Chapter 7
My knees made the
acquaintance of another hard floor, this one marble, and my head
hit something with an audible crack. A green blur wavered in front
of my face, and I slowly blinked it into focus. It turned out to be
a porphyry vase taller than I was, complete with leering
Gorgon-head handles. For a moment, I just sprawled beneath it,
staring up at their ugly faces while my head and knees vied for the
title of most abused anatomical region. But the marble was cold
against my bare legs, and I didn’t think lying around in the open
was too smart. I pulled myself into a seated position using the
vase’s pedestal for leverage, and got my first clear look
around.
I was in an alcove
alongside a large, round room. The dark green marble floor was
incised with gold lines that formed themselves into a starburst
pattern directly under an immense chandelier. Three others just
like it lit up a sweeping staircase, their crystals showering
pinpricks of light onto the crowd below.
People passed me in a
dappled river of candlelight, satin and flowing shadows. Men in
swallowtail coats escorted ladies dripping with jewels. Subtle
brocades vied for attention with flashy silks. Fans fluttered and
hems danced in a kaleidoscope of color and movement that did
nothing to help my throbbing head.
Most of the fashions
looked like the ones I’d seen at the theatre, but there were a few
more exotically dressed guests including an African chief wearing
enough gold to buy a small country and a guy in a toga. It looked
like a costume party, but I knew better. I pulled my legs up and
wedged myself as far as possible into the dark alcove. It wasn’t
much of a hiding place, though, considering the nature of most of
the room’s occupants. For a moment, I just looked around in stunned
awe. I’d never seen that many vampires in one place in my
life.
Then I noticed an
even stranger sight. A diaphanous form, transparent enough to be
almost invisible, glided along one wall. It blended so well into
the shadows cast by the chandelier’s long tapers that for a moment
I doubted my instincts. Then it passed in front of a painting so
dark with age that the subject was unrecognizable, and I saw it
more clearly—an amorphous column of pastel iridescence. At first I
thought it was a ghost, but the only discernable features on the
protrusion I assumed to be a head were two huge, silver eyes.
Whatever this thing was, it had never been human.
I was so intrigued
that, for an instant, I almost forgot my predicament. There was a
huge amount about the Pythia gig I didn’t understand, but I knew
spirits. I’d met old ones who’d been around for centuries, new ones
who, in a few cases, hadn’t even known they were dead, friendly
ones, scary ones, and some things that weren’t ghosts at all. But
this didn’t fit into any of those categories. I realized with shock
that I didn’t know what it was.
It drifted along with
the crowd in the direction of a ballroom directly across from the
stairs. I couldn’t see much of the interior, which was lit for
vampire eyes rather than mine, and received only an impression of
laughing, candlelight-gilded faces and rich fabrics. But the thick,
cloying scent of mingled perfume and blood that spilled out of its
doors convinced me that I didn’t want to get any
closer.
A young man, probably
in his late teens, paused a few yards in front of me. He looked
strangely out of place in the formally dressed crowd, wearing only
a pair of plum-colored trousers in a silky fabric that hung low on
his hips. His chest and feet were bare and his long hair was loose
around his shoulders. It had a slight ripple to it as it cascaded
down his back, like dark silk against his pale skin.
I really wanted to
move, to get out of a place where my heartbeat had to be audible to
the entire room, but he was in the way. And the last thing I needed
was to answer questions about my right to be here when I didn’t
even know where here was. Then one of the guests approached, a
vampire with pale blond hair wearing what looked like a military
uniform—red with gold braid and highly polished black boots. He
stopped directly in front of the young man, his eyes sweeping over
him in obvious appreciation.
The boy shivered,
back tensing, buttocks tightening. He ducked his head shyly,
causing light and shadow to play across high cheekbones and a cleft
chin. His face flushed with a healthy glow, making him resemble the
cherubs who stared down from flaking murals overhead, all but their
pink faces lost to the dark.
The vamp stripped off
one of the white gloves that went with his uniform. His hand
stroked possessively down the boy’s side, fingers playing along the
ribs until they came to rest on the thin silk clinging to his
hipbone. The young man’s chest started rising and falling faster,
but other than for louder breathing, he made no sound. My eyes
focused on the boy’s bare feet, which were directly in my line of
vision as I tried to melt into the floor. They were startlingly
white against the dark green, and looked strangely vulnerable next
to the vamp’s heavy footwear.
The young man
stiffened as the blond head bent towards him, probably from the
first glimpse of fangs, but a hand splayed possessively on his
trembling back, holding him in place. He gave a small cry when his
neck was pierced, and a visible shudder ran through him. But within
seconds, he slid an arm around the vampire’s neck and began making
low sounds in his throat, openly, generously eager.
The vampire pulled
back after a minute, his mouth stained as red as his uniform. The
boy smiled at him and the vamp ruffled his hair affectionately. He
threw his short cloak around the young man’s shoulders and they
walked together into the ballroom.
With a lurch in my
stomach, I realized why I hadn’t seen any waiters passing with
trays of drinks, or heard the chime of glasses. When the heart
stops, blood pressure in the body drops to zero, the veins collapse
and the blood starts to coagulate. Not only is it less palatable in
that form, but it’s also harder to extract. Even baby vamps learn
quickly—only feed on the living. At this party, the refreshments
walked around on their own. And in my brief shorts and tank top, I
looked a lot more like part of the beverage parade than a
guest.
Almost as if he heard
my thought, a vamp suddenly looked my way. He had a graying goatee
that matched the silver brocade on his robes. They were lined with
what looked like wolf fur, and he wore a large pelt draped around
his shoulders. There was also something almost wolflike in the way
he paused, one foot on the last stair, his nose tilted as if
scenting prey. His flat black eyes came to rest on me, and a look
of fierce interest crossed his previously unreadable
face.
