Until another hard jab to his thigh refocused his attention.
He risked a look under his hand, hoping against hope that the crack to his skull hadn’t been that bad. Perhaps he’d simply had a mental hiccup. Perhaps the memory spell had coughed up a flicker from the recent past. Perhaps he’d merely picked up an angry insect.
It wasn’t an insect.
It was, however, seriously pissed off.
“Get your hand off me,” the tiny thing snapped. “I have a cost!”
“What?”
A miniscule finger came up, tipped with an even tinier bright gold nail, and waggled at him. “You pay to play, big boy, or no touchy touchy!”
“What?”
“I said—” The little creature stopped, and the tiny forehead crinkled. She suddenly started examining herself, and seemed as surprised as John by what she found. She finally looked up. “What you do to me?”
John stared down at the vision of loveliness on his chest in complete confusion. She looked like a tattoo—of the magical variety. Some of those could move, like the sleek tiger currently prowling around the big vampire’s face. And most of them had a purpose beyond just the cosmetic: they enhanced a trait for the wearer, provided extra power to spellcasting, or formed an added layer of protection beyond a person’s personal shields. They were many and varied, but they all had one thing in common: they took as long to apply as human tattoos, and were just as painful.
So, what the hell was this?
It was the girl from the phone booth, the one he’d last seen on a business card touting her mistress’s charms. A business card that he’d lost track of in the carnage, but which might have gotten stuck to his shield at some point. Like about the time the huge wave of magic hit?
Had it gotten sandwiched between the wave and his shields and, once they were retracted, somehow transferred itself to his skin? It was his best guess, although he’d never heard of such a thing. But clearly something had happened.
Leaving him with perhaps the first temporary tattoo in the magical world.
“I’m . . . not sure,” John finally whispered.
“Well, that no good, is it?” she demanded, taking out a tiny mirror. And then shrieking in alarm when she saw her face. “I have a beard! I have a beard! Why I have a beard?” Some incoherent Cantonese cursing followed, along with more glaring at John. “You so hairy!”
John had no idea what he would have responded to that, but he wasn’t given a chance. Because the crowd roared again, and he looked up to see the massive vampire striding purposefully in his direction. Well . . . fuck.
He managed to get his shirt front closed and his hand back behind him, although it hardly mattered. The next second, he was being jerked up, the ropes burning his skin as they fell off, and being towed forward. Away from the relative shelter of the barrels and into the big open space.
Where he was flung on his knees in front of the thrones.
Chapter Nine
R elax, they don’t know who you are. The big vamp’s voice echoed in his head, causing John to twitch. That’s why I messed up your face a little.
“A little?”
Stop whining. And why are your eyes closed?
John hastily dropped the glamourie over his eyelids and rearranged his expression, not that it mattered. A second later he was being shoved flat against the dirty floor, why he didn’t know. Until he realized: he’d just been put in the traditional kowtow pose of respect in front of the dais.
He was left there, with a heavy boot on his neck, while the big vampire talked to a trio who John assumed were the triad leadership. He wasn’t sure since Cantonese was not one of his languages and translation spells were shite at the best of times, not that he could risk using one at the moment. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.
“They say they kill you all,” the tiny dancer whispered, from a new perch on his collarbone. He was bent over like a pretzel, ensuring that she was right by his ear. “But Zheng-zi, he say no.”
“Zheng-zi?” John whispered.
“Senator Zheng he is now, or so my mistress heard—”
“A senator?”
“Mmhm.” Her voice changed from the somewhat strident tones she had been using to something soft and breathy. “Isn’t he dreamy? My mistress say she’d visit him for free.”
John ignored that last bit of information in favor of the more relevant part. By senator, he assumed she meant a member of one of the six vampire senates that governed the world’s fanged population the way the Silver Circle did for magical humans. Or they were supposed to.
He’d heard that the Chinese consul, who led the East Asian Court, was mostly content to collect her taxes and leave the denizens of Rogue’s Harbor to their own devices. But perhaps he’d heard wrong. Maybe there was some oversight, after all.
John’s mood perked up slightly.
Of course, senators could be complete bastards—indeed, he often thought that was part of the job description—but they did tend to care about things that other vampires did not. Like the fact that killing off a fuck ton of war mages when they were currently allies with the Circle against a greater foe might not be the best idea. Perhaps that explained why the creature was helping him, if help this was.
Only it didn’t seem to be going well. John couldn’t currently see the people on the dais from his position, but he had gotten a glimpse on the way down. And he’d been trained to pay attention.
The figure on the left was a woman, Korean by the look of her, in an outfit that blended pirate chic with modern sensibilities: a red silk shirt, a pair of brown leather trousers and matching boots, and a bright blue headscarf. It was a somewhat masculine outfit, but she had brightened it up with ropes of jewels around her neck. Not necklaces, exactly, but golden chains strung with miscellaneous small items: men’s signet rings and old-fashioned watch fobs, ladies’ lockets and brooches and a large emerald crucifix, earrings that could have come from either sex, and a few odd additions that took him a moment to identify: horn buttons, an ornamental shoe buckle, hat pins looped around on themselves to make oddly shaped pendants, and a huge citrine bead. There appeared to be hundreds in all, and judging by their designs, they spanned a great swath of time.
Trophies, John thought, and felt his skin crawl.
He wondered what she’d take from him.
The middle chair and the one on the right were occupied by men, with the vampire in the center being the obvious leader. That was a bit surprising since he wasn’t Chinese. He was an older man, if that meant anything when discussing beings who were technically immortal, and not only looked Japanese but was dressed the part in golden medieval emperor’s garb. It contrasted with his modern haircut and the Omega watch on one wrist, but John had to admit that it drew the eye. Unlike his younger looking companion’s sleek gray business suit, which next to all that splendor rather faded into the background.
The younger man looked Chinese, but so far, he hadn’t said a word. Maybe because he couldn’t get one in edgewise. The Korean woman and the emperor were shouting at each other, at Zheng, and at what appeared to be half the audience, who were not shy about expressing their opinions.
The tales he’d heard about Asian deference to authority appeared to have been somewhat overstated, John thought dizzily.