Chapter Forty-five

I abandoned the dying avatar and flitted out into the air, before snaring a human servant who was moving quickly down the hall. He took a wrong turn, but I managed to jump to a low-level vampire who was going the right way. And who was too young to notice one more voice in his head.

Among the usual background noise of his family’s gossip, of higher-level vampires giving him errands to run, and of others jeering about his clothes—someone had told him that everyone was going to be wearing livery at the consul’s home, and he’d believed it—I managed to plant a suggestion.

Suddenly, we were moving much faster than before, through a maze of passageways, and then out a hidden door into a hallway. Or, no, I thought, because it deserved a better word than that. It was long and wide, with a great many people in it. It reminded me of some of the old European courts, where a monarch sat at one end of a gallery and cliques of courtiers laughed, talked, and schemed all along it.

It was easy to tell the cliques here by their clothing. I rode the small vampire down an expanse filled with priceless statuary, beautiful inlaid floors, and marble walls with the height and breadth of old Rome, and barely noticed. I was too busy gazing at costumes from all over the world and a hundred different eras.

Older vampires, especially in formal or stressful situations, liked to dress as they had in their youth. It was comfortable, familiar, and an easy way to remind everyone of exactly how old and powerful they were. So we passed by groups looking as if they had just stepped out of ancient China, or the Roman Empire, or Montezuma’s court, or some Japanese shogunate, along with dozens of others.

And those who weren’t in period dress wore the latest magical fashions, everyone trying to outdo everyone else, to the point that my ride’s elaborate blue and gold livery seemed tame by comparison.

I marveled at a jeweled octopus, its golden arms holding a woman’s upswept chignon in place, when it wasn’t moving them around to adjust its grip. Nearby, embroidered bees decorated the thick black velvet of a Tudor-era doublet, their fat bodies making constantly changing designs as they buzzed about the sumptuous fabric. And just past them, a flock of magical butterflies fluttered in the air and then straight through me, their insubstantial forms hovering around the pastoral train of a woman’s gown, which showed a garden in full bloom.

One of the small creatures had become confused, and was trying to feed off the jade and coral adornment in another woman’s coiffure. She was in a kimono printed with gamboling dragons, which spewed tiny plumes of flame at us as we passed, causing my ride to veer to the side. And to shoot her a dirty look before he got his face under control.

There were other such clashes going on everywhere, partly because of the crush, which forced the crowd too close together. And partly because, while vampires might not make magic in the traditional sense, they certainly seemed to enjoy it. And to enjoy employing it against others.

As demonstrated when my ride abruptly halted, and then just froze, staring upward in horror.

Several nearby humans glanced around, looking confused, for they saw nothing. But they could feel the sudden escalation of tension in the huge space, the quieting of murmured conversations, and the power washing over their bodies, like a hot wind. They quickly moved out of the way, and my ride followed, going from paralysis to a run worthy of an Olympic sprinter, to the amusement of the guests around us.

I don’t think the young vampire cared. He hugged the nearest wall, swallowing convulsively. And staring upward, like everyone else in the gallery, at the spectacle playing out in the air above us.

It was something I’d rarely seen, and never this close. What looked like two huge storm clouds, laced with lightning and shuddering with power, circled each other, writhing and boiling and looking for an advantage.

And then transforming into something else.

What looked like a giant, ghostly tiger emerged from the golden haze, its eyes bright as flame. While a huge flock of crows, black as the night, darted out of the dark gray cloud and tore around the room. It looked like magic, but it wasn’t—at least not the human kind. But rather two first-level masters, their power taking on forms that had meaning for them, preparing to savage each other.

It wasn’t a duel—not quite. But it was often the precursor to one, the show of power they sometimes put on before the killing started. Because if it went on long enough, it could drain a master into vulnerability.

It didn’t drain anyone this time.

Because a new cloud formed up out of nothing, all at once. It was green and black and terrifying, and carried so much power that it caused my ride to sink down onto his haunches, whimpering softly. And that was before it took the form of an enormous snake, hissing and rearing back, like a cobra ready to strike. The other two clouds abruptly parted, the tiger snarling and turning away with what I swear looked like its tail between its legs. But the other remained in place a little too long—

And was whipped viciously by the snake’s great tail, sending the “birds” crashing against the opposite wall, where they puffed away into bursts of black smoke.

Conversation, which had gone silent for the duration, resumed. The light music playing in the background likewise picked up where it had left off. A casual observer, walking in a minute late, might have been forgiven for thinking that nothing had happened.

But something had. And was likely to again. Because friction was everywhere, now that I looked for it.

The gallery was packed with masters who, until very recently, had thought they knew where they stood in the overall hierarchy. Who had believed they had a grip on the motives, desires, and histories of everyone around them. Who had spent centuries working their way into their present positions at their own courts, and building up a rock-solid foundation.

Only to find the bedrock under their feet suddenly turned to quicksand, when they were confronted by hundreds of new power players as the court of courts coalesced.