I scrambled to my
feet and stumbled into the drifting crowd, panic lancing through
me. The only doors were to the ballroom, and I dove for them as if
my life depended on it, which it might. Somehow, I made it ahead of
him, probably because he was too polite to elbow fellow guests out
of the way. But a glance over my shoulder as I entered the dark,
cavernous space showed that he wasn’t far behind. Anticipation had
lit those expressionless eyes and I felt my stomach plummet. Some
vamps preferred their food frightened and struggling; just my luck
I’d find one on the first try.
I took a quick look
around the ballroom, but there were no obvious exits. Of course,
the stairs should have warned me—we were probably underground. I
tried to focus, but it was difficult with power crawling along my
skin like a cloud of insects. None of it was directed at me
specifically; it was just overflow from the beings jostling me on
all sides. I realized with a jarring shock that I wasn’t seeing
merely a room full of vamps; it was a room crowded with
master-level vampires—hundreds of them.
Convocation, I
thought numbly—it simply had to be. Every Senate had a biannual
meeting where master-level vamps met to discuss policy. I’d never
been to one, but Tony had spent days preparing for them, changing
his mind about clothes and escorts as often as a teenager going to
a prom. His entire entourage had been designed to impress, and with
good reason. The weeklong gathering was the one time when he and
other low-level masters could rub elbows with the glitterati—their
own Senate members and visiting dignitaries from other senates
around the world. Boots were licked, deals were made and alliances
decided for the next two years.
Tony had always gone
armed to the teeth and surrounded by bodyguards, since it wasn’t
unknown for the entertainment to get a little out of hand. I darted
towards the orchestra on instinct—their golden instruments were the
brightest things in the room—and hoped I wasn’t about to be another
Convocation casualty. Of course, it was a bad idea. There were no
service doors, hallways or exits anywhere I could see, just a large
alcove surrounded by burgundy drapes. I looked back to see my
pursuer almost within arm’s reach, and all the breath left my
lungs.
What I’d taken to be
a wolf pelt, I realized with horror, wasn’t wolf at all. The paws
draped over his chest were normal enough, if oversized. But the
head that dangled halfway down his back was pink-skinned with a
shock of light brown hair. I didn’t get a good look at it, just
flashes under his arm as he reached for me, but that was more than
enough. My eyes told me what my mind didn’t want to believe. He’d
skinned a werewolf halfway through the transformation, so that the
gray fur shaded into human skin around his shoulders.
I tried to shift but
felt too light-headed to be able to concentrate. I bit the inside
of my cheek hard, to keep from passing out, and tried to climb into
the orchestra pit. I’d hoped to find a hidden exit, but a clarinet
player shoved me back out, hard enough that I went sprawling. I
slid into oiled black boots that shone in the low light. A hand
grabbed my hair, using it as a handle to jerk me
upright.
I stared into black
eyes dancing with dark fire and forgot about the pain in my scalp.
“You reek of magic,” the vamp said, his voice thick with an accent
I couldn’t place. “I did not think the English brave enough to
provide us with such a rare treat.”
My eyes fell to the
skull-less head bumping lightly against his side. It was now less
than a foot away, and my throat closed in horror. I could see it
perfectly—the sagging features, the dull hair, the empty eye
sockets—and the limp, lifeless thing frightened me more than the
vamp wearing it. If it brushed against me, there was a chance I’d
See part of the creature’s life—and knowing my gift, it would
undoubtedly be the last part.
I moved away from it
as much as I could, not wanting to know what it felt like to be
skinned alive, and the vamp moved his grip from my hair to my
elbow. His thumb caressed the skin at the bend of my arm, lightly,
gently, but it felt like liquid metal poured from his hand into my
veins. Pain was too mild a description for the shock that
reverberated through me, bringing tears to my eyes and blinding me
to everything outside my own body. He moved down to my wrist, a
delicate stroke, but it spilled a line of blood along my arm as if
his touch was a knife.
“They usually cringe
at the idea of feeding from magic users, too afraid of retaliation
from the mages,” he said contemptuously. “I will have to remember
to thank our host.” Panic flooded my system with adrenaline, but
there was nowhere to go. I pulled backwards, even knowing it was a
wasted effort, and he smiled. “Now, let us see if you taste as good
as you smell.”
A warm hand descended
on my shoulder, and his smile faded. “This one is taken,
Dmitri.”
I didn’t need to turn
around to know who had spoken. The rich tones were unmistakable, as
was the pleasure that danced down my arm, slicing through the pain,
reducing it to a low throb. A flash of anger passed over Dmitri’s
face. “Then you should have kept her with you, Basarab. You know
the rules.”
A claret-colored
cloak fell around me, so deeply red that it was almost black.
“Perhaps you did not hear me,” Mircea said pleasantly. “So close to
that appalling orchestra, it is not surprising.”
“I don’t smell her on
you,” Dmitri said with open suspicion.
“Our host asked to
see me shortly after I arrived. I did not think he would appreciate
my bringing an extra pair of ears.” The joviality had fallen from
Mircea’s voice.
Dmitri didn’t seem to
hear the warning. His eyes had fixed on the rapid pulse in my neck
and he sneered, showing elongated canines. “She will not live to
speak of anything she overhears.” His grip tightened, his fingers
pressing into my flesh hard enough to bruise. The split in my arm
widened, spilling a rush of blood over my skin.
