For so long, John thought he could redeem himself by dying in service of others. The greatest selflessness imaginable. Except now he questioned the truth of that old belief. Dying was easy—living, that was hard.
He took a breath and jumped off that cliff.
"It's true that we can't deliver the Codex Merlini to the Dark Fey," John finally replied. He looked Jonas straight in the eye. "However, Myrddin is willing to bargain for whichever spells they want, short of the Ephesian Letters."
The expression on Jonas's face was priceless.