Normally, physical contests would have sorted things out, with masters competing against one another for positions of power. But my twin’s mind informed me that duels were forbidden for the course of the war, lest they cost the court too many of its most useful members. So tensions were high and getting higher, with no outlet in sight.

And that was especially true around the mini courts of the other consuls.

They were seated here and there along the gallery, in areas that looked like they might once have held large statues. But the raised platforms had been cleared off, draped in swags of rich fabric, and decked in various types of seating arrangements. Turning them into smaller versions of the queen’s dais up ahead.

There the other consuls, the queen’s counterparts at senates around the world, sat surrounded by their combative creatures. They could have easily reined them in, but weren’t doing so. This queen might have proven the strongest momentarily, and won their grudging allegiance. But winning wasn’t keeping, and there were jealous eyes everywhere—on her position as much as the rest.

The whole court was a powder keg, the air thick with expectation, which might explain why nobody had yet realized what moved among them.

And because they were careless.

They didn’t expect to find me, in this place of many masters. They thought themselves safe, at least against my kind of peril. And they were right—for now.

I looked toward the main dais, where the queen sat, smiling at something one of her courtier’s had said.

I was after bigger prey.

---

Jolt, jolt, jolt.

Duck, bend, augghh!

Jolt, jolt, jolt.

I woke up to the sensation of being carried . . . painfully . . . somewhere I couldn’t see. Because I couldn’t see anything. The only light came from little squares of haze that broke the blackness here and there, but they flashed by so quickly that they didn’t help much. In fact, it was mostly the opposite: they acted like strobes in a nightclub, brightening things just enough to fool my eyes and make me dizzy.

And I was already dizzy enough.

Damn it, what was happening?

I struggled the rest of the way back to consciousness, cursing the darkness. But then a bullet whizzed by and sparked off the floor in front of us, and I decided I didn’t mind so much. And then it didn’t matter, because whoever was carrying me made a movement so fast that, even as part of it, I couldn’t follow.

And, suddenly, we were running through light.

Not bright light. Most of it was provided by huge candelabras dripping wax everywhere and looking creepy. But they showed me enough to realize that Louis-Cesare was carrying me, that we’d just darted out of one of the hidden passages around here, and that we were currently tearing through a library.

And that somebody was shooting at us.

Make that a lot of somebodies.

Annnnd I was caught up.

“Put me down,” I told him, struggling.

“In a moment.”

“Why? What are you waiting for?”

“That,” he said, as we burst into a narrow hallway and leapt over a line of masters who’d just knelt in front of us.

I thought I recognized one of them.

“Mircea’s?”

“Mircea’s.”

I craned my neck around, because we were now running down the hall, so fast that it was almost a blur. But I was in time to see another squad of vamps—the ones who I guess had been following us—get held up the hard way. The two groups crashed together as we rushed in the other direction, into another room, through a fireplace, down a passageway, and out—

Into Mircea’s suite of rooms.

I knew them because I’d been here before. What I didn’t know was that they’d gotten an upgrade. Or maybe the portal swirling on the far wall had always been here, because trust Mircea to have a plan B—and C and D and E—for every occasion.

Except this one, because I wasn’t going in there.

“Let me down—”

Louis-Cesare wasn’t letting me down.

I twisted and managed to get loose, hit the edge of a table, and bounce off onto the floor.

Oh yeah.

That was fun.

“Dory!” Louis-Cesare grabbed me again, blue eyes wild. “We need to get you out of here!”

“We need to get me to the consul,” I snarled, ripping off the sheet. Which was covered in blood from a wound in my side, thanks to a certain curly-haired bastard. Who was going to rue the fucking day.

“You can kill Kit later,” Louis-Cesare told me.

“I plan to!”

“And Mircea can deal with Dorina,” he continued, as I felt around for an exit wound.

Found one, lucky me. And not through anything vital. So it was just blood loss I really couldn’t afford right now that was making me feel like shit.

I ripped up the sheet and started a basic field dressing.

“Listen to me!” Louis-Cesare caught my upper arms, and shook me.

“Cut it out!”

“Then explain to me why I shouldn’t pick you up and throw you through that portal, whether you like it or not!”

I looked up. “You do and I swear—”

“Quoi?” He spread his arms, blue eyes flashing. “What are you going to do? What do you think would be worse for me than seeing you riddled with bullets?”

I stared at him, because he looked genuinely angry, which he almost never was with me. And genuinely afraid, which he wasn’t with anybody. And genuinely gorgeous, and fuck it—I’d had a hard day.

I surged up and kissed him, and for a brief second, he was into it. Before breaking away and glaring at me. And cussing inventively in French, which was never a good sign.

“Lord Mircea can deal with this!” he repeated furiously.

“Can he?” I panted, pulling the dressing tight. “You sure?”

“His specialty is the mind!”

