Evan introduced the vamps in order of importance, from least to most significant, “Ming Zoya, former Blood Master of Clan Mearkanis, currently third in line to the position of Master of the City of New Orleans.” Which was news to me. Ming might have been elevated because of something about the vamp war, or Leo had promoted her to make her look more important to the witches gathered here. There could be a dozen overlapping reasons for her promotion. She was sniffing the air, searching out the witches, but from her body language, she was having less success in finding the senza onore than I had.

Evan went on, reading from the small booklet. “Grégoire, Blood Master of Clan Arceneau, of the court of Charles the Wise, fifth of his line, in the Valois Dynasty. Second in line to the position of Master of the City of New Orleans.”

Grégoire bowed and smiled and looked for all the world like a fifteen-year-old boy dressed up for cosplay at a local faire or for a part in a school play. Pretty. Vivacious. But the sword at his hip was real and he wasn’t afraid to use it. While he was being charming, I pulled the small thing that Evan had given me. It was about the size and shape of a goose egg, lightweight, with a faintly resinous scent. I put my right hand behind my back and explored the lump with my fingers as Evan continued.

“Leonard Eugène Zacharie Pellissier, Mithran Blood Master of the City of New Orleans and the Southeastern United States, with the exception of Florida.” All three bowed and Leo’s bow was the least deep. It all meant something to the vamps, but nothing to the witches. In fact, the vamps might be insulting the witches to pieces and they would never know it. The Onorios stood to the sides, the Roberes on one end, at the windows, Bruiser with me.

I spotted Eli in his new leathers, looking spiffy, eyes intense, his jacket unzipped for easy access to the weapons he was wearing beneath, but his body appeared relaxed and easy. As if everything was okay.

It had never occurred to me that there would not be an attack. But . . . I had to consider the possibility that the senza onore witches had planted all the magic they had in the yard, and that once it exploded, they were out of witchy firepower. I managed a deep breath at the thought. It was possible that we’d blown up all they had up and that everything was going to be hunky-dory. That possibility had never seriously crossed my mind.

Leo lifted his head from the bow, took a breath that made his nostrils move, inhaling the mingled scents. “Many thanks for allowing me to speak with your gather. Our species have been divided, and divided again, with war and discord and fear, when we Mithrans came from witches and owe our magic to them. It is my hope that the Witch Council of the United States of America will heed my plea and accept my offer of reconciliation and peace. I know you have been presented with my offer of resolution and restitution, and have had an opportunity to discuss it. I am here now to answer any questions . . .”

Yada yada yada.

I took another breath that didn’t hurt and only then noticed that I’d been holding myself ready for battle. I put my hands together, shielding the thing the thing Evan had given me with my left, and glanced down. It was a lump of yellow, brown, and rusty-iron-colored stuff, a vaguely ovoid blob of nothing much at all. The note said:

Lump of burned iron-dust from two of the icons.

Encased in melted frankincense.

Mixed with an Everhart-Trueblood spell.

These three things encase the brooch that was in the pit with Ming.

Holy crap. It didn’t feel like magic, but it had to contain some pretty major hoodoo.

A small arrow at the bottom of the note suggested that there was something written on the other side. I flipped the small paper over to see smaller print.

This will get three beings through the wards.

Once out, they can’t get back in.

It may do other things against the ones who used the brooch on Ming.

We inserted a . . . a backatcha working in the frankincense.

It hasn’t been tested. It hasn’t flown.

I held in a smile. When Molly created a new spell that flunked when tested, she folded it into a paper airplane and few it across the room. “It hasn’t flown” was an attempt at humor. I pocketed the blob and turned my attention back to the rest of the ballroom. Evan was standing near Eli. The witch caught my eye and I nodded once, very slightly. His beard, which he had trimmed short after the burning, moved, suggesting that he might have smiled back.

The Q and A had started and Leo was answering with as much honesty as I had ever heard, though anyone who had ever listened to vamps dicker could hear the places where he fudged or talked around or answered a different question from the one that had been asked. Of course, he was so charming that he got away with it most of the time. As long as he didn’t try to compel them, we were all good and they wouldn’t fry him into a strip of vamp-flavored jerky.

Things moved from boring toward conclusion pretty fast. Until a witch asked, “We understand that a Mithran contingent from Europe is expected soon. If we sign your accord, how would their presence in the city affect us?”

Leo actually offered a small bow to her, in recognition of one who got the political implications. The woman nodded back. She was short and middle-aged, with broad hips and hair dyed in strips of pink, burgundy, cerise, and purple. The hair was braided and hung long, maybe longer than my own. “Madame is wise and politically astute with her query,” Leo said. “There are many ways to consider such a question, and I wish to be perspicuous and candid with this issue, so forgive my verbosity. Such wordiness is frowned upon in these modern times of hashtags and sound bites, but I must offer a complete answer.