Claimed by Shadow

Chapter 11

Mac choked on the contents of the flask he'd been sipping from, and then all but confirmed it." "That's neither here nor there!" he gasped as soon as he got his breath back. Marlowe didn't even look at him; his eyes were fixed squarely on me.

"I take it this is news?" he asked.

"Tell me.”

"Cassie, you can't believe anything one of them says. It's all rubbish-" Mac began, but I cut him off.

"I'm too tired to debate this, Mac," I said, and the weariness in my voice was genuine. All I wanted was to find a soft patch of moss, one that wasn't too damp and was free of moving tree parts, and sleep for about twelve hours. I was mentally and physically near exhaustion, and my emotional state wasn't all that great, either. But Marlowe was right-I needed to hear mis. I could decide whether to believe it later.

Marlowe didn't need a second prompt. "We wondered why a demon hunter had been assigned as the Circle's liaison to us. There are plenty of vampire experts available and many of them are far more… diplomatic… than John Pritkin. The timing was also suspicious, with the Circle removing their old liaison and substituting Pritkin only hours before you were brought in. It was as if they knew you were coming and wanted him to be there.”

"They hoped he'd mistake me for a demon and kill me," I said. This was old news, something Mircea had figured out early on. It had almost worked. Pritkin didn't know much about vamps, but he was an expert on demons. And some of my powers, especially possession, had made him very suspicious.

"I heard that theory, but it seemed strange that the Circle would simply assume you would do something to alarm Pritkin enough for him to attack you. Had things gone the way we planned-had you not escaped and Tomas not betrayed us-it would have been a quiet evening." I fidgeted at this evaluation of my first meeting with the Senate, which had been anything but quiet from the start, but didn't interrupt. "I thought there might be more to the story," he continued, "and began a discreet inquiry.”

"You don't know anything," Mac said vehemently.

Marlowe raised an eyebrow, the look on his face one a king might have bestowed on a peasant who tracked mud across his castle floor. "On the contrary, I know a good deal. For instance, I know Pritkin has at least a thousand kills to his credit, and probably more. I know that he's the man the Circle turns to when they want to make absolutely certain someone ends up dead. I know that he is famous for using unorthodox tactics to bring down his prey"-he gave me an arch look-"like having one mark help him to locate another-”

Mac uttered an expletive. "Don't listen to him, Cassie." He paused to stomp on a root that had been trying to curl around my ankle. It slunk off into the forest, but I had no doubt it would be back. I felt a strong yearning for an axe. "You may not know us, but you do know vamps. They lie more than they breathe. John's a good man.”

Marlowe let out a contemptuous laugh. "Tell his victims that!" He glanced at me, as if trying to gauge my reaction to his news, but I'd hit that washed-out sensation that comes from too much exertion in too little time. I couldn't manage to make myself care very much if Pritkin wanted me dead. It wasn't exactly a novel idea; I'd been operating on that assumption all along.

I started searching through Mac's backpack for some dry socks. I'd had a pair in my duffle, but Mac must not have bothered to pack them. It's a clue that you are hanging with the wrong crowd when you have beer, guns and about a ton of ammunition, but no clean clothes.

Marlowe looked slightly put out that his bombshell wasn't causing the uproar he'd expected, but he continued nonetheless. "You've entrusted yourself to Pritkin's care, but you know virtually nothing about him! The Circle has obviously sent him to kill you.”

"This is a perfect example of what vamps do, Cassie!" Mac thundered. "They cobble together some half-truths that leave them looking lily-white and the rest of us covered in shite!”

"He needs your help to find the other rogue," Marlowe told me earnestly, ignoring Mac. "But as soon as he has her, you're dead. Unless you let us assist you. The Senate only wants-”

"-to control your every move!" Mac broke in. "Cassie, I swear to you, John was appalled when he found out what the Circle intends. They've gone power-mad! Even if they get their way and both you and Myra die, they can't be sure their chosen initiate will become Pythia. There are hundreds, possibly thousands, of unknown, untrained clairvoyants in the world. What if it went to one of them? And what if the Black Circle found her first?”

