They’ll kill you.” I heard her swallow down a mouthful of terror. “If we have to do it this way . . . at least let me veil you.”
I closed my eyes and took more deep breaths, concentrating on pushing my anger back down. It felt like swallowing acid. But when I opened my eyes, the runes on the staff and rod were quiescent once more.
I glanced at Molly. She looked up at me, her eyes reddened and afraid.
“I’m okay,” I told her.
She bit her lip and nodded. “Okay.”
I leaned over and kissed her hair gently. “Thank you, Molly.”
She offered me a hesitant smile and nodded again.
I stood there for a moment more before I said, gently, “You can let go of my arm now.”
“Oh, right,” she said, releasing me. “Sorry.”
I stared down the hallway in front of me, trying to order my thoughts. “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”
“Harry?” Molly asked.
“This isn’t the time or the place to fight,” I said.
“Um,” Molly said. “Yes. I mean, clearly.”
“Don’t start,” I told her. “Okay. So the duchess is here to play games. . . .” I clenched my jaw. “Fine. Game on.”
I started forward again with a determined stride, and Molly hurried to keep up.
We proceeded to the White Council’s ostentatiatory.
I know. That isn’t a word. But it should be. If you’d seen the quarters of the Senior Council, you’d back me up.
I strode down the hall and nodded to the squad of twelve Wardens on guard outside the chambers of the Senior Council. They were all from the younger generation—apparently there were grown-up things happening on the other side of the large double doors, to which the children could contribute nothing but confusion.
For once, the Council’s geriatocracy had worked in my favor. If they’d left one of the old guard out here, he would certainly have tried to prevent me from entering on general principles. As it was, several of the doorkeepers nodded to me and murmured quiet greetings as I approached.
I nodded back briskly and never slowed my steps. “No time, guys. I need to get in.”
They hurried to open the doors, and I went through them without slowing down and stepped into the chambers of the Senior Council.
I felt impressed upon entering, as I always did. The place was huge. You could fit a Little League baseball field in it and have room left over for a basketball court. A rectangular central hall splayed out in front of me, its floor made of white marble with veins of gold running through it. Marble steps at the far end swept up to a balcony that circled the entire place, which was supported by Corinthian columns of marble that matched the floor. There was a quiet waterfall at the far end of the chamber, running down into a pool, surrounded by a garden of living trees and plants and the chirp of the occasional bird.
A platform stage had been erected in the middle of the room, complete with stagelike lighting from a number of brightly glowing crystals, plus another mounted on a wooden podium that would, I took it, provide amplified sound for anyone speaking near it. The place was packed with wizards standing on the floor in a miniature sea of humanity, with more of them lining the balcony above, filling the place to its capacity.
All in all, the ostentatiatory was so overdone that you couldn’t help but be impressed, which was the point, and though my brain knew it was hundreds of feet underground, my eyes insisted that it was lit by natural sunlight.
It wasn’t, though: There was a vampire standing on the platform stage, beside the newest member of the Senior Council, Wizard Cristos. He stood at the podium, smiling and addressing the assembly. The rest of the Senior Council, resplendent in their black formal robes and purple stoles, looked on with their hoods raised.
“. . . another example of how we must meet the future with our eyes—and minds—open to the possibility of change,” Cristos said. He had a great speaking voice, a strong, smooth baritone
I closed my eyes and took more deep breaths, concentrating on pushing my anger back down. It felt like swallowing acid. But when I opened my eyes, the runes on the staff and rod were quiescent once more.
I glanced at Molly. She looked up at me, her eyes reddened and afraid.
“I’m okay,” I told her.
She bit her lip and nodded. “Okay.”
I leaned over and kissed her hair gently. “Thank you, Molly.”
She offered me a hesitant smile and nodded again.
I stood there for a moment more before I said, gently, “You can let go of my arm now.”
“Oh, right,” she said, releasing me. “Sorry.”
I stared down the hallway in front of me, trying to order my thoughts. “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”
“Harry?” Molly asked.
“This isn’t the time or the place to fight,” I said.
“Um,” Molly said. “Yes. I mean, clearly.”
“Don’t start,” I told her. “Okay. So the duchess is here to play games. . . .” I clenched my jaw. “Fine. Game on.”
I started forward again with a determined stride, and Molly hurried to keep up.
We proceeded to the White Council’s ostentatiatory.
I know. That isn’t a word. But it should be. If you’d seen the quarters of the Senior Council, you’d back me up.
I strode down the hall and nodded to the squad of twelve Wardens on guard outside the chambers of the Senior Council. They were all from the younger generation—apparently there were grown-up things happening on the other side of the large double doors, to which the children could contribute nothing but confusion.
For once, the Council’s geriatocracy had worked in my favor. If they’d left one of the old guard out here, he would certainly have tried to prevent me from entering on general principles. As it was, several of the doorkeepers nodded to me and murmured quiet greetings as I approached.
I nodded back briskly and never slowed my steps. “No time, guys. I need to get in.”
They hurried to open the doors, and I went through them without slowing down and stepped into the chambers of the Senior Council.
I felt impressed upon entering, as I always did. The place was huge. You could fit a Little League baseball field in it and have room left over for a basketball court. A rectangular central hall splayed out in front of me, its floor made of white marble with veins of gold running through it. Marble steps at the far end swept up to a balcony that circled the entire place, which was supported by Corinthian columns of marble that matched the floor. There was a quiet waterfall at the far end of the chamber, running down into a pool, surrounded by a garden of living trees and plants and the chirp of the occasional bird.
A platform stage had been erected in the middle of the room, complete with stagelike lighting from a number of brightly glowing crystals, plus another mounted on a wooden podium that would, I took it, provide amplified sound for anyone speaking near it. The place was packed with wizards standing on the floor in a miniature sea of humanity, with more of them lining the balcony above, filling the place to its capacity.
All in all, the ostentatiatory was so overdone that you couldn’t help but be impressed, which was the point, and though my brain knew it was hundreds of feet underground, my eyes insisted that it was lit by natural sunlight.
It wasn’t, though: There was a vampire standing on the platform stage, beside the newest member of the Senior Council, Wizard Cristos. He stood at the podium, smiling and addressing the assembly. The rest of the Senior Council, resplendent in their black formal robes and purple stoles, looked on with their hoods raised.
“. . . another example of how we must meet the future with our eyes—and minds—open to the possibility of change,” Cristos said. He had a great speaking voice, a strong, smooth baritone
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