“Let me guess. The Codex contains the full spell.”

“The oldest riddle in all of magic,” Nick said dreamily. “The secret to ultimate power.”

I was beginning to understand why the Dark Fey king wanted the Codex so badly. “Sounds like something people might have wanted to hold on to.”

“It’s the same old story,” Nick said, his smile slipping. “A group of power-hungry leaders, probably of the Artemis cult, didn’t want to risk it falling out of their hands. So they only transmitted the full spell orally. But when the temple burned to the ground in 356 B.C., they all died.”

“And since no one had ever written it down—”

“No one knew what it meant.”

“Well, that was stupid.”

“Exactly. It is possible to be too careful. Sometimes you can lose more by being overly cautious than by taking a necessary risk.”

“Like telling me where Pritkin is?” I asked idly.

“Yes, I—” Nick stopped, frowning. “You tricked me.” He sounded more surprised than upset.

“Where is he?”

“You need to give him some time. He’s—”

“Had as much as I have, and I was attacked, too. I need to talk to him, Nick.”

“I really don’t think—”

I leaned across the table, slamming a hand down on his precious pile of books. Keeping my temper these days was starting to take a lot more concentration than I could spare. “Here’s the thing, Nick. Tonight I have to pay a visit to the Consul, who has a bit of a short fuse and is already less than pleased with me. So I really need to know if a ticked-off demon lord is likely to crash the party. And the only way I can get that information is to talk to your buddy.”

“I understand, but you have to consider—”

“And when I need to do that is now.”

His frown deepened. “Are you trying to intimidate me? Because I think you should know—”

“I thought all war mages were sworn to the Pythia’s service.” Not that they recognized me as holding the office legitimately, or had so far shown any loyalty whatsoever. But supposedly Nick felt otherwise. Or else I had to wonder what he was doing here.

“Well, yes, technically, but—”

“I’m Pythia,” I reminded him. “And you’re a war mage. I don’t have to intimidate you for information you are duty bound to provide.”

Nick blinked at me a couple of times, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked like he was getting a headache. “He’s in the training salle.”

“Where you should have been half an hour ago,” Pritkin said crisply, from behind me. I jumped and a hand reached out to steady me. “If you kept your appointments, you wouldn’t have to browbeat information out of my colleague.”

Nick looked as surprised to see Pritkin as I was despite the fact that he’d been facing the door. I had this weird picture flash across my mind of Pritkin simply materializing out of thin air, like his father, before I squashed it. He was corporeal, all right, just damn sneaky.

“She didn’t browbeat me,” Nick said, offended.

Pritkin shot him a look. “Of course not.” He was wearing gray sweats that looked like he’d already run a marathon in them. He gave my outfit a long look, but didn’t comment. “Get changed and come with me.”

“Why?” I asked, my stomach already sinking. Because it was that time of morning, only being up half the night I hadn’t noticed.

“We’re going jogging.”

“I don’t run for recreation. I run when someone’s after me with a weapon.”

“That can be arranged,” he muttered, pulling me out the door.

Chapter 17

After I changed into a pair of old sweatpants and a ratty tank top, we made six circuits of the underground hallways and then ran up and down the stairs until I couldn’t see straight. Pritkin swore it was only about two miles, which he counted as a warm-up, but I was pretty sure he was lying. Either that, or I was even more out of shape than I’d thought.

We stopped in what had served as the gym for a now defunct acrobatic act before Pritkin appropriated it for training purposes. A few practice mats were still rolled against one wall, looking incongruous considering the rest of the decor. The room was pretty, more like a ballroom than a gym, probably originally designed for smaller conferences that wouldn’t need the larger room downstairs. It had thick paneled walls running up to a spandreled ceiling, with huge mirrors on three sides and tall stained-glass windows on the other. The light they let into the room rippled like water, splashing a mosaic of color over the wooden floor.

I leaned casually against the door, trying not to look like it was holding me up, while Pritkin dug around in a large canvas bag. He kept one eye on me, as if he thought I was about to bolt. Which was totally unfair, as that had happened only once and he’d been pulling out the jump rope of doom at the time. Not to mention that the only way I could make a break for it at the moment was if someone carried me.

