"Yes." Apparently, my body was a few steps ahead of my brain, because my arms had broken out in goose flesh.

"Possessiveness commonly develops an aspect of exclusivity-this person should belong to me and no other, we were meant to be together, that sort of thing." He waved a hand, causing his cigarette smoke to weave drunkenly on its way towards the ceiling. I felt kind of like that, too. My brain was stumbling about, trying to make sense of this mess, and my emotions were all over the place.

"That leads to covetousness," Casanova was saying, "which can convert to despair or hatred if thwarted. Even when cast properly, the spell often causes problems, with how many and what kind depending on the personalities of those bonded. And because it's so complex, it can easily be screwed up. Most mages won't even attempt it anymore. Your admirer is either a powerful magic worker or he knows someone who is.”

"He can afford the best," I said absently. It must have seemed the perfect solution: leave me with Tony, one of his supposedly loyal servants, and put me under the geis so I would remain untouched until he saw whether the power was going to come to me. It was a great plan, if my feelings were discounted. And, of course, they had been. Master vampires tend to treat their servants like pieces on a chessboard, moving them about with no concern over little things like what the piece itself might want.

"It can't be Antonio," Casanova mused, regarding me speculatively. "You were at his court for years before you ran away. The spell would never have allowed you to leave him, nor would you have wanted to try.”

I winced. Even the thought of being infatuated with Tony was enough to make me slightly sick. "Can it be removed?”

"By the person who originated it, certainly.”

"No, without him.”

Casanova shook his head. "I couldn't do it, and I'm very good, chica." He gave me an arch look. "Of course, if I knew more about who we're discussing, it might help. Perhaps one of my contacts…”

I didn't want to tell him. Tony was his immediate boss, but Mircea was Tony's master. He therefore had a claim to anything Tony had and to anyone who owed him loyalty. There was normally a certain amount of maneuvering that had to be done before a senior master could simply take one of his underling's possessions, at least if that subordinate had reached third-level master status, as Tony had. But since Tony was now in open defiance of both Mircea and the Senate, everything he owned had reverted to his master's control. Which was a roundabout way of saying that Mircea was Casanova's master. The incubus was unlikely to defy him, but he obviously wasn't going to give me any help without more information.

I sighed. I didn't like being backed into a corner, but who else was I going to ask? "Mircea," I said, after checking to make sure we weren't being overheard.

Casanova looked blank for a moment, then jumped up as if someone had given him a hotfoot. "You might have mentioned that earlier, Cassie!" he hissed in an alarmed whisper. "Getting this body skinned alive is not on my daily agenda!”

"Sit down," I told him in irritation. "Tell me how I get rid of this thing.”

"You don't. Take some advice, chica," he said seriously. "Go home to the nice master vampire, beg forgiveness for causing him any inconvenience and do whatever he tells you. You do not want this one angry with you.”

"I've seen Mircea pissed off," I said. That was true, although so far it had never been at me. I nudged Casanova's chair with my foot. "Sit down. People are starting to stare.”

"Yes, they are," Casanova agreed, "which is why I'm going straight to my office, picking up the phone and giving the big boss a call. If you don't want him to find you, I suggest you use the time between now and then to run like hell. Not that it will do you any good.”

"You're afraid of him!”

"Let me think," he said sarcastically. "Yes! As you should be.”

I stared up at him in confusion. The vamp I knew wasn't someone to be trifled with, but I'd never seen him do anything that would explain why an ancient demon would be shaking in his designer shoes. "We're talking about Mircea, right?”

Casanova glanced around, then slid into the seat next to me, looking almost comically grave. “Listen to me, little girl, and pay attention, because I am never saying this again. Mircea is the greatest manipulator I've ever known. There's a reason he's the Senate's chief negotiator-he always gets what he wants. My advice: make it easy on him, and perhaps he'll go easy on you.”

I grabbed his tie to keep him from running for the phone and jerked his face close to mine. I'm not normally the violent type-I saw too much of it growing up to want any part of it-but at the moment I was too mad to care. "You've had your speech, now listen to mine. I know all about manipulation. I haven't lived a day when someone wasn't pulling my strings. Even this whole Pythia gig wasn't my idea. But you know what? It does change things, doesn't it? Mircea doesn't own me, no matter what he thinks. No one does. And anyone who tries to jerk me around from now on is going to find that I make a very bad enemy. Do you get it?”

Casanova pantomimed choking and I released him. He fell back in his chair, looking more amused than frightened. "If you're so powerful, why do you need my help?" he asked archly. "Why not remove the geis yourself, and rain down your wrath on Antonio while you're at it?”

"It doesn't work quite like that," I said dryly. "And what is so damn funny?”

The grin that Casanova had been attempting, unsuccessfully, to restrain broke over his face. "Inside joke," he chortled. "You'd have to be an incubus to understand.”

"Give me the condensed version.”

He looked coy. The expression should have appeared odd on his strong-featured face, but he pulled it off. "Anticipation, you might say. Like looking forward to the next heavyweight championship match. In this corner," he said, his voice taking on the cadence of a veteran ringside announcer, "we have Lord Mircea, never defeated in five hundred years of political and social maneuvering. And in this corner, his opponent, the deceptively sweet-looking Cassandra, newly elevated to the Pythia's throne." He grinned even wider. "You have to understand, Cassie. For an incubus, it doesn't get much better than this. If I wasn't so protective of this body, I'd be wrangling for a ringside seat.”

"You're babbling," I said in disgust. "Tell me something I can use!”

"Why don't you tell me something for a change?" he countered. "What, precisely, do you think you're going to do if you find Tony? He's been around for a long time. He isn't going to be easy to kill. Why not relax and let Mircea handle him? He'll find him sooner or later and then you and I are both-”

"Mircea can't deal with Myra!" I couldn't believe Casanova still didn't get it. "He might be able to protect me in the here and now, but it isn't the present that worries me." Myra had been Agnes' heir until she fell in with some very bad company and was disinherited. But her fall hadn't taken away her abilities, meaning that she could slip into the past and attack me long before I even knew who she was. She could even kill one of my parents, insuring I was never born. And Mircea couldn't do a damn thing about it.

"But if Antonio is protecting her, how do you expect-”

"I have a few surprises for Tony. What I need from you-”

"Is likely to cost me greatly. You cannot believe-" He broke off at my expression. "What is it?" I jumped to my feet, wobbling a little in the heels, and stared over his head at the sight barreling in the bar's entrance.

My least favorite war mage was heading across the lobby at a dead run. His short blond hair looked like it had been hacked at by a machete, and his icy green eyes were angry. Not that that was unusual: I'd never seen him smile, and normally considered it a good day if he wasn't trying to kill me. Considering that he was wearing his usual knee-length leather coat, the one that bulged with concealed weapons, it didn't look like today would be one of those.