Mac regarded me searchingly, to the point of making me uncomfortable. "Most people would view the power as a great opportunity to advance themselves," he finally said. "It could bring you, well, almost anything you wanted. Wealth, influence—”

I gave him exasperated eyes. “The only thing I want is a nice, uncomplicated life. With no one trying to kill me, manipulate me or betray me." And where, if I messed up on the job, I didn't get anyone killed. "Somehow, I don't think the Pythia gig is going to help me with that!" I was tired of the inquisition and I wanted to get dressed. "Are you done?”

"Oh, right," Mac replaced his instruments in a small case and looked politely away so I could get dressed. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

"The good." Why not try something different for a change?

"I think I can fix it.”

I blinked at him in surprise. I'd been expecting to hear that there was nothing he could do and that I'd have to go into Faerie with no protection. "Really? That's great!”

"Do you know anything about how your ward works?”

I shook my head. "Not a lot. My mother somehow transferred it to me, but I don't even remember it. I was only four when she died. For years, I thought it was a regular ward that Tony had put on me as an added safeguard.”

Mac looked almost offended. "Regular ward! No, I guarantee you'll never see another of the like. It's hundreds of years old and priceless, one of the Circle's real treasures.”

"It's a tattoo, Mac, not a work of art.”

"In fact, it's both." He stretched out his right arm and pointed to a small brown and orange hawk near the bend in his elbow. "Watch." He muttered something, then took hold of the loose skin in the crease of his arm and pulled. A second later a small, metallic bird glimmered on his palm, its wings outstretched in flight like the one on his arm. It took me a moment to realize that it was the one on his arm, or rather, the one that had been there. Now there was only a bare, bird-shaped patch of skin. I picked up the small metal object. The feathers and detail were gone. It looked and felt like solid gold. For a moment I suspected sleight of hand or some trick, but after letting me examine it, he put it back in place and I watched it dissolve into his skin.

"What is that?”

"A red-tailed hawk. It increases the power of observation. Doesn't help the eyesight, but if you want to notice more about your surroundings and retain the knowledge, you can't do better.”

Something was bothering me. "The books out front said that there's a limit to how many tattoos anyone can support, even the strongest mage, because each one takes some of your magic to maintain itself, and even more when it's used." I looked him over, almost dizzy with the number of squirming images all over his body. "How can you wear so many?”

He grinned. "I'm not a super-mage, Cassie, if that's what you're asking. There are two types of tattoos. The ones I etch directly into someone's aura feed partially off his magic, so of course there's a limit to how many anyone can support. But ones like my hawk or your pentagram draw their power from outside sources, so there is no limit to those. Except, of course, to your ability to afford them. The enchantment process for even a small one can take months—I shudder to think what went into your ward.”

"So you 're an advertisement for what's available?" Personally, I'd have made people flip through the books outside rather than turn myself into a walking billboard.

"In my case, it isn't a choice. To other people these are enhancements—to compensate for some part of their magic that isn't as strong as they'd like or to add power in an often-used area. But to me they're necessities, unless I want to retire from our world entirely." He saw my confusion and smiled slightly. "I had a run-in a few years back with a spell that ate through my shields and attacked my aura. The physical wounds I sustained in that fight healed, but the ones in my metaphysical skin were permanent. That's why I didn't realize you were under a geis until you told me. With my own aura so damaged, I have to concentrate to read other people's.”

I stared at him, horrified at what he'd so casually revealed. It wasn't only what had happened to Mac that freaked me out, but the knowledge that there were spells that could actually do something like that. The more I learned about the mages, the scarier they got.

"But with the wards, you're okay, right?" I kept my attention on his face so I wouldn't focus on my own aura, to reassure myself it was intact and undamaged. Under the circumstances, it would have been tacky.

Mac seemed to understand where my thoughts were going anyway. He waved a hand in the air and my bright red and orange flames suddenly sparkled between us like a cheerful fire on a cold night. "My wards compensate to a degree, Cassie, but they'll never again be like this—a seamless, perfect blanket of protection. Most people couldn't get past my defenses, but war mages aren't most people. Sooner or later one of the dark ones would have found the chinks in my man-made armor, the places where the wards don't overlap perfectly. I was removed from active duty as soon as anyone realized what had happened, and told I couldn't take the field again." He saw my expression and grinned. "It's not all bad. I'm in much less danger these days!”