I smiled slightly. "Better the devil you know, huh?" Mac looked somewhat appalled at what he'd let slip, but it was exactly because he hadn't made a rousing speech in my favor that I tended to believe him.

I glanced at Marlowe. "Mac has a point. Pritkin was declared a rogue himself today for protecting me, and was almost killed in the bargain. Seems kind of extreme for someone who is only setting me up.”

"He is known for such tactics," Marlowe said, waving it off. He gazed at me intently, his eyes practically radiating sincerity. "Cassie, we have no desire to manipulate you. Our aim is to offer you an alternative to domination by the mages. That has been the fate of Pythias for generations, but it doesn't have to be yours. We can-”

I held up a hand, both because I didn't want to hear it and to keep Mac, who had grown dangerously red in the face, from going ballistic. "Save it, Marlowe. I know the truth. And I don't intend to be dominated by anyone.”

"You know what you've been told," he replied urgently. "And you will need allies, Cassie. No great leader has ever ruled entirely alone. Elizabeth has gone down in history as a magnificent queen, which she was, but one of her chief talents was choosing able people to advise her. She was great partly because those around her were great. You cannot remain isolated. You will not be able to work that way. In the long term-”

"I'm not real interested in the long term right now, Marlowe." I was just trying to live through the day.

"In time, you will come to understand that you need allies, and the Senate will be there. Unlike the mages, we want to work with you, not control your every decision.”

"Uh-huh. Which is why Mircea put the dúthracht on me?" There were a lot of things I wasn't clear on, but that one was crystal. The geis wasn't used to advise; it was used to control. The look on Marlowe's face said he knew that.

"We will find a way to break it," he promised. "And in the meantime, the Senate offers you its protection." I rolled my eyes and Mac snorted.

"Yeah," he said contemptuously, "just substitute 'prison' for 'protection' and-”

"You might wish to consider," Marlowe said smoothly, "that despite Lord Mircea's lapse of judgment, the Senate has protected you in the past. Whereas the facts make only one conclusion possible: the mages want their candidate on the Pythia's throne and will stop at nothing to see her there-including your death.”

"Another lie!" Mac surged to his feet.

He looked angry enough to go for Marlowe's throat, but he didn't get the chance. I heard a rustling sound and, quicker than I could blink, the roots that had been bugging me all day wrapped themselves securely around Mac. He tried to say something, but I couldn't make it out. Within seconds, only his outraged eyes showed over a coil of ropelike roots, some of them as big as my arm. Struggling seemed useless, although he appeared to be trying anyway.

Marlowe was in much the same predicament, but he sat quietly, making no attempt to resist. I noticed that, despite Marlowe being the stronger of the two, he was bound less tightly than Mac, with roots coming up only to his chest. Maybe the less you fought them, the less tightly they held you. I followed his example, hoping that they'd continue to ignore me. Then I realized they weren't the only problem.

"We are not spies," Marlowe said loudly, apparently to thin air.

"You are in our land without permission," came the answer; "therefore, you are whatever we say you are.”

"Who are you?" an imperious voice demanded. A dolllike creature flew out from behind Marlowe to hover in front of my face. It was about two feet long, with a mass of fiery red hair and a huge span of bright green wings. It took me a moment to place it-her-as the pixie I'd seen a week before at Dante's. Then she'd only been about eight inches high, but it wasn't like I could be mistaken. She was the first member of the Fey I'd ever seen, and the image sort of sticks with you.

"Don't give her your name!" Marlowe said urgently. The pixie frowned at him and a large root with a knot on it shoved its way between his lips. It's a good thing vampires don't need to breathe, because more roots followed, twining around his face so thickly that only a shock of brown curls could be seen. He was gagged so effectively that it didn't look like I'd be getting any more help.