“That is for me to
decide.” Mircea’s voice was soft but deadly cold. His arm encircled
my waist, drawing me back against his body. His other hand caught
Dmitri’s wrist. White-faced, the vamp swallowed, his hand spasming
in Mircea’s grip. Power sparked between them, washing the air
around us in a burning mist that felt like it would eat into my
skin if I stayed there long enough.
I stood in the curve
of Mircea’s arm, all my strength needed just to keep my knees from
buckling. Mircea’s power spiked, setting a warm rush of energy
dancing along my body. But Dmitri didn’t seem to find the sensation
so pleasant. He flinched noticeably, but stubbornly hung on, his
grip so tight that my hand went numb. The two vampires stared at
each other for a long minute, then Dmitri abruptly stepped back,
gripping his arm and panting, eyes murderous.
Mircea took hold of
my wounded arm, pulling it straight, baring my blood-streaked skin.
He dipped his head, his eyes fixed on the other vamp as his tongue
flicked out, sliding along my arm in determined, challenging
strokes. I watched him lick the blood from me in a daze, unable to
look away from the sight of that proud head bowed over my wrist,
mesmerized by the warm wetness of the tongue smoothing over me.
Mircea raised his head after a moment and I stared at my arm in
disbelief. Where there should have been wounds, there was only
pale, unblemished skin.
Mircea’s eyes never
left Dmitri. “If you wish to contest this further, I am at your
service.”
Dmitri’s mouth worked
for a moment, but his eyes slid away. “I would not affront our host
by violating his hospitality, ” he said stiffly. He stepped back,
anger in every line of his body. “But your abuse of the rules will
be remembered, Mircea!”
As soon as he stalked
off, the red haze around us dissipated like fog in sunlight. The
adrenaline that had kept me on my feet abruptly left, leaving me
cold and shaking, and if it hadn’t been for Mircea’s arm, I’d have
hit the floor again. Some nearby guests, who had been watching with
obvious anticipation, turned away in disappointment.
Mircea slowly pulled
me backwards, into the shadows lining the wall. Nearby, a couple of
vamps, a statuesque brunette and a blond, were feeding on a young
woman. The female vamp was seated in a chair along the wall, the
girl’s body draped across her lap as she drank from her jugular.
The young woman’s head had fallen back, loose tendrils of blond
hair tumbling around her shoulders, contrasting with the deep rose
of the brunette’s gown. The male vamp knelt in front of them, his
long, sapphire robe spilling around him like a waterfall.
Predictably, he went for another target.
He pulled the
plum-colored, silky tunic the girl wore loose from the jeweled
clasps at her shoulders, letting it slide through his hands slowly.
The shimmering folds skimmed down her body to puddle around her
hips. She moaned softly, whether in distress or encouragement, I
couldn’t tell. He stroked her sides and stomach soothingly for a
moment, then moved a fingertip to trace the plump blue veins on her
breast. Her hand crept up until it lay on his shoulder, a timid
gesture of embrace.
He cradled one pale
globe tenderly, his thumb brushing across the nipple in a light
caress. The girl trembled visibly at his touch, but she leaned into
it as his head followed his hand. She jerked violently a moment
later as sharp fangs bit deep into her white flesh.
The female vamp’s
mouth drew the girl backwards, arching her body in a perfect bow,
then the male vamp pulled her back toward him with hands and lips
and teeth. Each movement flowed smoothly into the next, building a
hypnotic rhythm. Her young body was soon shuddering helplessly
under the dual suction. Her breath came in short gasps as she was
rocked between sensations until she was begging incoherently for
more.
I swallowed. The
European vamps obviously didn’t follow the Senate’s approved method
of drawing blood molecules through the skin or air. Maybe it was
the era, or maybe they just played by different rules. Tony’s vamps
had fed publicly enough times that I thought I’d grown blasé about
it, but theirs had been a far more basic act, without the sensual
overtones. Given the choice, I thought I preferred their crude
brutality. I’d rather know death was coming, see it as the enemy it
was, than welcome it like a lover.
The male vamp had
slipped a hand under the spill of plum fabric, and within seconds
the girl was crying out in pleasure. But he wasn’t looking at her;
his eyes were locked on the brunette’s, their shared gaze hot
enough to burn. Feeding was an intimate act for vampires, and they
never shared a body lightly. The girl appeared oblivious, or maybe
she was just past caring. Her hips thrust up, accompanied by a
groan loud enough to win a few amused looks from
bystanders.
Shocked slightly out
of my daze, I looked away. I wondered whether the girl realized
that she was merely a conduit for other people’s passion. I
wondered whether she’d go to her death smiling, or if draining the
refreshments dry was considered bad taste. Most of all, I wondered
whether that was how Mircea saw me. Just a conduit—in my case, to
power.
Warm lips found my
neck. “The only humans here tonight are entertainment and food,” he
murmured, a husky whisper in the dark. “Which are
you?”
His breath feathering
over my nape and shoulders was enough to speed my pulse, to make my
body tighten. He breathed deeply of my scent and I trembled, caught
between fear and desire. The geis
didn’t care that this wasn’t the Mircea I knew, that this was a
master vampire who had no reason to protect me. It didn’t
understand that he was interested only in satisfying his curiosity
over what had occurred at the theatre. It didn’t care that he might
be hungry.
“I’m here to warn
you. You’re in danger.” It sounded lame even to my ears, but there
was so much I couldn’t tell him that it was almost the only thing
left.
“Yes, I know. Dmitri
is watching. And he does not release prey easily. We will have to
be convincing, will we not?”
