Chapter Thirty-two

Mac finally realized Richie was in the room when she sent a lamp flying in his direction and he ducked and yelled, "Hey!" That didn’t stop her from continuing to send items flying across the room; it just made her more careful about where she sent it. During a break in the air show, Richie ran across the room and threw his arms around Mac, holding her arms down tight against her sides.

"This isn’t going to solve anything," he told her.

"It’s making me feel a lot better," she remarked, breathing heavily.

"Is it? Really?" he asked. "Because I can tell ya, throwing some stuff around in my room didn’t make me feel any better."

"They’re going to kill him, Rich," she said tearfully, after several long seconds of silence.

"Not if I can help it," Richie said, vehemently.

"That’s the worst part," she replied, "they expect us to help them do it with our testimonies."

"Then they’re shit outta luck, huh?" He turned her loose then.

Mac walked away from him, then began to angrily pace the floor. "If they think I’m gonna take this lying down, they’re full of shit," she said, heatedly, "I’ll go Jerry Springer on their pompous asses."

"Now, that’s the Mac we all know and love," Richie told her grinning. "I’ve been trying to come up with a plan."

"Got one yet?"

"Not yet, but after seeing you demolish this room, I’m starting to come up with a few." Richie took a good long look at her. "Mac, do you realize that if they kill him, you will die?"

She stopped her pacing to turn and look at him with surprise. "Do I look like I’m worried about myself right now?"

Richie had to admit that she didn’t. He glanced at his watch. "Look, I’m gonna go down to dinner and make nice with the pompous asses. Do you wanna come down with me?"

"Nope, I’d rather starve to death."

"Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"No, not unless you can find a way to sneak Jon in here."

"I’ll work on that," he laughed.

Richie had only been gone a few minutes when there was a knock on her door. "Did you find a way?" she asked laughing, as she opened the door.

Kristoff stood in the hallway. "A way for what?" he asked her.

"Nothing," she replied. "Come in," she invited, motioning him into the room. With him following her, she walked over to one of the chairs in the room, but she didn’t sit down. She had noticed the brandy snifter full of what was obviously Jon’s blood in his hand. Reaching up with one hand, she rubbed the ache in her chest. She knew if she turned down the blood it would get worse, but she had to do it.

Kristoff didn’t ask her if she wanted Jon’s blood, nor did he offer it to her. He just calmly sat the glass on the table. When she didn’t reach for it, he pushed it closer to her.

"Is Jon outside, then?" she asked, knowing the answer to the question.

"You know he is not," Kristoff said, his accent more pronounced with his aggravation.

Mac was tempted to take it. A pain, like a hot knife, slashed through her abdomen. She glared at the glass and it went flying toward Kristoff. He held up his hand and the glass stopped in mid-air, some of the blood sloshing over the side. Then the glass reversed directions and floated softly back to land gently on the table. She leveled an icy glare on the vampire across from her. "I’m not drinking it."

"As you wish," he told her, seeming unconcerned with whether she drank it or not. But, he settled back into the chair as if to wait her out. He glanced around the room at the destruction she had done that afternoon. "I see you’ve been redecorating," he commented dryly.

"Yeah," she quipped, "it’s called the pissed off life mate look."

He raised one eyebrow sardonically. "Ah," he nodded, "Maria has used that decorating tool before."

"So, Kristoff, about this magic shield," she said, calmly sitting in the chair and crossing her legs, "I’m taking it from my ability to do the redecorating earlier that it doesn’t apply to telekinesis."

"No, that is not technically magic. That is a mental skill," he explained. "The shield mostly prevents the mental communication between vampires."

"So, if I was to...oh, I don’t know, say something like....," she paused, debating what she wanted to say, "The thing I find most offensive here is that glass, so I hope you find it permanently stuck up your ass." She waited patiently for the glass to move from the table in front of her. When it remained in its place, she sighed. "Okay, so it prevents spells too."

"Yes," Kristoff answered, smiling. "Giovanni mentioned to Vincent that you were a witch."

"You mean, he didn’t tell you?"

"Yes, he told me, but I didn’t tell the other Council members. I had hoped to keep that as what Giovanni would call my ace up my sleeve, but Vincent saw fit to tell the other members so that was included in the spell that was cast over my home."

Mac looked down at the glass. "You can take that with you when you go. I’m not drinking it until the Council allows me to see Jon."

"Mac, I’m sure the Council will not allow that," he told her sadly.

"You haven’t asked?"

"No."

"Then I advise you to do that with all due haste," she replied, sarcastically.

Kristoff stood slowly. "I’m going to join the others for dinner. Please reconsider your decision."

Silently, he left the room. Mac sat alone staring at the glass. Her chest ached, and what she was sure was the vampire version of hunger pangs ripped through her abdomen. Before she couldn’t resist the desire to drink the blood, she stood up and took the glass to the bathroom, pouring the contents down the drain. "For Jon," she said softly to herself, right before she tipped the glass over the sink.