Horatiu acted like he hadn’t heard. Although in his case, maybe he really hadn’t. “He’s been in a temper lately,” he mused. “One of the worst I’ve ever seen. But what are ye going to do? Loving two people is always difficult.”
I blinked at him, not sure I understood. “Mircea and I aren’t together—"
He gave me a look. And despite the rheumy old eyes, it managed to be fairly shrewd. “You risked your life to help him today, taking him back there, to that terrible time. But since you haven’t slept together in a while, you don’t love him anymore?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“Oh, good. My hearing isn’t what it used to be. I thought that was what you said.”
I looked at him suspiciously, but all I got back was sweet old man face. The kind that probably let him get away with anything. Or maybe that was because he was basically untouchable as the master’s favorite.
Horatiu did whatever he wanted, and it seemed, said it, too.
“Of course, I still love Mircea,” I said, about to change the subject.
“Then why is it difficult to understand that he can love you as well as Elena? The human heart is not so narrow as to only hold room for one person at a time. I don’t know if you will or won’t ever be together again; I’m not a seer. But you will always love him, and he you. You should probably get used to it.”
I looked at him in exasperation. “That doesn’t help the current situation!”
“Doesn’t it? Ah, well, I thought love always helped. Having someone to listen, to care . . . but perhaps I’m too old to understand such things anymore.” He looked at me sternly. “You should stop scaring the servants, however, while you two work it out.”
“What servants?” I asked, and then I remembered the tea carrier.
“That boy the cook sent up,” Horatiu confirmed. “He’s downstairs now, gibbering on about glowing eyes and churning power that burned like fire. Quite traumatized, he is.”
“He lives here,” I pointed out. “He should know how Mircea is in a temper.”
“He wasn’t talking ‘bout the master,” Horatiu said. “He was talking about you.”
I frowned. “My eyes don’t glow.”
“Don’t they?” It was his turn to frown, and then to lean in again, squinting at me. Before sitting back and fumbling around until he came up with the brass tray that he’d used to carry his supplies. He dusted some wooden fragments off it, and polished it up on his sleeve. Then he handed it to me—
And, shit.
Now what?
“My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be,” he said, in the understatement of the century. “But even I can see that.”
Yeah, so could I. My usually pale blue, very human eyes were lit up like candles were behind them. It was nothing compared to Mircea’s bonfire blaze when his power was surging, but that wasn’t the point. It shouldn’t have been happening at all!
“I take it that’s new?” Horatiu asked.
“Yeah.” I bit my lip.
This couldn’t be good.
Horatiu patted my shoulder, after several missed attempts to find it. “Don’t let it bother you,” he told me kindly. “Young vampires often have that reaction when their power starts to grow.”
“I’m not a vampire,” I said automatically, and then stopped. And slumped back against the fireplace in relief, because of course. Of course!
I wasn’t a vamp, but Mircea was. And we were currently in a spell that allowed us to share abilities. All kinds of them, apparently.
Which was a problem, considering my next appointment.
I grabbed my overnight bag with my spare clothes, which I’d left at Mircea’s before we departed, and pulled out my purse. The little card I’d shoved into a pocket in my wallet a few weeks ago was still there, along with the list of services on the back. Yeah, that might work.
“Said it was like seeing two of the old gods, battlin’ it out,” Horatiu rambled on, as if I hadn’t spoken.