"I'm the Pythia," I said, deciding that a title might be better than my name. As far as I knew, it couldn't be used in enchantments. "We met before, at Dante's, if you-”

"I'll be rewarded highly for this," she said, ignoring my attempt to trade on our brief acquaintance. "Seize them." A large party of shaggy things burst out of the trees, clubs and hide-wrapped shields at the ready. I don't know why they bothered with weapons-the stench coming off them in waves was enough to incapacitate anybody.

A couple of very odd-looking things converged on me. It looked like two gruesome trees had uprooted themselves and decided to go for a walk. The closest had a more or less human form, if humans were commonly four feet tall and at least as wide. But his hair was the color of the lichen on the roots, a bright flaming red despite the dirt that caked it, and his eyes were the same dung yellow as his teeth. He had skin as gnarled and pitted as old bark, and its color exactly matched the loamy forest floor. He was wearing only a small loin covering of oak leaves, which was almost hidden by the folds of his enormous belly.

His partner had him by about a foot in height but wasn't nearly as wide. Filthy gray hair trailed down to his knees, with the look and consistency of Spanish moss. Stringy muscles stood out on impossibly long arms covered in greenish gray skin. His body resembled a cragged tree trunk more than a living being, with knobby extensions all over like stunted branches. Instead of clothing he had long strings of dirty gray moss and a few ferns that appeared to sprout directly from his flesh.

I clapped a hand over my nose and wished that I, too, didn't have to breathe. "What are they?”

"Dark Fey," Marlowe managed to say. "Giants and oak men." The roots had withdrawn as quickly as they had come, baring him to the shoulders. I realized why when a ten-foot giant strode forward and knocked him in the temple with a club the size of a small tree. Marlowe sighed. "It's always the head," he murmured, then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed.

I backed away, lifting my hands to show how harmless I was. Unfortunately, it was the truth. The pack with my gun in it was too far away to reach and I had no other weapons. The shorter one laughed and said something in a guttural language I couldn't understand. Judging by his expression, that was probably just as well. I backed away as they stalked forward, trying to keep an eye on them and also on the root-strewn trail. It didn't work, and I ended up sprawled in me scattered leaves. As soon as I was down, roots wrapped around my wrists, trapping me. The next moment, the taller thing was on me, his breath like a ripe compost heap in my face.

"Cassie!" I heard Mac's voice and looked up in time to see him slide through the weakened hold of the roots and sprint for me. Everything seemed to slow down, the way it does when you see what's about to happen but can't stop it. The roots dove for him, and before I could draw breath enough to scream, one had pierced him like a living spear. All I could do was lie there and watch as he twisted in pain, a wooden limb as sharp as a knife erupting from the flesh of his upper thigh. He wavered and went down hard, dropping to his knees as I finally managed to scream.

I felt rough fingers on my legs; then they found the fastening of my shorts and broke the zipper in their haste to get them off. I barely noticed, watching in horror as Mac writhed on the ground, trying to pull out the wooden mass that had pierced his thigh. He managed to get the slender spike out with steady hands, ignoring the abrupt wash of blood that stained his clothes, but another immediately wound itself around his neck, choking him.

"No! Leave him alone-you're killing him!”

The roots either didn't understand or didn't care. The creature on top of me yanked at me gaping material of my shorts, baring my upper thighs, then in one swift movement jerked them halfway down my legs. I kicked at him, but it was like hitting wood instead of living flesh and I don't think he even noticed. I looked around wildly for help, but Tomas' limp form was being shoved less than gently into a large sack. And although Marlowe had regained consciousness, he was being held down by three giants while another tried to get a sack over his head.

Mac had managed to get the root loose and was struggling one-handed to unwind it from around his neck. His other hand was held over the ragged wound in his leg, which had already drenched the ground beneath him as if it had nicked an artery. But at least the other roots had backed off. If he wasn't struggling, he didn't seem to interest them. I could only hope he'd stay down, and maybe play dead before he really was.

