Distracted by his words, Marika tossed the mage aside, her violent fury morphing to curiosity.
“Yes,” she said slowly, “why would she be so careless after so long?”
Sergei straightened, his hand instinctively smoothing his black silk tie.
“Perhaps the greatest question is what brings her to London,” he muttered.
She smiled with mocking amusement, the fey blood she’d consumed earlier still bubbling like champagne through her veins.
She’d intended to find a partner at the Opera to screw her senseless while she was still high, but watching Sergei squirm was almost as fun.
“Ah. Poor Sergei.” She clicked her tongue. “Are you worried she’s come into her powers and decided to seek revenge on the mage who tore her from her Sunnybrook Farm and kept her caged like an animal?”
He again glanced over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She couldn’t possibly know I’m here. I kept my scent disguised while she was in my care.”
“In your care?” she drawled. “I doubt she recalls your hospitality so kindly.”
Sergei shifted uneasily, returning his attention to Marika.
“I also shrouded myself in illusion when I allowed her out of her cell. She has no means to recognize me.”
She lifted her hand to toy with the perfect strand of pearls about her neck.
“Something brought her to London.”
The mage abruptly tensed. “You don’t suppose …”
“What?”
“Could Kata be calling to her?”
“Laylah,” Marika breathed. “Is that the female’s name?”
“How would I know?” He waved a dismissive hand. “I never bothered to ask.”
“Such an idiot,” she snarled, longing to drain the fool dry.
It was bad enough that Sergei’s greed had put her plans to return the Dark Lord and stand at his side as his reigning queen on hold, but his brutal treatment of the female had ensured the mongrel would go to any lengths to avoid being found.
“Kata’s connection to the girl is remarkable,” he hastily said, anxious for a distraction.
“Yes,” she agreed. She’d sensed Kata’s ability to speak mind to mind with her child from the moment the brat was born. Unfortunately Marika had been left out of the loop, despite her own lingering connection to Kata. “And the only reason dearest sister is still breathing.”
“If she thought her daughter was in danger she might be able to summon the necessary strength to shake off the spells that hold her,” Sergei said, scowling as Marika tilted back her head to laugh with rich amusement. “Did I say something funny?”
“I was savoring the irony.”
“Irony?”
“Kata has endured centuries of torture to protect her precious daughter.” Anticipation warmed her dead heart. Kata’s stirring. The scent of Jinn. The growing unrest among the demon world. Surely they had to be premonitions that her glorious destiny was at hand? “How brilliant would it be if she were the one to lead her straight into our hands?”
“It would be even more brilliant if the female has the child with her,” Sergei muttered.
“It doesn’t matter. Once I have her in my hands she will reveal the location of the babe. I can be …” She glanced down at her long nails painted the rich color of blood. “Quite persuasive.”
Sergei grimaced in memory of what those nails could do to tender flesh. Then, with a tiny shudder he moved across the room to a locked cabinet protected by a series of symbols etched into the wooden door.
He waved his hand over the heavy, old-fashioned lock, muttering soft words that made Marika’s skin crawl.
“What are you doing?” she snapped. The mage knew she hated having spells performed in her presence.
“I need a piece of the female.” He opened the cabinet to withdraw a small, cedar box. Flipping open the lid he pulled out a strand of crimson hair he’d clipped from the mongrel’s head while he kept her as his prisoner. “This should be enough for a simple scrying.” Arrogant bastard.
Whirling on her heel Marika led the way to the lower cellar. Soon, she tried to soothe her irritated nerves. Soon she would have her niece in her clutches and her need for the mage would be at an end.
She intended to savor his slow, painful death with a bottle of 1787 Chateau Margaux she had hidden in her private lair.
In silence they moved down the narrow stairs, crossing the cellar to the back chamber. Marika gave the altar a wide berth, halting beside the shallow depression in the floor.
Sergei followed her, bending down to toss the hair into the depression, watching as the crimson strand floated on top of the water.
He did his usual hand waving and muttered his strange words, his handsome face settled in lines of concentration and his silver hair floating about his shoulders as his power filled the air.
No doubt such a sight impressed the hell out of the Russian Czars who’d kept Sergei in luxurious style before Marika had decided she had need of his services. She, however, wanted him to be done with stupid mumbo jumbo and tell her where the hell she could find the Jinn mongrel.
“Well?” she gritted.
Sergei straightened, a smile curving his lips. “Your niece has been here. Recently.” Marika clenched her hands, her nails drawing blood that dripped onto the stone floor.
Close. So close. “Where is she now?”
Sergei shrugged, pointing toward the water. “That’s where she disappeared.”
Marika leaned forward, studying the image that had formed on the surface. It took only a moment to recognize the tunnels.
“Victor’s lair.”
Sergei cursed, his face paling. Every creature in the demon world knew it was easier to escape the pits of hell than the clan chief’s dungeons.
“That makes no sense,” he rasped. “Why would she seek out a vampire?”
Marika shrugged, headed toward the door. “It’s more likely that Victor realized a Jinn had invaded his territory and took steps to capture her. It would explain why I lost track of her so swiftly.”
Sergei hurried to keep pace beside her. “Where are you going?”
She entered the outer cellar and headed toward a door hidden by a spell of illusion. Victor wasn’t the only one with private tunnels to move about the city.
“There’s only one way to discover if our beloved chief is holding the female.”
“And if he is?”
She tossed her companion a cold smile. “Then you’re going to make certain my property is returned to me.” Sergei’s face went from pale to downright gray.