I ignored Tomas and an unfamiliar guy wearing seventeenth-century court clothes and concentrated on the only friend I had in the room. I had no idea what Rafe was doing here. Not that I wasn't glad to have him—I could use all the friends I could get—but I didn't know where he fit in. Rafe was short for Raphael, the toast of Rome and the favorite artist of the papacy until he'd made the mistake of turning down a commission from a wealthy Florentine merchant in 1520. Tony had been trying to compete artistically with the Medicis: they had Michelangelo, so he needed Raphael. Rafe told him he already had more commissions than he could handle, and that, anyway, he painted frescoes for the pope. He wasn't about to travel all the way to Florence merely to paint a dining room. It hadn't been a good move. Ever since, Rafe had been painting whatever Tony wanted, including my bedroom when I was a child. He'd made my ceiling full of angels that looked so real, for years I thought they watched over me while I slept. He was one of the only people at Tony's whom I had ever regretted leaving, but I had snuck away without so much as a good-bye. I had no other choice: he belonged to Tony and, if asked a direct question by his master, had to tell him the truth. So if he was here now, it was because Tony wanted him here. It lessened my joy at the reunion somewhat.
Tomas said nothing, but he also didn't leave. I glared at him, but it didn't have any obvious effect. That was a problem since I needed to escape, and the more babysitters the bigger the challenge. There was also the fact that even looking at him made so many emotions surge through me that I was getting a headache. It wasn't the violence that bothered me so much. I'd seen enough growing up that I could shrug off the events at the club now that I was over the shock that Tomas was the one doing them. That I was no longer kneeling in a pool of blood helped, as did the fact that the vamps he'd killed had been trying to do the same to me. My attitude could be summed up pretty simply: I was alive, they were not, go me. Surviving at Tony's taught you to be practical about these things.
I also gave Tomas credit for saving my life, although I'd probably be far away from harm by now if I hadn't gone to warn him in the first place. I was even willing to overlook him carting me off without a word of explanation, considering that I hadn't been in any frame of mind for a calm discussion. All in all, I figured we were about even, except for the betrayal part. That was something else. That I wasn't likely to forgive anytime soon, if at all.
I had shared glimpses into my time on the streets with Tomas, things I never talked about with anyone, to encourage him to open up. I'd worried that he wasn't making friends despite all the attention at the club, and wondered if he had some of the same relationship phobias I did. I'd let myself get fond of him, damn it, and all the time, everything he'd told me had been a lie. Not to mention the fact that he'd deliberately stolen my will, causing me to make enough of a fool of myself that I was still fighting a blush. That sort of thing is considered serious stuff in vamp circles; had I been on Tony's good side, he would have pitched a fit about undue influence being exerted over his servant.
"Let me talk to her," Tomas told Rafe. Before I could protest, the others left the room to give us the illusion of privacy. It was all for show; with vamp hearing it didn't make any difference.
I didn't bother lowering my voice. "Let me make this simple," I said furiously. "You lied to me and you betrayed me. I don't want to see you, talk to you or even breathe the same air as you. Ever again. Got it?"
"Cassie, you must understand; I only did what I was forced to—"
I noticed that he had something in his hand. "And what are you doing with my purse?!" I should have known he'd go through it—Tony couldn't know what surprises I might have tucked away—but because it was Tomas, it felt like another betrayal. "Did you take anything?"
"No; it is as you left it. But Cassie—"
"Give it back!" I grabbed for it and almost fell down. "You had no right—"
"Tower! Tower! Tower!" My tarot deck fell onto the floor and appeared to be having a conniption. I felt tears in my eyes. It was just a stupid deck of cards, but it was the only thing I had that Eugenie had given me.
"You broke it!"
I scrambled to pick up the scattered cards, and Tomas knelt beside me. "It's the wards here," he said quietly. "There are too many—they interfere with the charm. It should be all right after we leave, or I can have it recast for you. It's a simple spell."
I slapped his hand away from my poor, confused cards. I knew how they felt. "Don't touch them!" I put them back clumsily, with shaking hands, while he sat back on his heels and watched me.
"I'm sorry, Cassie," he finally said. "I knew you would be upset—"
"Upset?!" I rounded on him, so angry I could hardly see. "You let me think you were some poor, abused kid who needed a friend, and stupid me, I fell for it! I trusted you, and you gave me up to—" I stopped and took a deep breath before I lost it. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of watching me cry. I wasn't. I shoved the cards back in my purse and checked on the rest of its contents to give myself time to get back in control. After a minute, I looked up. "Not everything that's broken can be fixed, Tomas."
"I didn't lie to you, Cassie; I swear it."
Looking into his so-sincere eyes, I almost believed him. Almost. "So you're, what, a poor, abused master vampire? Please."
"I did not lie," he repeated, more emphatically. "I was told to keep you safe. That is what I did. I had to win your trust for that, but I did not lie to do it. I never told you I was abused, although if I had, it would have been true enough. Any of Alejandro's servants could make that claim."
I couldn't believe he was doing this. I hadn't expected a heartfelt apology, but the fact that he wouldn't even admit what he'd done was too much. "You make me sick," I said, getting back to my feet. I walked to the door and stuck my head out. Rafe was in the corridor, trying to look like he hadn't heard every word. "He goes, or you get no cooperation from me."
The next second, Tomas' hands were around my upper arms, the grip just short of painful as he drew me back against him. "What do you know of abuse?" he demanded in a savage undertone. "Do you know how I became a vampire, Cassie? Would you like me better if I told you that they rounded me up with the rest of my village and took us to be hunted by Alejandro and his court? That the only reason I'm not dead is that one of his courtiers thought I was attractive enough to save for himself? That I had to watch people who had come through plague and conquest, who had fought at my side for years against overwhelming odds, be slaughtered by a madman for his sick amusement? Is that what you want to hear? If it isn't gruesome enough to win your forgiveness, believe me, I have many other stories. We could swap them, only I think you would run out before I do. You were on the streets for a handful of years; I was with Alejandro for three and a half centuries!"
"Tomas, please release Mademoiselle Palmer."
To my surprise, the oddly dressed man had intervened. I'd thought he looked like something out of Restoration England, but now realized his origins were on the other side of the Channel. His accent was faint but noticeably French. I'd almost forgotten he was there. Even weirder was that Tomas immediately did as he asked, stepping away like contact with me burned him, but those black eyes stayed on mine as if waiting for an answer. What was I supposed to say? You've had a tough time, so it's okay that you turned me over to people who may do even worse to me? Your life was messed up, so it's fine that you ruined mine? If so, he'd be waiting a long time.