“So is Dorina’s. And he couldn’t detect her before, when she was just a kid and used to follow him around Venice for shits and giggles. He didn’t know she was there until she said something.”

Louis-Cesare frowned. “That was a long time ago. He is more powerful now—” He caught my expression. “And do not say that she is, too!”

“Okay, I won’t say it.” I tied off the bandage and looked around for weapons. And didn’t find any. Damn it!

Fine, we’d do it the hard way.

An iron fist gripped my arm. “You are not going out there!”

“The consul is a poisonous bitch, possibly literally,” I told him. “But if she dies, the war effort descends into chaos while those other bastards fight over a successor. And they will. You know they will.”

My brilliant appeal to logic did not appear to have much effect. “What I know is that you’re in no condition to do anything about it! Neither of us is.”

I looked him over. He had a point. “So what’s your plan?”

He gestured at the portal. “That! Get out, get you to a healer, and let your father handle this. I’ve already sent him the information. He knows Dorina is a danger.”

“He’s known that for five hundred years.” I walked over to the portal, swirling in the wall. It was a powerful one; I could feel the pull from here. I looked back at him. “Where does this go, again?”

He joined me, looking relieved. “Lord Mircea’s home in Washington State.”

“And we can get back afterward? Once this is over?”

“Yes, it works both ways. As long as the shield isn’t up.”

He glanced at a little button on the wall. Guess that was the shield. “Good to know,” I said, and shoved him through the swirling light before slamming my fist down on the button.

All right, then.

Or it was.

Until an arm snaked through the portal and grabbed me, jerking me in.

After a furious trip through a vortex of color and light, I landed in a posh office I was too pissed to take in right now, where a lying bastard of a vampire was trying to—

“Oh, no, you don’t!”

I pushed him away from what I was pretty sure was the portal’s control panel, and he went staggering back into a bookshelf. It fell over, making a hell of a racket, and a bunch of vamps ran through the door, guns drawn. And immediately looked confused.

“Thanks,” I told the nearest, and grabbed his gun.

“Urm,” he said.

“Extra clips?”

“I—not on me—”

“Hit the kill switch, damn you!” Louis-Cesare snarled at them, even as he went for it himself.

Before he could reach it, I dove back through the portal, landing hard on the other side—with someone’s hand around my ankle.

And was promptly jerked back, my body feeling like candy at a continent-spanning taffy pull, until it popped out the other side again.

“Son of a bitch motherfucker!”

“Language,” Louis-Cesare said grimly, from down near my foot.

I kicked him in the mouth.

I felt bad doing it—it was a nice mouth—but I didn’t have time for this.

“I don’t have time for this—let me go!” I yelled, while a line of perturbed-looking vamps just stood around, uselessly. “Grab him!” I told them, because he wasn’t letting go. “And get me some extra clips!”

The guy who’d lent me the gun looked conflicted. “Are . . . are you going to use them to shoot Louis-Cesare?”

“Probably not,” I said, broke his hold, dove for the portal, and got tackled again halfway through.

The forward momentum kept us going anyway, landing us back in Mircea’s bedroom—only to find another bunch of vamps in there, and they didn’t look conflicted at all.

Shit!

Of course Marlowe would know there was a portal. And of course he’d send a group to secure it. The sneaky son of a bitch!

I did some bullet riddling, which pissed them off but bought us time, and then Mircea’s boys ran in the door and a trashing of the room commenced. That’s two in one night, I thought dizzily. I’m on a roll.

And then Louis-Cesare dragged me back through the portal again.

“This . . . is getting . . . goddamned . . . old!” I told him, as we rolled around on the floor of an office three thousand miles away.

The Washington State vamps were still just standing there, watching us and looking like they wanted to intervene. But when it was a case of the boss’ daughter and the boss’ nephew, it was a conundrum. I decided to help them out.

“Get in there!” I pointed a toe, which was all I currently had loose, at the portal. “We’re getting our asses kicked!”

And then Louis-Cesare grabbed me the wrong way, I screamed, and he let go—for half a second. But that was enough. I slipped out of his grip, flung myself through the portal, and arrived in time to see—

Fuck!

We were getting our asses kicked!

But then the cavalry arrived, bursting through the portal behind me with a yell, followed by a furious ex-boyfriend who was stunning when he was angry.

And right then, he was livid.

He snatched up one of Marlowe’s guys and threw him at a window, only we didn’t have a window. “We. Are going. To bed!” he roared at me, loudly enough for everyone to stop fighting for a second and stare at him.

“Not in front of the children,” I said, snatched a nice Persian carpet from under his feet, and watched the portal grab him when he fell backward.

And then I grabbed one of Mircea’s guys. “Controls?”

He pointed at a desk.

I slammed my hand down on the actual button, shot one of Marlowe’s guys in the face, and ran out the door.

Knowing Louis-Cesare, I’d just bought myself maybe thirty seconds.

I intended to use them.