I realized in a rush of adrenaline that I was on my own, and that none of my usual defenses would work here. My bracelet was no more than a decoration, and my ward was useless. Sheba had disappeared after attacking the Consul, and the geis was silent. Either its power didn't work in Faerie, or these creatures were too alien for it to recognize them as threats. My amulet might have helped, but it was caught under my shirt and I couldn't reach it with my arms stretched over my head.

The skinny creature tore the shorts the rest of the way off and flung them aside while the fat one started pawing at my top. The tank was a stretchy knit that resisted tearing, and his clumsy fingers couldn't seem to get it off. He paused to lick my face as if tasting me, and a rope of saliva dripped from his mouth onto my cheek. It slowly trickled down my neck, cold and viscous, completely unlike bodily fluids are supposed to be. I tried to scream but got only a mouthful of grimy, foul-tasting hair instead of air.

I was temporarily blinded to what was happening, trapped under the suffocating mass on his head, but I felt the tug of fabric and the sudden shock of air against me when my panties were ripped away. I tried to shift, at that moment not caring about the consequences, but although I felt a deep, sluggish pull of my power, it wasn't enough. I couldn't grasp hold, and it remained a lifeline hovering just out of reach.

I turned my face as far toward the path as I could, desperate to find some air, and then I saw it. One weapon did remain nearby, if not exactly within my grasp. The rune must have fallen out of my shorts when they were thrown into the bushes, and it was so small that no one had noticed. It lay tantalizingly near my head, a pale sliver of bone half buried in damp leaves. But although it was only inches away, I had no way to grab it.

While I struggled to figure out how to cross those few inches, two slender but strong roots wrapped around my ankles and started twining upwards. When they reached my knees, they began pulling outward. The living bonds curled up to my thighs, biting into the skin as they brutally forced my legs so wide that, for a minute, I thought they meant to tear me in two. They finally stopped when my hips would give no further. I tried to fight, but nothing I did made the slightest difference, and my rising panic made it almost impossible to think. A stick bearing a few bright green leaves tumbled through the air from high above and landed on my face, a whisper of a caress, while the things above me started to wrestle over who would get to rape me first.

It was a short fight. The skinny one picked up his companion and threw him against a tree, the branches of which trapped him in a wooden embrace, like a cage. Then he turned and fell on me. Two coarse, knotted hands grabbed my shoulders painfully and I stared up into flat gray eyes that had nothing human in them. He wriggled down my body, his tough, uneven skin scraping against mine except where the tank protected me.

I ignored the pain his movements were causing and grabbed the stick, my only tool, in my mouth. My eyes zeroed in on the thong threaded through the top of the bone disk, despite the fact that it was brown and barely poked out of the scattered leaves. I knew I might get only one chance at this, and I had to concentrate. I managed to get the end of the stick through the small loop and began trying to work it closer. If I could get it to touch my skin or even just my aura, it might be enough. Then I heard a squelch, and something slick and clammy nudged my belly. I froze.

It felt like something old that had been left underground to rot for a very long time, spongy and moist and bloated. But it moved sluggishly, twitching against my lower stomach. I couldn't see anything except my attacker's shoulder and the small patch of path, but my brain conjured up images of an enormous white grub or a fist-sized slug. When its chill dampness slithered eagerly between my legs, I swear my heart stopped.

I was so paralyzed with horror that I just lay there as the inhuman thing swelled against me, like a rotten fruit about to burst. Its sodden cold raised goose bumps across my entire body as it leeched away my heat, numbing me as if an icicle was being rubbed over sensitive areas. Through the shudder-inducing revulsion, I understood that the horrible gelatinous shifting was it changing forms, trying to find one compatible with my body. But the one it came up with bore no resemblance to human virility. It suddenly grew firmer, its slimy consistency congealing into a fat, rigid shape as unyielding as a wooden stake. If the thing pierced me, I knew I wouldn't survive, that it would eat my heat and replace it with its damp chill. The green man, some part of my brain recalled: the old Celtic peoples had sacrificed one of their own to the land, so it would grow rich and fertile off his flesh. Only it looked like this forest preferred a green woman.