I saw the flash of
heat in his eyes a second before a hand slid behind my head and a
hot mouth descended onto mine. I’d expected passion, but not the
rush of overwhelming relief that filled me and spilled over into a
strange and quiet joy. It felt like I’d been holding my breath for
too long and was finally allowed to breathe. My hands curled
reflexively where they lay against his chest, and for a long moment
I was motionless, letting myself be kissed. Then my hand moved off
his shoulder and down the side of his torso to the warm, sleek
swell of Mircea’s hip. It wasn’t meant to be a caress, but somehow
it turned into one. A broad palm circled my waist, a warm tongue
slipped between my lips, and the geis
really woke up.
It was the difference
between a single match and a bonfire. I inhaled a sobbing gasp, and
tugged him downward. Fire gathered in that kiss, collected between
our bodies and spilled over our skin, sending a shower of sparks
through me. It was better than I’d thought it could be: strong and
hard and hot and fierce. My hands seemed to exist only to tangle in
that rich, dark hair, my mouth only to taste that smooth
tongue.
Powerful arms swept
me up and he backed me into the wall; then we were devouring each
other with shuddering, desperate hunger. His arm tightened around
my waist, his legs shifted to make way for mine, drawing my thigh
between the warm, muscular columns of his. I ached to feel him
inside me, and like the girl, I suddenly didn’t care about the
surroundings, or the desperate noises I was making. I wanted him with an ache that threatened to devour
me.
The kiss finally
broke for lack of air on my part and I pressed my cheek against
Mircea’s chest, gasping for breath. The pine scent that always
clung to him engulfed me—it was almost as if I could see the
forest, verdant and deep, spread out under an evening sky. I
inhaled against the warm heat of his body, and felt weak. The only
thing holding me up was his strength, bracing me against the wall,
pressing skintight against me.
Mircea drew back
after a moment, looking a little shaken himself, and I somehow
found my legs. “You seem to have a number of talents, little
witch.”
Any answer I might
have made caught in my throat when I noticed what he was wearing.
His clothes at the theatre had seemed a bit off, but this was
really over the top. My hands sank into a claret-colored coat
voluminous enough to act like a cloak. It was made of rich, heavy
wool with a silken nap, edged by a thick band of gold embroidery.
It fell a little past his knees, brushing the tops of dark brown
boots. The outer garment opened to reveal a thin, golden brown
inner robe, so soft that it had to be cashmere. It was loose but
light enough that it clung to his body, outlining the sharply
defined muscles of his chest, the long waist, the narrow hips, and
the heavy weight of his sex.
I assumed it was
traditional Romanian dress for a noble and, oddly enough, it suited
him. But I doubted he’d chosen it for fashion’s sake. Mircea
preferred simple clothes that stood out because of superb
tailoring. Tonight he was making a statement, the outfit a far more
potent reminder of his lineage than the vest he’d worn to the
theatre had been. The dragons on the waistcoat had been almost
invisible—although I assumed vampiric sight would have picked them
out easily enough—a subtle reference to his family symbol. Where it
had whispered a reminder of his rank, his current outfit screamed
it. I wondered who the message was for, and why he would need to
make it badly enough to go around looking like a barbarian
chief.
The impression was
reinforced by the sword hanging from a jeweled belt at his waist.
The gold and cabochon rubies glinted dimly in the thin light, heavy
and obviously old, like something out of a crusader’s treasure. As
perhaps it was. I’d never seen Mircea carry a weapon before—when
you’re a master vampire, it’s a little redundant—and it startled
me. “You’re armed.”
“In this company,
certainly.” He moved behind me, baring my body to the room, and an
arm slid around my waist, pulling me tight against him. As he
kissed along my shoulder, silky hair, longer than my own, fell
forward over my throat, but that wasn’t his destination. He brought
my arm up and around his neck in a backwards embrace, and the
pinpricks of fangs dented my skin.
He was directly over
the artery in my upper arm, but he wasn’t feeding—I’d have felt the
energy drain, even if he didn’t pierce the skin. But it probably
looked convincing. It also put him in perfect position to whisper
in my ear, his voice low and dangerous. “What concerns me is that
you, who claim to be merely human, are not. You are either very
foolish or . . . more than you appear. What urgent business brings
you here tonight?”
The geis was enjoying the silk of Mircea’s breath
against my cheek. It flooded my body with molten sweetness to the
point that I could barely breathe, much less talk. And what would I
have told him? There was a problem, otherwise I wouldn’t be here,
but I had no idea what it was. And in this company, it was beyond
ludicrous to think that I could affect anything. I was seriously
beginning to doubt that my power knew what it was
doing.
“You ruined the play
for me,” Mircea whispered. “I could not stop thinking about you.
All I could see was that lovely body spread out for me . . . in my
box . . . in my carriage . . . in my bed.”
He pulled me around
to face him and his mouth covered mine again, sweeping us away. The
kiss was rougher and sweeter at the same time, threatening to
overwhelm me with the mindlessness of pleasure. I could have no
more broken away than I could have fought the whole room and
won.
Mircea finally pulled
back, eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed. “Why do I want to touch you so
badly?” The voice turned rough. “What have you done to
me?”
I thought that should
be my line. “I’m here to help,” I told him shakily. “You’re in
danger.”
His fingers stroked
along the curve of my face, slowly, tenderly, as if he were
touching something far more intimate. I licked my lips, and
Mircea’s eyes dropped to my mouth. “I can see that.”
“Mircea! I’m
serious!”
“So we are already on
a first-name basis. Good; I despise formality.” As he spoke, the
geis tugged at me with a persistent,
unfulfilled ache. I felt the power of his shoulders under my hands
and masculine hardness against my hip. It took an incredible amount
of control not to let my body arch against him, silently begging to
be taken. “As you know mine, do you think I could have your
name?”