He sounded casual, but there was something in his eyes that told me he wasn't being completely truthful. I didn't know what usually happened to old war mages, but it was obvious that Mac, at least, wasn't content to just fade away. He craved the adrenaline rush of battle, maybe even the danger.

I decided on a change of subject. "So, my ward drew its power from the Circle, until they cut it off.”

He nodded. "Right, which gave it its strength, but also created a conduit between you. I suspect that John is right and the council got worried that you'd figure some way of turning their own magic back on them, so they shut down the connection.”

"Or they thought I'd be simpler to kill that way.”

Mac looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps. But what it means is that there's nothing wrong with your ward, except that your mother didn't have experience in doing the transfer so it got a bit warped. I can fix that, but its looks aren't the problem. The reason it doesn't work is the same as if a watch stopped. It needs a new power source.”

"What new source?" I was getting an idea about what the bad news was.

"The only one big enough to support something like this, other than the Circle itself." He smiled gently, as if he understood my dilemma. "The power of your office—the energy that makes you Pythia.”

"No. No way." I gestured at the curtain. "Give me one from the books out front." There were some pretty scary ones listed; surely we could find something that would work.

But Mac was shaking his head. "I have no way of knowing how strong your innate magic is. Your aura is confused with the Pythia's energy, and I can't separate them. There's no way to know whether you could support one of the larger protection wards on your own. If not, any tat I gave you would draw power from the reserve you inherited as Pythia, the very thing you want to avoid.”

"Then give me a smaller one, an easy one!”

Mac regarded me somberly. "You're going into Faerie, a place most mages won't venture on a bet. None of the smaller stuff would do you any good there. And none of the wards I have would protect you as well at that one. Craftsmanship like that is rare these days.”

"Maybe I'm stronger than you think." I was a clairvoyant; surely I could manage to support one measly ward.

Mac only shrugged, causing his lizard tattoo to scuttle for cover again, this time under the snake's scales. The snake didn't like that and swatted at the smaller ward with the end of its tail. The lizard jumped out of the way, then ran across Mac's cheek to the top of his head. It stayed there, peering out from behind a bushy eyebrow, regarding the snake with unfriendly black eyes.

I dragged my attention back to what Mac was saying. "Magic is like a muscle, Cassie, a metaphysical one but a muscle nonetheless. The more you work with it and train it, the stronger it gets. Whatever magic you have is raw talent. And that alone won't get you very far.”

“Tony wouldn't allow me to be trained.”

"He did you more of a disservice than you know. A powerful, untrained magic user is a target, nothing more. Power can be siphoned away if you don't know how to protect yourself. The Dark Circle has no compunction whatever about stealing magic from anyone they can. At the moment, you fighting a dark mage would be like a baby trying to arm wrestle a bodybuilder, unless you use the power of your office. You need training, at least in defense," he said seriously, "and the sooner the better.”

"Yeah, I'll add that to my list," I said bitterly. Everyone was always giving me new items for my agenda, when what I needed was help in clearing off some of the old ones. "Right now, I have a few other problems." I turned, feeling Pritkin standing in the doorway even before I saw him. "Like how we're going to get into Faerie.”

"We'll get in," he said grimly, and I noticed that he'd strapped on his arsenal. He had the long leather coat that acted as a slight disguise draped over his arm. "The problem will be getting out.”

"Are we going now?”

"No." I tried not to look relieved at his answer. “Tonight.”

“Tonight?" I followed him into the outer room. "But the vamps will be up then." I didn't know that Mircea was in his safe room at the moment—first-level vamps aren't bound by the sun cycle and can be active at any time of day. But most still sleep in daylight, since the night is much kinder to their energy levels. If Mircea was awake, he was probably sluggish. But tonight he wouldn't be.

"We are not trying to penetrate the vampire area," Pritkin reminded me. "And the portal is guarded by mages.”