“Rhea—”
“You can’t,” she pleaded. “You know what she’ll do!”
“Rhea!”
“You can’t let him come back! Please—”
“Who knew your acolyte was such a spitfire?” the mage said, holding on to the struggling girl with difficulty. “You know, I’ll almost regret giving her back to you.”
“Just bring her here!” I snapped. “My people will meet you halfway.”
“Start the elevator, and I start walking.”
I turned my head and nodded at Augustine, who was standing behind the counter with the phone to his ear. The elevator started moving a moment later. And then so did the mage, dragging a still-struggling Rhea this way. At the same time, Françoise walked out of the shop with a newly dignified Carla beside her, a buttoned-up suit coat hiding the irreverent T-shirt, and her hair and makeup freshly done, thanks to the stylish blue beret on her head.
And trailing the duo were three considerably less dignified types, covered in mounds of dusty couture.
“Not them,” the mage said suddenly.
“They’re harmless—”
“Bullshit. I know what they are, and I know who they’re loyal to. They stay away or no deal.”
I glared at him for a second, but the elevator was on its way, and there was no time to argue. I nodded at the two women in the lead, who had stopped to look back at me. And who caught the three lumbering mountains as they passed, fanning them out in a line behind them: one to the left, one at the center, and one to the right of the shop.
Leaving our side as ready as we’d ever be as the elevator hit the halfway mark.
“No,” Rhea whispered, staring at it. “No.”
“When it arrives, make sure it’s her,” the mage instructed his people. “No glamouries.”
“This is my fault,” Rhea said, her voice rising in panic. “I saw him return, and now I’m helping—”
“It’s all right,” I told her.
But she shook her head, violently enough that a thin line of red bloomed against the paleness of her throat. “It’s not all right. It’s my fault, and when he comes back—”
“Rhea—”
“—he’ll kill us all! You, me.” She looked up, toward the tower where my suite was, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “The children.”
“Rhea!” I started toward her, suddenly afraid, but the mage jerked her back.
“Stick to the deal, Pythia.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Stick to the deal!”
“I’m sorry,” Rhea whispered, her eyes finding mine. And in them was everything I needed to know, and nothing that I wanted. Because I’d seen those eyes before.
I’d seen them on her mother, right before—
“Rhea!” I screamed, making the mage jump and tighten his grip on the knife, because he didn’t understand. She wasn’t trying to get away. She was trying—
“No!” I shouted as a gout of blood stained pristine white cotton.
The mage jerked the knife back, but too late. Suddenly, blood was gushing everywhere, the mage was cursing, and the two women who had almost reached him were looking back at me, shock and horror on their faces. And then the elevator hit the lobby, and we were out of time.