I almost told him;
that’s how far gone I was. Some tiny sliver of reason spoke up at
the last minute, shouting a warning, and I bit my tongue to cut off
the words. The pain brought me back to sanity, to the strains of a
waltz and the hum of conversation.
I looked around, but
all I could see beyond the orchestra was a flickering darkness
studded with candle flame. The high ceiling disappeared into
shadow, the only bright spots a few glints where candlelight
splashed over cracking gilt in faded murals. Nearby, the two vamps
had finished their meal, and surprisingly the young woman was still
alive. The male vamp was giving her something to drink out of a
flask, and she accepted it without hesitation. At this point, she’d
probably dive headfirst off the roof if he told her.
Somewhere in all this
was the problem I’d been sent to fix, and I had to concentrate if I
had any hope of finding it. “It could be the woman—the one who was
with you at the theatre—who’s the target,” I told Mircea. “Is she
here?” It would be better to have them together, although what I
was supposed to do if another master attacked them I had no
idea.
One of those dark
eyebrows lifted in a very familiar gesture. “Why should I tell you?
I know what you are. I try to be open-minded about these things, at
least when the sorceress is young, pretty and thoughtfully wears so
few clothes.” He ran a single finger up my spine, dancing lightly
along the vertebrae. “You have less on every time we meet—I applaud
the trend.” His words were light, but his eyes were intense on my
face. “But however trying Augusta may be at times, her death would
be more so.”
“Then help me prevent
it!”
“But are you here to
prevent it? You rescued a man who slipped us poison—”
“Someone else slipped
it to you! He was trying to take it away!”
“—and will not even
give me your name. Yet you ask for my trust.”
“If you think I’m an
enemy, why rescue me? Why not let Dmitri do his
worst?”
Mircea’s mouth curled
into a predatory smile. “A show of strength is often useful on
these occasions, and I do not care for the man. Dmitri’s tastes are
well known, and I find them . . . displeasing. Depriving him of a
prize was no hardship. ” His hand smoothed down the bow of my back,
and my spine turned liquid. “Now, little witch, you are going to
tell me what you are doing here, and explain some very curious
events at the theatre two nights ago.”
I stared at him, my
mind blank. The truth was impossible if I had any hope of not
messing up the timeline more than it already was, but he would
smell a lie before I finished getting the words out. There was only
one possibility that might work. “Take me to Augusta, and I’ll
think about it.” When he hesitated, I forced a laugh. “The great
Mircea, afraid of an unarmed girl!”
His lips quirked
upward with slow mirth. After a moment, his expression slipped into
a true grin, one that made him look years younger. He raised my
hand and kissed the palm. “You are quite correct, of course. What
is life without a taste of danger?” He tucked my arm into his.
“Come, let us see what Augusta can make of you.”
Despite the crowded
ballroom, Augusta was not difficult to find. She and another female
vamp, a petite brunette, had commandeered a spot on the other side
of the room and cleared a space on the floor. A crowd had gathered
around them, laughing and calling out encouragement, although I
couldn’t see the attraction. The two vampires appeared merely to be
standing in the middle of the circle.
We stopped by the
vamp in the toga. “Your Augusta is making herself very popular,” he
observed.
Mircea looked pained.
“She is not my Augusta,” he murmured, and the vamp laughed. He’d
seemed plain before, with flyaway brown hair that looked like he
went to Pritkin’s barber and a wind-chapped complexion. But
laughter changed the face entirely, adding animation to the
whiskey-colored eyes and charm to the expression. When he laughed,
he was handsome.
“That’s not what she
says.”
“As you should know
better than anyone, Consul, some women are prone to exaggeration .
. . and fits of temper.”
“The more passionate
ones,” he agreed. “Although they are frequently worth the trouble.
Speaking of passionate shrews, how is your Consul?”
“She is well. I
wondered that you did not ask before.”
“Your news fair drove
all else from my mind.”
“Shall I tell her
so?”
That produced another
chuckle. “Only if you wish to incite a war, my friend.” The vampire
hadn’t so much as glanced at me, which I’d assumed was due to my
status as party snack. But his eyes suddenly slid in my direction.
“And who is this? Are you beginning a collection of dainty blondes,
Mircea?”
The Consul smiled at
me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Mircea’s grip tightened a
fraction. “Are we not permitted to bring guests,
Consul?”
“Guests, yes. As long
as they are one of us, or human.”
He tilted my chin up
with a finger. Something shifted behind his eyes, a killer peeking
out from behind the jovial mask. “Very pretty. And very powerful.
You will answer for her actions, of course.”
Mircea bowed slightly
and the Consul left to work the room, chatting and talking, back to
charming in a blink. I repressed a shiver. “They don’t seem to like
magic users here,” I said weakly.
“They can complicate
matters. Different precautions must be taken than are needed for
our people.”
“I’m surprised he let
me stay, then.”
“You caught him in a
good mood. Augusta and I recently removed a problem for
him.”
“I’m not planning to
cause any trouble,” I assured him fervently. Mircea just looked at
me, a wry quirk to his lips. “I’m not!”
“Why would I doubt
you? Merely because the first time we met, I was almost poisoned,
and the second, I came very close to a duel?” His smile broadened.
“Fortunately, I don’t mind trouble. If, as the Consul said, the
reward is worth it.”
I didn’t know what to
say to that so we watched the women for a while. I still couldn’t
tell what they were doing, possibly because they had their backs to
us. The brunette was in pale blue, the icy color embellished with
too much lace, but Augusta wore a gorgeous off-the-shoulder
champagne satin gown with a gold and cream brocade train. I might
not like her, but there was no question that she knew how to dress.