When the parody of an organ began to thrust, the action so very male, so very human, my paralysis broke. I screamed and jerked my head in a violent negative motion. I hadn't planned it, had almost forgotten what I'd been doing, but the action caused something small and hard to land on my cheek. My crossed eyes identified it as the rune disk and my heart started up again. I wasn't sure how to cast it, wasn't convinced that it would work at all. But I screamed the name inside my head because my mouth didn't seem to work.

I don't know whether that was the right procedure, but it did the trick. Sort of. With no warning, I found myself, not twenty minutes back in time, but maybe two. The oak men were coming for me, and Mac was leaping to intercept them, so focused on saving me that he didn't see the roots straightening themselves into spears, coming for him. I didn't hesitate this time, but yelled a warning and fled down the path towards his discarded backpack.

I was sobbing now that I could breathe freely again, and my hands were shaking so hard that I wasn't sure I'd be able to get the pack open. The shorter creature reached me when I had only one buckle undone. He grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled, and he must have had better leverage on his feet because this time, the tank ripped. My amulet tumbled into view, jostling Billy's necklace for space between my breasts, and my attacker let out a screech and jumped back. He cradled the hand that had brushed against the charm as if it had been burned, and a black mark appeared on his skin in the shape of the rowan cross. I plunged my hand into the half-open pack and finally clutched the gun.

I am not the world's greatest shot. In fact, I suck. But even I don't usually miss when my targets are three feet away. I didn't worry about aiming, just let off a barrage of bullets that splintered the barklike skin of the oak men as if I was firing at actual wood. The taller let out a squeal and took off down the trail, while his fat companion huddled on the ground, hands over his mossy head. The iron bullets obviously caused them pain, but although they were oozing a syrupy substance from every wound, they were both alive and moving when my clip ran out. I stared at them in disbelief; what did it take to stop one of these things?

The coat Pritkin had given me was lying nearby, where I had dropped it alongside the pack when we stopped to rest. But I had no time to search for the right bullets. The short Fey realized that I had stopped shooting and grabbed for me. I flattened the rowan charm against his forehead, pushing it into his skin as hard as I could. The flesh around it immediately turned black and start smoking, giving off a smell exactly like a burning campfire.

He tore away from me, clutching his head and screaming. I don't know whether he would have tried again, because the pixie suddenly appeared and, despite the fact that he was momentarily incapacitated, slapped him with the flat of her sword. The blow must have been more forceful than it looked, because he went sailing into the forest until he was stopped by an overhanging limb. He hit the ground hard, unconscious or worse. I didn't wait to find out, my only thought to get to Mac.

Huge hands descended on me at the same time that a scream reverberated through the forest. I looked down the path in time to see a root as large as a small tree erupt from the scarred ground right under Mac's feet. Time seemed to stop-I couldn't even feel my heart beating anymore-and then everything suddenly sped up. The root ripped out of the ground, piercing Mac through the center of his back. "No," I breathed, but no one heard, no one cared. Mac's body strained upward until his spine left the grass completely, his fingers digging into the hard-packed dirt, then the root burst out of his torso in a great gush of blood.

The pixie nodded once to the guards and they released me. I shot down the path, but Mac was already limp by the time I reached him, sightless eyes staring up without recognition. "Mac," I shook the unresponsive body gently. "Mac, please…”

Unresisting, his head lolled to the side just as a shower of gold hit the dark ground. My blood ran cold when I realized what had happened. Mac's wards had solidified and fallen away, leaving the skin between the unmoving leaves as pink and unmarked as a newborn's. I picked up one of the small shapes with a shaking hand. It was the tiny lizard, frozen in midleap. Next to my knee was a snake as long as my arm, uncurled from its usual place around his neck. And beside his ruined chest lay an eagle the size of my hand.

