“What kind of notebook? Any writing?”
I opened my eyes, gauged the size with my hands. “Maybe eight inches by fourteen? It looked old. The paper was yellow. There was handwriting in it, but the ink was faded.”
Luc nodded. “Do some research on the room as you remember it. Maybe he picked that room for a reason, those objects. Maybe that notebook means something, and maybe we can use it to find him.”
“Sure. I talked to Ethan about an idea to draw him out,” I said, and told Luc about the possible Investiture ceremony.
“As ideas go, I don’t hate it. Our people, our location, our terms. But there’s no guarantee he’d show up.”
I nodded. “We’d have to get someone friendly in the media—Nick, maybe—to do a story, build it up into something Balthasar and his ego won’t want to miss. That’s the core of him, Luc—his ego. Everything he does is to satisfy it.”
“A narcissist and a psychopath.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Lindsey walked in, threw her leather jacket on the back of a chair. “The paparazzi can bite me, one at a time. You’re on, babe,” she said to Kelley, who grabbed an earpiece and headed for the door for her own round on patrol.
Luc’s eyes lit at the sight of his significant other. “Trouble in paradise?”
“All news is bad news,” she said. “Balthasar this, Navarre House that.”
“Are you irritated they’re being nosy,” Luc asked with a grin, “or just irritated they aren’t asking about you?”
Lindsey had once been featured as a vampire cover girl on a weekly gossip magazine, and she’d enjoyed the attention. “I don’t have to respond to that. But possibly both.” She looked at me, irritation morphing to concern. “You’re all right?”
I nodded. “Cheek’s sore, but I’ll be fine. It’s getting better already.”
“Good.” She patted my hand, and I didn’t flinch, which sent a fresh wave of Ethan-related guilt through me. “What’s new in here?” she asked.
“As it turns out,” Luc said, “Balthasar this, Navarre that. Merit’s going to consider the setting of Balthasar’s attack, see if that gives us any clues. Why don’t you coordinate with Jeff, see if there’s any help you can provide about the Circle?”
Lindsey nodded.
“Actually,” I said, “before you get started, could I talk to you for a minute?”
Brows lifted in curiosity, she nodded. “Sure.”
She followed me into the hallway. I opened the training room’s door enough to see that it was empty, then pushed it open and stepped inside, beckoning for her to follow. The ceiling was high, ringed by a balcony where vampires could watch sparring matches or training sessions. On the walls hung ancient weapons of war, and on the floor was a layer of tatami mats, ready for battle or practice.
“What’s up, chica?” Lindsey asked, making sure the door was closed behind us again.
“It’s about Balthasar. About last night. About glamour. I’m wondering if there’s something you can teach me about fighting it off. If he does it again, I want to be ready. I don’t want . . .”
I cut off the sentence when tears threatened and looked away, focusing on one of the ancient pikes hanging on the wall, the painted bands of color, the swag of leather strips and feathers at one end. When I thought my control was back again, I looked at Lindsey, found her expression soft and supportive.
“I don’t want to get that close again,” I said. “If it’s happening in my head, I can stop him from coming in, right? Stop it from happening?”
“I can try,” she said, then lowered herself to the floor and patted the mat across from her. “Tell me how it felt,” she said as I sat down cross-legged in front of her. “Physically, I mean.”
“Well, I was asleep, and then I was awake in this room.” I gave her the same brief description I’d given Luc.
“I don’t remember feeling any magic, not going in. I did feel magic coming out of it, like I was being pushed through a tunnel. I felt that same sensation when Balthasar glamoured me in Ethan’s office. That tripped something, triggered some vampire sensibility. We think my immunity was actually a malfunction, that glamour is now affecting me the way it’s supposed to.”
Lindsey nodded. “Like when Celina kicked your ass and your senses fell into place.”
It wasn’t my finest moment as a fighter, but it was an important moment for me as a vampire. “Yeah, like that. I’m becoming a vampire in bits and damned pieces. And now, either because of what happened then or what happened in his room, or both, I’m extra sensitive to it. Morgan used glamour tonight, and I nearly lost it.”
“I would really like to have a few choice words with Balthasar.”
“You’d have to get in line. Ethan’s first.”
She nodded. “So, back to this particular instance, it’s not that Balthasar was literally in your head, right? And you weren’t actually in some other room. It’s more like there’s a”—she paused, clearly thinking of the right phrase—“joint psychic space. A psychic spot he’s pulled you into.”
I nodded. “I tried to put up walls—mental blocks. They didn’t help much.”
She nodded. “Unless you’re an amazingly strong psych—top one percent—mental blocks aren’t going to work against that kind of glamour.”
“What if he tries to pull me into a joint psychic space again?”
“Well, first, you remember it’s a metaphysical construct, not a real thing.”
“But he hurt me. Slapped me and left a mark.” The reminder made my cheek sing sympathetically.
“Psychic wounds have physical manifestations,” she said. “Just because he connects with you psychically doesn’t mean there’s no physical effect. But remember—it’s still glamour. He can’t really force you into that psychic space—not physically anyway. But he’ll try to convince you he can. That’s what glamour’s all about, after all. And second, if he gets you in there, you let it ride.”
“I let it ride?”
She nodded. “Have you ever ridden a bus, and there’s no seats left, so you have to try to stand up in the middle, hold on to one of those ‘oh shit’ straps?”
“Uh, sure,” I said, just deciding to go along for the metaphorical ride.