Yeah. That was what I felt like doing, I thought blearily. Butt kicking.

And I guess I looked it, because Tami grinned. "Well, maybe not right now."

"They say anything else?" I asked, rolling over.

God, my feet were filthy.

"No, just to call. But Rhea doesn't think that would be a good idea. She says-well, she can tell you," Tami said, as Rhea came in.

"I said that it is customary for the Pythia to be put through immediately," she told me quietly, looking concerned. Her eyes went over me and a worried frown appeared on her forehead. And I suddenly realized that she'd never seen me looking much better.

None of them had. It was entirely possible that my court was starting to think that I always went around with black feet and mud-splattered ankles, wearing a stolen war mage coat and reeking of cheap booze. Really cheap.

I shuddered at the memory of what passed for wine at the Bollocks, and put my head down on the bed.

"Hand me a phone?"

She obliged, biting her lip, but Tami wasn't so shy.

Tami didn't know what shy meant.

And Tami didn't think I ought to make that call. "You let them walk on you, they're gonna walk on you," she told me. "You know that. This is the Circle we're talking about."

And yeah, Tami had never been overly fond of the Circle. Or vice versa. Maybe because some of those kids she'd rescued hadn't been on the street. They'd been in the Circle's little reeducation camps; at least they had until she broke them out.

She'd started with her own son, and then some of his friends, and then it had become something of a habit, gaining her the nickname in the press of the "Vixen Vigilante." Because climbing into well-warded prison compounds does not mean one has to do it ill dressed. Unfortunately, the Circle hadn't been as fond of her as the press, and had slapped a sizeable bounty on her head. I'd managed to wrangle her a pardon, back when Jonas was playing nice, but he would probably not be happy to learn that I had his old enemy as my newest staff member.

Not that she knew she was on staff yet.

And not that he was happy anyway, so it didn't really matter, did it?

"I'm not calling Jonas," I told her.

"Who, then?"

I hit the button for the front desk. "Augustine," I told it, and there was some ringing and then there was some beeping and then there was the sound of an outraged genius who was yelling about something. I heard Marco's voice in the background a second later, which probably explained the yelling, only that didn't work on Augustine.

Fortunately, I had something that did.

"You know," I said, not waiting for a break in the conversation because there probably wouldn't be one, "I was thinking the other day that what I really need is a new design for the initiates' uniforms."

There was sudden silence on the other end of the phone.

"Or whatever they call their formal wear. Jeans and stuff are fine for every day, if nothing special is happening, but there are times when they're going to have to get dressed up. And then they're going to need something a bit better than the nightgowns they've been wearing. I mean, have you see them?"

"Yes, they're appalling," Augustine said. "Who designed them?"

"I think it was one of the Pythias, Gertrude something, back in the nineteenth century. And maybe they looked okay then, I don't know, but-"

"You can't have them running around like that," he agreed, sounding suddenly reasonable.

"Well, that's what I thought. And then, naturally, I thought of you."

"Naturally." He sighed, and it was long-suffering. Because he was so overworked and my request was such a burden-a burden he would shortly have plastered on every bit of ad space he could find.

Augustine found his association with the Pythia very lucrative.

He just didn't like paying for it.

I heard some pages flipping. "I suppose I could fit it in," he told me. "It will be difficult, mind you. I have the pre-fall show coming up on the twentieth, and then there's the-"

"And in the meantime," I said, because Augustine could give Rosier a run for his money in the loving-the-sound-of-his-own-voice department, "I asked Marco to pick up some everyday stuff for the girls, to tide them over. You heard about what happened to their wardrobe?"

"If the rest was anything like that nightmare, they're well rid of it."

"But they have to wear something, until you're ready to show the world your masterpiece. Don't they?"

There was another pause.

"See what I can do," he told me curtly, and hung up.

I lay back on the bed.

"Okay, now do that with Jonas," Tami told me, bright-eyed.

I cracked a lid at her. "I thought you didn't want me to call him."

"Yeah, but that was good. Call him and do that."

Sure. Like it was that easy.

"Jonas isn't Augustine," I told her. "I don't have that kind of leverage with him."