The full skirts blocked my view for a moment; then something tore
through the middle of them, coming straight at me.
“Oh, no! He’s loose!”
Augusta’s voice rang out over the room, shaking with laughter. A
wild-eyed, naked creature scrabbled on hands and knees for the edge
of the circle, leaving a trail of droplets behind him. They were
black and oily looking against the deep green. Right before he
could reach me, something snapped his head back, throwing him
twitching onto his side.
Augusta had a leash
in her hand as she walked towards him, one end of which was looped
around his neck. He lay on his back, quivering in terror, as she
stood over him. “Up,” she said impatiently, tugging on the
leash.
It forced his chin
up, and I got a glimpse of his face through a snarl of greasy black
hair. His mouth worked with pain, then tightened into a rictus of
rage, distorting his features beyond recognition. But I knew those
beetle black eyes. I’d seen them in more than a few
nightmares.
“Jack,” I whispered,
and he stared up at me blindly.
“What’s wrong?” the
brunette called. “I thought you liked to play with
women!”
“I think he prefers
the helpless kind,” Augusta said, trailing her long fingernails
down his chest, hard enough to leave red welts among the sparse
hair. “So they call you the Ripper, do they?” she crooned. “By the
time I’m done with you, you’ll truly deserve the
name.”
The man curled into a
ball in a vain attempt to protect himself from those daggerlike
fingernails, and I gasped when I saw his back. It had been
lacerated until the skin hung in strips, what little there was of
it. Mircea noticed as well. “If you don’t let him rest soon,
Augusta, he’ll die and spoil your fun,” he observed
mildly.
She laughed. “Oh, I
don’t think so,” she said with a coy look.
Mircea frowned and
knelt by the man’s side. He looked up after only a moment. “You’ve
made that madman one of us?” he asked incredulously.
Augusta shrugged.
“I’ll dispose of him when I’m finished, or you may, if you like,
for all the trouble he gave you. But you will have to wait.” She
casually stroked the side of Jack’s face, an almost tender gesture,
and he gave a desperate, broken cry. I realized with sickened
disgust that she’d thrust one of those long fingernails through his
right eyeball. “I like this one. He screams so
nicely.”
Mircea shook off
Jack’s hand, which had grasped his trouser cuff in a silent plea,
and Augusta dragged her captive back to the center of the space.
Better to show him off, I supposed. Mircea glanced at me as I
struggled to show no emotion. “How did you know who he is? Augusta
only unveiled him tonight.”
“I heard a rumor,” I
managed, after swallowing hard. “How did you find
him?”
“He found us. We were
looking for someone else.” Jack screamed as the brunette ground her
heel into his groin, and I flinched before I could stop myself.
“She’ll grow tired of him quickly enough, once he breaks,” Mircea
said. I didn’t comment. They would find out soon enough that it’s
hard to break an already fractured mind.
My attention was
diverted from Jack by the sight of two ghostly figures. They had
moved from among the assembled spectators into the circle itself,
unseen by the crowd. One was the intriguing creature from earlier,
still a featureless blob; the other was Myra.
I froze. On the edge
of the circle stood the chief pain in my butt in all her spiritual
glory. It was easy to recognize her since the only other time we’d
met she’d also been in spirit form. I could hardly believe my eyes,
especially since she looked healthier than before I’d stabbed her.
Her fair hair, which had hung in lank, unwashed strings the only
other time we’d met, was combed and shining. Her face was pale but
she looked like she’d gained a few much-needed pounds. How the hell
had she recovered so fast?
“What are you doing
here?” I demanded.
Mircea thought I was
talking to him. “You wished to see Augusta. There she is, safe and
sound.”
“To right a wrong, of
course.” Myra’s voice was high and sweet, like a child’s. It didn’t
go well with her expression. If looks could kill, I’d already be
out of her way. “Isn’t that what we were trained to do?” She was
staying near the brunette, not coming any closer. I wasn’t sure
whether that was because Augusta was there, too, or because the
brunette’s body offered her a shield from my knives. I freed my
hand from Mircea’s cloak, just in case, but he caught my
wrist.
“That is a pretty
trinket you’re wearing, but I would not advise sending anything
deadly at Augusta. You can see what she does to those foolish
enough to attack her.”
I ignored him. “What
wrong?”
“Oh, but I forgot,”
Myra added sweetly; “you weren’t trained, were you? How
dreadful.”
That singsong voice
was really starting to get on my nerves. “This isn’t a game,
Myra.”
“No,” she agreed.
“It’s a contest, for very high stakes. The highest, you might
say.”
“Meaning
what?”
Mircea followed the
line of my gaze but of course saw nothing. “To whom are you
speaking?”
“Meaning you aren’t
fit to be Pythia.” She regarded me out of eyes that were such a
pale blue, they were almost white. I assumed they weren’t that
light when she was in her body, but at the moment it was creepy.
“Agnes was old and dangerously unstable when she appointed you. If
her decision had gone through the usual review process, she’d have
been laughed out of the hall. But she skipped all that, didn’t she?
She went behind everyone’s backs and fucked up a system that’s been
in place for thousands of years. I’m here to fix
that.”
“By killing
me?”
“Nothing so crude.
Let me give you a little lesson, your first and last, all in one,”
she said pleasantly. “Any being that travels in linear time is
defined by its past. Take that past away, or change it, and you
redefine that being.” She smiled, but there was acid in it. “Or do
away with it completely.”
