I had had thousands of visions in my life, some of the past, some of the future, and none very pleasant. I'd Seen all kinds of terrible things, but nothing had ever affected me like this. With time and practice, I'd learned to let go of what I Saw, to treat it the way other people do disturbing news reports on television—as distant and not quite real. But then, I'd never before been part of the action, smelled the smells and tasted the fear of someone who had lived the events. It was the difference between driving by a brutal car accident and being in one. I didn't think I would forget that woman's stare anytime soon.
"Mon Dieu, you saw Françoise?" Louis-César stepped towards us, looking stricken, and I cringed away.
"Don't touch me!" Before he had smelled vaguely like some expensive cologne, but now he seemed to reek of the woman's cooking flesh. Not only did I not want him to touch me; I didn't even want him in the same room.
He backed off and his frown deepened. "My sincere apologies, mademoiselle. I would not have wished you to witness that, not for any cause."
Rafe looked at him over my head. "Are you satisfied, signore? I told you we should not use the Tears yet, that when she is already upset or ill, the visions, they are not pleasant. But no one listens. Maybe now you understand." He paused when Mircea appeared at my elbow and handed him a short crystal glass.
"Let her drink this," he commanded, and Rafe immediately obeyed.
"But I did not," Louis-César protested. "I do not even have them with me."
Rafe ignored him. "Drink it, mia Stella; it will do you good." He settled alongside me in the large armchair, and I sipped the whiskey for a few minutes until my breathing returned to normal. It was so strong that it felt like it etched my throat on the way down, but the sensation was welcome. Anything that pushed away the memories would have been. I realized that I had knotted a fist in Rafe's once pristine cashmere sweater, reducing it to a sodden, wadded mess. I let go and he smiled. "I have others, Cassie. You are well and I am here. Think on that, not whatever it was you Saw."
It was good advice, but I was having trouble following it. Every time I glanced at Louis-César, the images threatened to overcome me again. Why had the Senate wanted me to See something tonight, especially something like that? What had he done to me, to make the vision so different?
"I need a bath," I announced abruptly. It was mainly a way to get away from Louis-César, but there was no doubt I could use one.
Mircea took my hand and walked me to a door opposite the entryway. "There is a bathroom in there, and it should have a robe. I will have food brought while you bathe, and we will talk when you are ready. If you require anything, do not hesitate to ask." I nodded, gave the almost-empty glass back to him, and escaped into the cool, blue-tiled oasis of the bathroom.
The tub was large enough to count as a sauna, and I climbed in gratefully after peeling away my ruined outfit. I turned the water up as hot as it would go and leaned back, so tired that I simply stared at the soap for a minute, vaguely wishing for someone to wash my back. My emotions, thankfully, had fled somewhere, leaving me feeling blank. I had been exhausted physically and now my mental state wasn't much better.
I finally got down to the process of cleaning the dried blood off my body and out of my hair. I told myself that what I Saw had nothing to do with the modern world, that that poor woman had suffered and died centuries before I was even born. As horrible as it had been, it wasn't a warning of an impending disaster or anything else I could do something about. I tried to believe that it was only a more intense version of one of the psychic hiccups I sometimes got when touching very old things that had been in traumatic circumstances, but it hadn't felt like that.
I'd learned early to be careful of negative psychic vibrations. Alphonse collected old weapons of all kinds, and once as a child I accidentally brushed against a tommy gun he had recently acquired and was in the process of cleaning. I immediately flashed on the mob slaying in which it had been used, and what I Saw gave me nightmares for weeks. Usually I could tell if an item was likely to cause trouble before I touched it, almost as if it gave off a warning I could feel if I was paying attention. But few people triggered the reaction—even ones centuries old, like Louis-César, who had undoubtedly seen their share of tragedy. Still, I'd made it a habit to avoid shaking hands with strangers so I wouldn't accidentally learn who was cheating on his wife or was about to commit a crime. And I never, ever touched Tony, not even in passing. I decided that a new name had just made the avoid-at-all-costs list.
I rinsed off, let out the bloody bathwater, and started over. I wanted to feel clean, and something told me that that was going to take a very long time. I put in enough bubble bath that the foam puffed over the sides of the tub and ran onto the floor. I didn't care. My only thought was to wonder whether I could hang out in the bath until daybreak and postpone hearing whatever the Senate had planned for me. I was grateful they were protecting me but doubted the help would come without a heavy price tag. Not that it mattered. I didn't know where I was and, even if I escaped, I'd just be running straight back into the mess with Tony. Whatever the Senate wanted, I'd probably have to pay up.
The problem was that I'd promised myself, other than where Tony and his goons were concerned, never to let my abilities be used to hurt anyone again. I had no idea—a fact for which I was really grateful—how many people I'd indirectly harmed or killed while working for the slime king, but I knew it wasn't a small number. I hadn't known at the time what some of my visions were being used for, but that didn't make me feel a hell of a lot better. The people who make nuclear bombs don't set the policies that decide when to use them, but I wonder if that helps them sleep at night. I hadn't been sleeping well for a long time. If what the Senate wanted would result in harm to others, which seemed a safe bet, I was about to find out exactly what my principles were worth to me.
Chapter 5
I decided that my left wrist was sprained but not broken, and that the scrape on my cheek was not as bad as I'd initially thought, although my butt hadn't fared as well. Falling on top of my gun back in the storeroom had left me with a bruise the size of my palm, and it had turned an unappealing purple. Great. It matched the finger marks around my neck, so at least I was coordinated.
I'd just finished the inspection when Billy Joe drifted in the window. I glanced at the door, really wanting to tell him off but not liking the idea of an audience. Billy was my ace in the hole and best chance of getting out of here. I didn't want anybody to know he was around.
He saw my expression and grinned. "Don't worry. Somebody put one doozy of a silencing spell on these rooms. Whatever they're planning, they're serious about not being overheard."
"Well, in that case: where the hell have you been?" My emotions came flooding back at the sight of him trying to look casual, as if he hadn't left me out to dry earlier.
Billy Joe, a hard-drinking, cigar-smoking card shark in life, was one of my only friends now that he was many years dead. But he'd screwed up on this one and he knew it. The big, tough gambler fiddled with his little string tie and looked embarrassed. I knew his reaction was the real deal and not another of his put-ons because he hadn't yet made a lecherous comment about my lack of clothing.