I point. “I’ll soak rags with this one, then set them outside, by the gates. When Kaz’s men approach, we’ll set them on fire. All who breathe the smoke will fall asleep. Anyone who makes it through the gates will be met with a spray of another potion, doled out through bellows.”
He seems intrigued. “What will those do?”
I look at him with grave eyes. “Render them helpless at first, then—” I pause. “They will forget.”
He does not react. “Forget what?”
“The entire reason why they are here.”
“I require something of you,” he says. “I have never asked much from you, but on this day I ask that you not kill my brother.”
“He threatens me. He wants to destroy me. And you ask me not to defend myself.”
“On the contrary. I want you to defend yourself, as I will do on your behalf. But I do not want him killed. He is still my brother.”
I nod.
“I want your solemn promise,” he says.
I love this man, so I have no choice.
“And you have it.”
Chapter 15
I opened my eyes.
Someone was shaking me and saying my name.
“Helians?” I asked, still seeing the vision.
“Cassiopeia?”
I tried to clear the images from my brain, but it was harder this time to be free of the incredibly vivid hallucinations. I was shaken again. By a man. Helians?
The blur cleared.
Antoine was looking down at me. “Are you okay?”
I was free of the chair, lying on the dungeon floor. Sitting up, I shook out my arms and stretched. Antoine kept me steady.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Your brother tried to kill me.” But thankfully he did not know enough about the bottles to realize that not all of them were deadly. “How long have I been out?”
“About a half hour. I had some trouble finding this place.”
“How did you find it?”
“I was watching from one of the windows when Denton and St. Benedict emerged from the fireplace. I had to wait for them to leave before coming to find you. St. Benedict looked unsteady. Denton had to help her to a car.” He looked around. “What is this place?”
My head cleared.
“A fun palace,” I said, before telling him what happened, finishing with, “Lydia St. Benedict is in deep trouble.”
The last bits of the dream stuck in my mind.
Brother against brother.
“We have to find St. Benedict.”
* * *
An hour and a half later we were driving across Paris, through more traffic. I’d called Marcher during the drive and he’d learned that St. Benedict was at her Paris apartment in an upscale building located across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower. Denton had taken my bottle, so there was no way for me to experience any more dreams. Which was frustrating, as I felt like there was something unfinished in the past. Was the castle retaken? Had anything Morgan le Fay done worked? What happened with the brothers? It all seemed incomplete, but Antoine had meant well in trying to revive me.
Marcher was waiting for us when we found the address. Though the hour was late, television vans were parked down the street, the media camped out and held back by tape draped down the sidewalk. The building’s main entrance was manned by uniformed security. Marcher stepped off to the side and started making phone calls trying to find someone to let us in. Somewhere inside was Lydia St. Benedict and Denton Lussac and the possibility existed that her entire candidacy was about to be compromised.
Marcher motioned for us to come toward him.
We hurried over.
“You’re in,” he said. “But hurry, before they change their mind. I’ll stay here.”
Antoine and I rushed across the street. The security men stopped us long enough to check IDs, then they let us pass, telling us to take the elevator to the eighth floor. There, another security guard directed us to an apartment door. Inside, Lydia St. Benedict waited.
Along with Denton.
The candidate looked quite different than in the dungeon. Now fully clothed, her hair and makeup perfect. Her face set with the countenance of a cheetah. She carried herself with a practiced air of confidence, the chin tilted slightly skyward, the lips pursed in a stern expression.
“May I help you?” St. Benedict said in French. “The police say that I should speak with you.”
I watched as the two brothers appraised one another, neither saying a word.
“You must be Antoine,” St. Benedict said. “Denton just told me you are his brother. A pleasure to meet you.”
They shook hands.
“My name is Cassiopeia Vitt,” I said. “Is that name familiar? Is my face familiar?”
“Neither is. Should they be?”
I ignored the question, which I could see irritated her.
“I must ask that you come to the point,” St. Benedict said. “I have much to do, and I only agreed to this because of police insistence. They said the matter was important.”
Her tone carried the snap of a whip.
Not a speck of recognition hovered in St. Benedict’s eyes. Either she was really good, which was a definite possibility, or she had no memory of the past few hours. Denton, on the other hand, knew exactly what had transpired.
So much about him reminded me of Kaz from the hallucination. Though I’d not seen the man, Morgan’s memories of him had flooded through my brain. His look, feel, voice, wants, desires. It was like I knew him, but I didn’t. Both Kaz and Denton were on a quest for power at the expense of a woman. Like Morgan, St. Benedict was going to be branded a witch, only of a different kind, and her enemy was going to attempt to burn her at only a proverbial stake. But a stake nonetheless, her annihilation to be wit
nessed by an entire nation.
Unless I could stop it.
The Sabbat Box lay on the coffee table.
I turned to Denton. “Where’s the video?”
“What video,” St. Benedict asked.
“Yes, Miss Vitt,” Denton added. “What video?”
I stared him down. “Is that how we’re going to play this?”
“What are you talking about?” Denton asked, incredulity in his voice.
“Does President Casimir already have it,” I asked.
“I think I should call in my security detail and have you both removed,” St. Benedict said.
Denton found his phone. “I can make that call.”
“I saw your dungeon,” I said to St. Benedict.
Shock filled her face. “How?”
“I was in your house. I saw you there”—I pointed at Denton—“with him. You were tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross. Naked.”
I definitely now had her attention so I added, “He was filming you. On a phone.”
“That’s a lie,” Denton said.
The man had not used his own phone, which he still held. Black. Wrong color.
“My apologies,” I said, in a heartfelt voice. “I am so sorry, Madame. But he did film you.”
My gaze drifted to the Sabbat Box, the bottles nestled tight in their individual compartments. The one I’d kept since Eze, the one Denton had taken, had been added back to the collection. I reached for it.
“Don’t touch that,” Denton said.
I ignored him.
“What’s going on?” St. Benedict asked, her voice strained, almost frightened.
“He’s not on your side,” I said to her again.
She seemed to be listening to me. I took a chance and asked, “Have you seen visions?”
No reply.
“I’ve seen them,” I offered. “Of the past. So real, as if I was there.”
She nodded. “I have too.”
“I need to go back there,” I said.
“For what?”
“Answers.”
“You can’t allow this,” Denton said, his mouth twisted into a sour line.
“I can do as I please,” St. Benedict told him, her voice rising.