“I know that.” What I
didn’t understand was why she was here, in this time. If Augusta
had just turned Jack, then it looked like I was back in the 1880s.
If Myra wanted to change my past, she was a little early. “Do you
have a point?”
“What is happening?”
Mircea demanded, looking back and forth between the vampires and me
as if he realized he was missing something.
“Do I have a point?”
Myra mimicked. “God, you’re thick. I know first-year initiates who
catch on faster!”
She glanced at
Mircea, and I tensed. I really didn’t like her expression. “If you
want to kill me, why attack him?”
“You still don’t get
cause and effect, do you?” Her voice held genuine astonishment.
“Let me spell it out for you. Mircea protected you most of your
life. Why do you think Antonio never lost his temper and killed
you? Why did he open his arms and welcome you back after you ran
away? If Mircea is removed, his protection is removed. And that
means you die, long before you become a problem for
me.”
The ghostly creature
behind Myra jerked slightly, as if it didn’t like this information
any better than I did. It moved those huge eyes back and forth
between the two of us, its color shading from a silvery hue to dark
purple. Odd flutterings starting around the edge of its diaphanous
shape and, with no further warning, it changed. The pale, almost
featureless face grew a mouthful of deadly-looking fangs, and the
eyes flooded with dark red, like old blood. I stared at it in
shock, but Myra didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she thought I was
grimacing at her.
“And did Agnes become
a problem for you?” I demanded. I was assuming that Myra had been
the woman at the theatre who had poisoned Mircea’s wine. How she’d
recovered so fast I didn’t know, but if she was here, then she
could have been there. And it wasn’t as if there were a lot of
other contenders. I couldn’t know whether the poison she’d used was
the same kind that had killed Agnes, but the similarity in method
was interesting. “Is that why you killed her?”
Myra laughed as if
I’d said something genuinely funny. “That’s against the rules, or
didn’t you know?” she asked. Then she stepped into the brunette’s
body and disappeared.
Mircea gripped my
upper arms. “Are you mad?”
“The brunette,” I
gasped. I didn’t say any more, because the vamp Myra had possessed
suddenly hurtled herself at Mircea. He grabbed her around the
throat before I had a chance to blink, holding her away from him.
She twisted and fought, but her reach wasn’t quite long enough. Not
that it would have made any difference if it had been. Apparently,
to Myra a vamp was a vamp. She didn’t understand that the brunette
was a child compared to Mircea, and that he could break her as
easily. But she was a fast learner. In less than a minute, Myra
flew out of the woman, disappearing into the crowd.
The brunette
collapsed, sobbing, clutching Mircea’s feet and begging for
forgiveness almost incoherently. “She was possessed—she didn’t know
what she was doing,” I told him.
He lifted the
hysterical vamp to her feet and looked at me over her head, his
face darkening with anger. “Vampires cannot be
possessed!”
I thought of Casanova
but decided not to debate the point. “Not by most things,” I
agreed, my eyes on the crowd, which had grown with the advent of
violence.
I’d invaded a vamp
before, a first-level master. The difference was that I’d done it
by accident, not knowing about that facet of my power, and almost
scared myself to death. It hadn’t done him much good either. But
Myra could obviously manage it at will, and there was a whole
roomful of vampires for her to choose from.
“What is out there?”
Mircea pushed the sobbing vamp towards Augusta—her master, I
assumed—and started to examine the crowd himself, those quick dark
eyes taking it in, no doubt memorizing the faces. Too bad that sort
of thing wouldn’t help.
I didn’t have to
answer, because a woman who might have walked straight out of
Versailles, in cream-colored panniers and a two-foot-tall
headdress, lurched out of the crowd. She didn’t make a beeline for
Mircea as I’d expected, but staggered drunkenly about the circle,
careening into Jack, who was huddled off to the side, trying to
disappear into the shadows. They went down in a tumbled mass,
naked, dirty legs entwined with embroidered satin, until Augusta
snatched up his leash and yanked him away.
The vamp didn’t get
up, but stayed in the middle of the floor, limbs thrashing, head
rolling, eyes showing white. It looked like she was fighting the
possession, trying to throw Myra out. If she succeeded, it would
really help. My knives could rip through flesh as easily as spirit,
but I couldn’t risk attacking when Myra was clothed in someone
else’s body. Her puppets might not deserve an untimely death, not
to mention what it would do to the timeline.
Several vamps started
toward the woman, looking concerned, and I grabbed Mircea’s arm.
“Get them back! I can stop this if I get a clear
shot.”
“No! You are not
killing the host merely—”
“I’m not going to
touch the host,” I said as the woman screamed and clawed the air.
“Once the spirit realizes it can’t control her, it will come out.
As soon as it does—”
I stopped, but too
late. Normally, Myra wouldn’t have been able to hear a whispered
comment from yards away, but in a vamp’s body, she also had a
vamp’s hearing. The woman’s head raised and she gave me a smile
that was halfway between a grin and a grimace; then she collapsed.
One of the women who had been trying to help her suddenly darted
back into the crowd, no doubt with a passenger on board. Damn
it!
I searched the crowd
for the new host, but when I finally spied her, she’d fainted into
the arms of a young vamp. Myra was playing hide-and-seek. “Watch
the women,” I told Mircea, hoping Myra would overhear. She’d been
in only women so far, possibly because she didn’t like invading a
male’s body any more than I did. And those closest to Mircea were
all women. If Myra overheard me and switched to men, he’d at least
get a split-second warning before he was attacked
again.
I went back to
scanning the crowd of vamps, who were muttering among themselves
but showing no signs of dispersing. In fact, more were drifting
over every minute from around the ballroom, as people realized
where the entertainment was currently to be found. And the more who
crowded in on us, the harder it was to predict where Myra would
strike from next.