I expected some fiendish new exercise equipment, or another gun that he thought I might actually be able to aim. The guy lived in hope. So I blinked uncertainly at what emerged instead. “What is that for?”

“Guns jam and misfire with the application of the right spell,” Pritkin said curtly, “and occasionally without it. They also aren’t effective against every enemy. Spells, likewise, can be countered by shields, stronger spells, or by incapacitating the caster. Neither method is adequate on its own, particularly when, as in your case, the potential enemies come in so many varieties.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Meaning what?”

He slapped the flat of an old-fashioned training sword against his leg. Its blade was wood, but it still made a loud thwacking sound. “Meaning here we have it. Swords and sorcery.”

“No, there you have it. I’m not a war mage.” I’d agreed that I needed to get in better shape and to learn how to occasionally hit what I aimed at, but I hadn’t signed up to be sorcerer’s apprentice.

“No. You’re not. Which is why you almost died yesterday.”

“Um, no. I almost died because your father decided he didn’t like me talking to Saleh. Something we should discuss sometime.”

“I knew you were up to something at that flat.”

“Yes, thanks. Not the point.”

“What did he tell you?” Pritkin demanded, giving me a weird and very creepy sense of déjà vu.

I just stared at him until he cursed and twisted, hiking up the corner of his sweatshirt. The bright colors of the tattoo reassured me slightly, although I assumed they could be faked. “Maybe we need a code word,” I said doubtfully.

Pritkin muttered one that I decided to ignore and shoved a sword at me. I immediately dropped it because, despite being wood, it was roughly half my body weight. It hit the floor pommel-first with a dull, ringing thud. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s the smallest I have. We’ll get you something more appropriate later. And you evaded the question.”

“No, I didn’t. Saleh didn’t say much. He was too preoccupied by the fact that your father killed him.” I wondered how many more times I was going to have to bring up the family connection before Pritkin took the hint. Not that under normal circumstances it would have been any of my business, but almost getting the life sucked out of me wasn’t normal. Not entirely unknown, but not normal.

“There are some creatures who cannot be killed,” Pritkin said, ignoring me as usual. “You encountered one yesterday. Your instincts were good, but throwing potions at that one normally does nothing more than annoy him.”

“He looked a little more than just annoyed to me.”

“Because you somehow managed to hit him with perhaps two dozen spells, half of them corrosive to demonkind, all at the same time. I doubt if anyone else has managed as much.” He shot me a look. “I would like to know how you did it.”

“I stopped time. By accident,” I said, as his eyebrows rose. “Agnes showed me once that it was possible, but she never had time to teach me how.”

“Can you duplicate it?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. Not without knowing what I did in the first place.” And not without spending a day in bed, paying for it afterward.

“You were lucky, then,” Pritkin said grimly. “Next time you may not be.”

“What do you want me to do? Freak out?”

“No, I want you to learn what you can do to banish him or any demons who might take an interest in you!”

“And why would they do that?” I asked, suddenly wondering if freaking out didn’t make sense after all.

“Why does anyone? You attract trouble like a magnet.”

I scowled. “Don’t even try it. This wasn’t my normal bad luck calling and you know it. That demon was your father and you didn’t even warn me about him!”

“I’m warning you now. A decapitation won’t kill him, but it will force him back into the demon realm for a short time, perhaps a few days. Anything that causes catastrophic failure of the body he has assumed will do as much, but his shields can stop most attacks, including gunshots. And unlike most demons, he is not affected by direct sunlight. He has to drop his protection to feed, however, which gives you a moment of—”

I kicked my sword against the wall. “Pritkin!”

“You need to pay attention to this! I can’t be everywhere, and even when I am”—he took a breath, as if the admission pained him—“there are some things from which I may not be able to protect you.”

“I don’t expect you to. But I do expect to be told the truth.”

“We didn’t come here to talk.” He picked up my sword and shoved it back in my hands.

Maybe he hadn’t, but it had definitely been on my agenda. I couldn’t force the truth out of him, though. And in his case, I didn’t think reminding him of my office was going to do much good. I raised the sword, getting two hands on the pommel and wishing for something less likely to result in back strain. It was about the only body part that didn’t already ache.