I stared at them numbly, knowing what it meant that his wards had deserted him, but not willing to let my brain shape the word. A deafening din rose up from the assembled spectators, but I didn't even look up at the screeching and howling. Until the roots came back.

If I had thought there were a lot before, I was instantly reminded how many are needed to feed even a small tree. They were suddenly everywhere, shooting out of the forest, erupting from the ground, diving from the underbrush. A few paused to leech Mac's blood from the spreading puddle that had almost covered the path, but most dove for him like hungry sharks. The flailing mass flogged my body like bark-covered whips, while the earth around Mac boiled with activity. Dozens of roots wrapped around him, binding him, as thick as a shroud. Then a huge knotted specimen slammed into my stomach, driving the air out of my lungs. I fell to my knees, and when I looked again, Mac had disappeared. The only sign that anything had happened was the golden wards that stuck up here and there out of the churned-up dirt.

The pixie said something to the lumbering giant standing behind her. He would have made a couple dozen of her, but he moved at her command without question. His bulk coming towards me down the path was the last thing I saw before the world went black and I realized that I'd been stuffed into a sack. I remember being slung over someone's back; then my brain shut down completely and I fell into darkness.

I awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for air, my heart hammering in my side. I stared into absolute blackness in dry-mouthed terror. I was sure something was about to grab me and that it would all start again. But minutes passed and nothing happened, and I couldn't hear any breaths except my own labored ones. My chest hurt as though I'd run for miles and I wanted nothing more than to curl around the pain until it vanished, but I couldn't afford the luxury. I had to find out where I was, had to know what had happened.

By feel I discovered that I was on a crudely made cot in a stone cell, naked, with only a short, scratchy wool blanket as a covering. I guess the tank top hadn't been worth saving. I was thick-headed, bleary-eyed and trembling with the memory of what had almost happened. I examined myself, but other than being bruised, grubby and severely shaken, I seemed to be okay, although the welts the roots had given me throbbed in time with the eagle's claw mark on my hand, making it feel like my rapid heartbeat was echoing throughout my body.

More than anything, I wanted a bath. I groped around until I found a large bucket of water that had been left by the door along with a sponge, a bar of homemade soap and a towel. The floor was bare except for a little straw that had leaked from a tear in the mattress, and there was a drain in the center of the slightly sloping stones. I threw off the blanket and scrubbed my skin until it was raw in places and I couldn't smell anything but the sharp tang of the soap.

I tipped the rest of the water over my head, but despite all my efforts I didn't feel clean. I toweled off, trying not to think about Mac, but it was impossible. The Fey must have gathered up his charms and brought them along, because they were in a pile on the end of the cot, recognizable by their shapes, but cold and lifeless under my hands. I wondered if they were supposed to be some kind of message- a reminder of how helpless our best magic was here. If so, I didn't need it.

I still felt disoriented and could not quite believe what I'd just seen. But the image was seared onto my eyes. I could hear Mac's last scream, see his fingers clawing at the ground, seeking a weapon he didn't have because he'd given his only Fey charm to me.

And I'd lost it.

I tried to summon my power again, but although I could feel it like a great wave beating against a seawall, it couldn't quite reach me. Maybe there was a way of compensating for the dampening effect but if so I couldn't figure it out. Now that my eyes had adjusted, I could see a faint light outlining the cell's door, so dim that when I blinked it disappeared. As far as escape went, it didn't help, and there wasn't a lot of inspiration in the bare cell. Other than the cot, there was no furniture, and except for the heavy, locked door and a high, barred window, there was no way out. I wrapped the blanket around me in lieu of clothes and dragged the cot over a few feet, wincing at the sound it made on the stones. When I clambered on top, I could just reach the windowsill, but when I felt around with my fingertips, I found only dust and what felt like a dead spider. No moon or stars were visible, but by feel I discovered that the bars were metal and as big around as my wrist.