Fear crept up my
spine. All I could see was that ring of faces, avidly waiting to
see someone bleed, something die. A male vamp, wearing a vivid
green burnoose, fell onto the floor. He was up in an instant,
looking around with a snarl, his fangs very white against his dark
skin. Then I saw movement toward the center of the circle and
caught a look of hatred on Augusta’s face, her blue eyes narrowed
to icy chips. The young man had been a diversion.
I clutched Mircea’s
arm and pointed. “Not him! She’s in Augusta!”
A murmur went through
the crowd—everyone knew something was wrong, but no one was likely
to interfere. This was Europe, and both Mircea and Augusta were
members of the North American Senate. If they wanted to kill each
other, that was their affair. No one would lift a finger to hinder
or to help.
“You can’t kill her,”
I told him in a rush. “Just . . . disable her, or something.”
Enough to force Myra to come out and face me. Augusta grabbed up a
huge iron candleholder the size of a coat rack that had been
lighting the area. She hefted it like it was made of paper, and I
realized a flaw in my plan. If she was a Senate member, she had to
be a first-level master.
Just like
Mircea.
Augusta came at us,
brandishing the flaming candlestick, and Mircea swung me out of the
way. She barreled past us but turned in a flash and was back for
more, slashing with the candleholder like it was an extra-long
sword. Sparks flew everywhere and all hell broke loose in the
crowd. Vampires are mortally afraid of fire, and the way she was
slinging it around, it could hit anyone. There was a mad rush to
the door.
Augusta took another
swing, Mircea dodged and a dark figure broke away from the crowd,
dashing at him with an outthrust hand. Mircea hadn’t seen him, but
he felt it when the stake slammed into his side. I screamed, and
Dmitri looked up for an instant, smirking; then the expression
froze on his face. I saw a blade coming out of his chest in the
perfect position to have sliced through his heart, and the hilt was
in Mircea’s hand. Dmitri gave it a disbelieving look and collapsed,
his body spasming violently.
Mircea dropped to one
knee, a hand to his side, and I knew it was bad. Mircea’s blade was
metal—meaning that Dmitri might eventually heal. But the stake
Mircea pulled out of his side was wood. When I saw it, my world
went gray. I tried telling myself that even if it had hit his
heart, that alone wouldn’t kill a first-level master. But that
wasn’t much comfort with Augusta around to finish the
job.
She had stopped her
attack, surprise on her features when Mircea went down. But she
recovered almost instantly, running forward to rip the bloody blade
out of Dmitri’s chest. She looked at me and laughed. “You aren’t
even going to make this a challenge, are you?”
She turned back to
Mircea and I didn’t even hesitate. Killing Augusta would
dramatically alter time, but so would letting Mircea die. I’d never
been as scared as I was watching the blood pour from Mircea’s side
and having no power to stop it. I would not watch his head taken,
too.
My knives leapt out
of the bracelet and flew at Augusta. With vampire agility, she was
able to get the candlestick up in time to shield herself, but in
the process she knocked a candle free. It landed on her shoulder
before bouncing to the floor, and a spark caught on the bodice of
her dress. It burst into a tiny flame, smaller than that of a
match. A human would have snuffed it out between her fingers with
no concern, but Augusta started screaming and thrashing around like
a drowning victim going down for the last time.
Apparently, the
terror of fire was enough to override Myra’s control, because
Augusta promptly forgot all about the attack. Mircea tried to get
her to hold still so he could smother the flames with his
handkerchief, but she wouldn’t listen. She slipped on a patch of
Jack’s blood and ended up on her elegant backside, and I had to
jump out of the way to keep from having her roll right into
me.
“Augusta! Stay
still!” Mircea bellowed, but Augusta wasn’t listening. Instead of
putting out the flame, all her rolling around had caused more
oxygen to get to it, and a finger of fire leapt to one of the long
curls that framed her face. Her screams became more like shrieks,
and she whipped off the fashionable curls, sending them flying.
That explained why her head hadn’t gone up like a gasoline
fire—half of the golden coiffure was fake and probably made of
human hair.
Myra rose out of her,
abandoning ship now that she could no longer control it. I waved my
arms and screamed frantically at my knives, which had zeroed in on
the terrified Augusta. “No—not her! Get Myra!” They either didn’t
hear me or were having too much fun to obey.
The spirit creature
was more single-minded. It dove through Myra, as insubstantial as a
breath of wind, but she staggered backwards, clawing at her chest
and screaming. After a stunned second, I realized that she’d been
given the spiritual equivalent of a mugging. The spirit emerged
from her back, so flush with stolen power that it was blinding
silver, looking at it like staring into a searchlight.
I blinked, and when I
looked again, it had faded out. Myra dropped to her knees, almost
transparent, the energy that should have allowed her to remain here
for hours gone. She turned a furious blue glare on me. “Doesn’t
matter. You can’t guard him all the time.”
She shifted out just
as Augusta scrambled to her feet and careened into Mircea,
screaming and clawing like she blamed him for the danger. I tossed
him the cloak, and he wrapped it around her to smother the flames,
just as I felt the tug of my power.
“Tell me, little
witch,” he gasped, holding the struggling vampire with obvious
difficulty. “What happens when you are
trying to cause trouble?”
A wave of dizziness
and nausea swept over me, and I felt myself falling. I crashed
headfirst into Mac’s cot, where Billy Joe had been playing a game
of solitaire, scattering his cards everywhere. “I fold,” I said
weakly, and passed out.