"That is not possible," Pritkin said, staring at him in disbelief. He couldn't have sounded more shocked if Mircea had been sipping blood from a communion chalice.
Mircea must have heard us come in, but he continued what he was doing. He stood with his back to us, the candlelight on his bare skin causing his muscles to fall into sharp relief. He'd washed the river gunk out of his hair and now he threw it back, the water droplets shimmering in the light. The scene looked for all the world like a really good romance novel cover.
I sighed and Pritkin turned his glare on me. "He's a vampire!" he said, as if I hadn't noticed.
"Yeah. And?"
"I believe the mage is surprised that I do not burst into flames from the holy water," Mircea said, toweling off with what looked suspiciously like an altar cloth. I was a little surprised myself, considering that he's Catholic. But then I got a better look at it and realized that it, like the cathedral, had seen better days.
Boxes, barrels and casks were piled here and there, clogging all but the main aisle, which was marred by a lot of muddy footprints. Outside, I hadn't been able to avoid noticing that the probably saintly but definitely creepy statues around the entrance had been vandalized. It didn't look like the revolution cared for religion all that much.
"But, of course!" Pritkin sneered. "The water is not sacred at the moment! The Jacobins made certain of that!"
"They vandalized the cathedral before turning it into a ‘Temple to Reason, " Mircea agreed, probably for my benefit. "Which, considering their excesses, does seem somewhat ironic."
"They defiled it," Pritkin snapped. "Naturally it now embraces something equally foul!"
"But," Mircea continued, "as we are not of their ilk, let us make good on the name. I have found that most men can be reasonable, given the right incentive." He held something up in two fingers of one hand, while continuing to towel his hair with the other.
"That is mine!" Pritkin took a step forward before he caught himself.
"And you have something that belongs to me. I suggest a trade," Mircea said, turning around at last.
I saw it when he recognized Pritkin; it was nothing overt, but for an instant his body stiffened and his eyes slid to me. I shook my head briefly, but stopped when Pritkin glanced between the two of us. "What subterfuge is this?" he demanded. "Do you take me for a fool?"
"No, not a fool," Mircea said, with the air of a man who didn't know quite what to make of him. I wondered how long it would take him to put it together. Magical humans could live as long as two hundred years, so there might be a few still around who were alive at the time of the French Revolution. But they wouldn't look thirty-five.
"This is how we shall proceed," Pritkin said crisply. "You will take the map outside and leave it beside the ley line. I will pick it up and open a fissure. As soon as I have verified that it is authentic, I will give you the spell."
"He already knows the spell I need," I explained.
Mircea switched his incredulous look from the mage to me. "And you trust him to give it to you?"
"I am not the one whose honor is in question!" Pritkin said, furious.
"You kidnapped and tried to kill her!"
"I kidnapped her so I wouldn't have to kill her!"
"Mage, by all that is holy, I swear—"
"Holy?" Pritkin's sneer was the same as always. "You dare to even use such a term, you—"
"Shut up!" I yelled, and it echoed oddly off the sides of the cathedral, like a ghostly loudspeaker. I could not take one more minute of this. "We don't have a choice," I told Mircea more calmly.
"He has already proven himself treacherous! Trusting him again—"
"I'm not asking you to trust him. I'm asking you to trust me. Please."
Mircea didn't answer, but he crossed the space and grabbed Pritkin's arm, so fast that I didn't even see him move. "If you harm her, you will never see the map again," he said softly. "You will not live long enough to see anything again."
Pritkin tried to shrug him off, but found that he couldn't. "If you speak the truth, I have no need to harm her!" he said viciously. "Now release me!"
Mircea reluctantly complied, after a squeeze that made Pritkin set his jaw in pain, and we all trooped back outside. Pritkin stubbornly didn't rub his arm, although it had probably lost circulation, and he took care to keep us both clearly in view. Mircea put the map in the center of the cobblestone pavement and moved back half a dozen yards, which in vampire terms meant he may as well not have bothered to move at all. He could cross that much space in a heartbeat.
I looked pointedly at Pritkin. He waved a hand at me and uttered a few guttural syllables. Nothing happened. He frowned and did it again. "I didn't feel anything," I said, except my blood pressure starting to rise.
"It was not successful."
"You said you could lift it!"
Mircea's lip curled. "You can never trust a mage."
Pritkin glared at him briefly, but it wasn't even close to his best attempt. He looked preoccupied, a finger tapping against his lips. "Tell me, was a method of egress attached to the spells when they were placed, in the event that something went wrong?"
"Yes, but that's already been tried," I said, exasperated.
"What was it?"
I glared, but I had no choice but to answer. I didn't know what information he needed to make the spell work. "Sex with the originator or someone of his choosing. But nothing happened."
It wasn't as crazy as it sounds. The ritual to complete the power transfer from the old Pythia to me had required that I lose my virginity. It was a fairly standard clause in the ancient world, where sex played a part in everything from healing spells to worship. But it had given Mircea an idea. He had made sex the condition for the release of the geis as well.
It must have seemed foolproof: the geis would protect me until the ritual, whereupon it would be broken by the same act that made me Pythia, thereby ensuring that Mircea didn't end up bound to my power. It would have worked, too, except that the spell had been doubled before the transfer was complete. Tomas had afterwards served as Mircea's stand-in for the ritual, and I became Pythia right on schedule—but with the geis still alive and kicking.
"You are sure?" Pritkin insisted. "Because if the geis expands beyond its original parameters it becomes, in effect, a new spell. And in that case, the counterspell will not prove efficacious. That is the reason additional precautions are usually taken."
"The geis?" Mircea's gaze sharpened.
"Don't ask," I snapped, still glaring at Pritkin. "And yes, I'm sure!"
"Then there is nothing to be done," Pritkin said with a slight shrug.
"Don't lie to me. I need the real counterspell!"
"You already have it."
"I don't believe you!" I grabbed his shirt, not caring about the possible consequences. I felt like screaming in frustration. "Give it to me! I have to lift this thing. You don't understand!"
"I have done all I can! Now give me my property!"
"I'd sooner see it destroyed than give it to you!" I told him, so angry I could barely see. I should have known. Every time I trusted that man, every single time, I ended up like this, teary-eyed and fuming. There is a saying: insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Or maybe that was stupidity.
Pritkin swore. "Is outraged modesty worth so high a price?"