I sat back down on the cot and wrapped my arms around me to keep from shivering in the chill night air. Bathing and checking out escape possibilities had given my brain something to do, but now it kept trying to go back to the horror in the forest. The more I tried not to think about Mac, the more the other images crowded my mind. I could smell the awful breath in my face, see the hunger in their expressions and feel that decayed mass squirming between my legs, seeking, thrusting, invading.

Despite my efforts, I was shivering anyway, so much that my teeth started to chatter. I used anger to push away the panic, to let me draw a deep breath, to let me think. I was alone and defenseless, and I hated it. Fear was an old companion, familiar in its way, but this wasn't fear. What I was feeling went beyond words, a bone-deep chill and a certainty that, even if I survived, I would never feel secure again.

I drew the blanket further around me, but it did little good. The cold that permeated me didn't come from the outside. I walked up and down the confines of the cell anyway, trying to force circulation into my icy center. It didn't warm me, but it did clear my head. I could examine my mistakes later. I could grieve later. Right now, I had to get out of here. And, somehow, I had to make sure that I was never, ever this helpless again.

I was about to try to access my power one more time when I heard a familiar, off-key voice from somewhere nearby. "I'll take you home again, Kathleen, across the ocean wild and wide," it warbled mournfully. It was faint and slurred, but unmistakable.

"Billy!" I almost cried in relief.

The singing stopped abruptly. "Cassie, me darlin'. I've got one for ya. I thought it up at the pub.”

There once was a ghost name of Billy,

Who got in a jam rather silly,

He found a beautiful lass

And quick made a pass

Forgetting he only had mist for a willy.

"Where are we?" I yelled. "What's going on?" The only answer I got was a rousing chorus of "The Belle of Belfast City." Trust Billy to make me want to strangle him when he wasn't even in the same room. "You're drunk!”

"That I am," he agreed, "but I'm conscious, which is more than I can say for my orange friend, here. Can't hold his liquor, poor sod.”

"Billy!”

"All right, Cass. Hold your horses and good old Billy will tell the tale. We've been taken by the Dark Fey. They snatched me out of a lovely pub and threw me in this dank hole, with only himself for company, to wait on the king's pleasure.”

I sagged in relief. At least we weren't going to be beheaded in the morning or something equally medieval. That bought the others some time to find us, assuming they were still free. "Where is everyone?" I hoped they were doing better than me, or we were in a lot of trouble.

"Pritkin and Marlowe are trying to convince the captain of the guard-a nasty pixie-to let us go, but I don't know how well they're doing." He paused, then asked in a different tone. "Hey, Cass. What do you think would happen to me if I got killed here? They don't have any ghosts, have you noticed?”

I thought of Mac, his face sagging in death, his eyes dull. If there had been a sign of a ghost, a flare or spark anywhere around him, I hadn't noticed. A new wash of chills spread over me. My God, what had we done?

"What if I didn't come back?" Billy was saying, "What if that was it-I died and there was no loophole this time? What if-”

"Billy!" I tried to keep the hysterical note out of my voice, but I wasn't entirely successful. I swallowed and tried again. "You aren't going to die, Billy. We'll get out of this." I said it as much to reassure myself as to quiet him, but I don't think it worked for either of us.

I heard a jangle of keys outside my cell, and the huge door swung open on ancient hinges. I was almost blinded by the lantern light that flooded the room, but blinking through my fingers, I made out who the guard was carrying. "Tomas!”

The guard, who was only about five feet tall, carried the six-foot-something vampire as if he was weightless. He dropped his burden on me bunk and turned to me, and for the first time I noticed the boar's tusks protruding from his wide mouth. Ogre, some part of my brain piped up as he thrust a stubby finger in my chest and grunted. His voice sounded like gravel being rolled over by a tank, and if it was supposed to contain words, I couldn't understand them.