"But you're Pythia-"

"And he's the head of the Circle. I piss Augustine off, and there's other designers. I piss Jonas off, and I've damaged a relationship with a close ally." And that would not be a great idea right now.

"And you don't think you pissed him off the other night?" Tami demanded. Apparently, news traveled fast.

"Probably. But he was seriously out of line then. I didn't have a choice."

"He's out of line now. Tell her." Tami looked at Rhea.

"She knows," Rhea said, watching me.

"I'm giving him a chance to cool off," I told Tami. "I'm not trying to show him up or make an enemy. This can't turn into some kind of . . . of pissing contest."

"It's already a pissing contest-"

"Not to me. And I'm going to give him some time, see if he comes around."

"And if he doesn't?"

I closed my eyes. "Let's hope he does."

"You're more of a . . . diplomat . . . than me," Tami said.

I wondered if that was some diplomacy on her part, to avoid saying "pushover." If it was, I couldn't blame her. I'd been acting like one, not intentionally, but in a we're-all-in-this-together kind of way, because we were. And because I had enough to worry about with my enemies; I didn't need problems with my allies, too.

But maybe they hadn't taken it that way.

Maybe they'd taken it Tami's way.

I sighed.

"What about housing?" I asked, keeping my eyes closed because it felt really good. "Do I need to call Casanova, too?"

"Good luck," she said dryly.

I opened my eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means that at least Augustine answers his phone. Casanova has gone AWOL."

"AWOL?"

She nodded. "Like last month, when the damn electricity went haywire in my room. Looked like a horror movie in there-blink, blink, blink, about drove me nuts. But you think I could get anyone up to fix it? And when I called him to complain, and to point out that it was his hotel that was going to burn down if there was a short, you think he'd take my call?"

"He isn't taking anyone's," Rhea told her. "I tried yesterday, and again this morning. They say he's out."

"He's not out-he's hiding," Tami insisted, the light of battle in her eye. "But he can't hide forever."

"We'll try again tomorrow," I said, because I really did not feel like trying to track down an elusive vampire right now.

Tami nodded. "You look done in. Have a nap, Cassie."

"I'm not going to nap," I told her. "I have to take a bath. I can't possibly sleep like this."

"Mmhm," she said, and closed the bedroom door.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Rhea didn't go with her, and a second after the door shut, a silence spell clicked into place.

I had to learn how to do that.

"The Tears?" I asked, even knowing that would be too easy.

She shook her head.

I put mine back down onto the bed.

"I'm sorry, Lady."

"It's okay. If he didn't send the money, I really didn't think he'd send those." I turned to the side and propped my head up on an elbow so I could see her better. "Does Jonas understand what the acolytes might want with them?"

"He was in a hurry when I spoke to him . . . and a temper," she added, grimacing slightly. "But I did explain-"

"And what did he say?"

"Only that they would not obtain any from him. But he did not say how he knew that, or . . . much of anything else. I can try again tomorrow-"

I sighed. Because yeah, she could. And so could I. But that raised its own problem, didn't it? "We can't give him the idea that we're too interested, or he'll use them as leverage to get control of the court."

"It isn't the court he wants," she said, quietly furious. "It's you."

"Then he'll use them to get leverage on me. Not that it'll do him any good."

"Not do him any good?" Rhea looked confused.

"Jonas has been telling himself porky pies," I told her, rolling off the bed.

"I . . . beg your pardon?"

"Lies," I translated and went into the bathroom.

And then changed my mind, because a bath sounded awesome, but it also sounded like a lot of work right now. And like I might just fall asleep halfway through. But I had to at least wash my feet. I really couldn't sleep like this.

I ran some hot water in the bottom of the tub, sat on the edge, and grabbed a sacrificial washcloth. God, Victorian London was filthy. My soles were black, I'd stubbed a toe on a higher-than-usual cobblestone, and I didn't even want to know what was wedged in between the other ones. I loaded up on the soap and went to town.

"Lady?"

"Hm?"

"What kind of lies?"

I looked over my shoulder to see Rhea standing in the doorway, watching me.

"What? Oh. The kind where everything is going to be fine, because Cassie is going to wave a hand and save the day. I think Jonas forgets sometimes that he's not dealing with Agnes."

"Why do you . . ." Rhea cut herself off.