Up close, it looked less like a bat than an overlarge butterfly, since it had no body to speak of. Or even a head. Just a vertical slit of a mouth wedged in between two rapidly beating wings and yelling something.
Until it was plucked out of the air and eaten by Deino, the sweetest of the Graeae, who wasn’t picky about her choice of snack.
But this one didn’t go down so easily. In fact, this one didn’t go down at all. It stayed in her mouth, thrashing about and making her look like she was chewing on a wad of black bubble gum. Or talking in a really exaggerated way, because her jaw kept going up and down, up and down, with words spilling out, only Deino didn’t speak English.
But somebody did.
And now that there were only a few of the black things left, I could understand what they were saying.
“Crystal Gazing here,” a woman’s voice said, from somewhere over my head. “Lady Cassandra, can you comment on the state of your relationship with the vampire senator Lord Mircea? You’re rumored to be lovers—”
“The Oracle here,” a booming British voice interrupted, out of Deino’s mouth. “Our readers would like to know what, exactly, was the nature of the creature you fought and killed at your coronation two weeks ago—”
“And why were you naked?” Crystal Gazing added eagerly. “Was it a ritual?”
“—they would also appreciate confirmation on the identity of the creatures you fought in the lobby of this hotel last week,” the Oracle continued, speaking a little louder. “It has been speculated—”
“Or maybe some kind of sex magic? Our readers did a poll—”
“—that they were the personal guards of the demon high council—”
“—and you were voted sexiest Pythia by a margin of almost three to one!”
“But . . . but I’m the only Pythia,” I said as the brunette witch dragged me back.
“Witch’s Companion here,” a tiny voice piped up, from somewhere behind me. “We were wondering if you could share a favorite recipe? Maybe a nice fall soup?”
“It has been noted,” the Oracle thundered, “that they match the description of similar creatures glimpsed occasionally through time, and described by some of our most illustrious scholars—”
“Hang your illustrious scholars!” the brunette witch growled, getting in between me and what, at a guess, were a bunch of magical microphones. “I’m telling you, I was here first!”
“First to find her isn’t first to press,” Crystal Gazing’s avatar said condescendingly.
“The Pythia’s first interview cannot be given to a rag like Graphology,” the Oracle agreed, despite the fact that Deino was trying to root it out with her tongue.
“What?” The brunette bristled. “What did you just call—”
“Rag,” Crystal Gazing repeated helpfully. “He called your paper a rag, dear.”
“Or . . . or some decorating tips?” Witch’s Companion said, fluttering around hopefully. “We’re doing the fall cover on quilts—”
“No more than it can to Crystal Gazing,” the Oracle continued pompously. “Which has no better quality of journalistic integrity than—”
“I beg your pardon?” His companion no longer sounded so amused.
“—the majority of American so-called newspapers—”
“Just what are you implying?”
“He’s calling your paper a rag, dear,” the brunette said acidly.
Crystal Gazing bristled. “May I remind you that my paper has been in press longer than either of—”
“Trash always sells. That does not make it any less trash.”
“Bitch said what?” Crystal Gazing demanded. And then went up in flames when the brunette held a lighter under it.
“More than one way to start a fire,” she told Françoise.