"He want that you heal him," came a voice from the doorway. Behind the bulk of the jailer stood a slim brunette wearing an elaborate green dress covered in red embroidery. It took me a second to place her.

"Françoíse?" It was bizarre. Every time I turned around, there she was. The first time we met had been in seventeenth century France, when Tomas and I had saved her from the Inquisition. Then she'd turned up again at Dante's with the pixie, where she was about to be sold to the Fey. I'd released her, but it looked like Destiny snapped at her heels as closely as it did at mine, because here she was anyway. "What are you doing here?" I asked, bewildered.

"You and le monsieur 'elped me once," she answered quickly. "I 'ave come, 'ow do you say? To return the favor.”

"What about the others?" I asked quickly, "I came with a group-”

"Oui, je sais. The mage, 'ee make a deal with Radella. She is captain of the night guard, une grande baroudeuse, a warrior of skill.”

"What kind of deal?”

"The mage 'ave a rune of power. Radella has long searched for such. Above all, she want a child, but is inféconde, barren. The mage say, 'ee cast it for her, if she aid us.”

"Jera." Damn it if it hadn't come in handy after all.

"C'est ça." She glanced at the ogre, who was looking between the two of us suspiciously. I got the impression that he didn't speak English, at least not well enough to follow the conversation. "They do not know why le vampire will not wake. I tell them you are a great healer-that you can save 'eem.”

"He's in a healing trance. He'll save himself, hopefully.”

"Eet does not matter," she said, smiling and nodding at the ogre. "I want only to 'ave the two of you together, near the portal. I return soon, after the guards change.”

"The portal? But-”

"I weel do what I can," she said as the ogre lumbered past her, apparently deciding the conversation had lasted long enough. "But you must promise to take me with you. Please, I 'ave been here so long…”

"You've been here a week," I said, confused. I wanted to explain that I didn't need the portal. I needed to find Myra, not go right back where I'd started from, especially not with the geis in place and the Senate and Circle both hunting me. Worst of all, if we turned back now, Mac had died for nothing. But the ogre, who had paused to place the lantern on the floor, was now pulling the door shut. Françoise stared at me over his shoulder, looking panicked. "Okay, I promise!" I said. Even a week would feel like an eternity here, and I'd never leave anyone to face what had almost happened to me.

I stood in the middle of the room, hearing the ogre's footsteps echo down the corridor as he walked away. I wanted to check on Tomas but was afraid. What if he was no better? What if he'd never been in a healing trance at all, and we'd been lugging around a corpse?

After a minute, I screwed up my courage and walked across to the cot. Tomas was lying on his back, highlighted by the lantern light, but I couldn't see his chest and abdomen for all the bandages that had been wrapped around him. Someone had done a better job than my hasty efforts-he was practically a mummy from just below his nipples to the tops of his hard-muscled thighs. The bandages were all he was wearing, but I barely noticed because I caught a glimmer of dark eyes behind the slitted lids.

“Tomas!" I bent over him and felt the chill of his skin. That wasn't good. I don't know where the rumor started that vampires are cold. Unless they're starving, they run as hot as a human-after all, it's human blood that feeds them. I stripped off the blanket and tucked it around him, trying to cover as much bare skin as possible.

He smiled and tugged weakly at my hand, pulling me down beside him. There was barely room for the two of us on the narrow cot, but he insisted. "I finally have you naked and in bed, and I'm too tired to do anything about it," he joked. I could have cried with relief.

I stroked the side of his face with my wrist, but he pulled away. He knew what I was offering, and he desperately needed it. I put my wrist back against his cheek and looked at him seriously. "Feed. You won't heal without it.”

"You need your strength.”

"Then don't take much, but heal. I don't know how much time we have." The door to the cell was heavy, but if he'd been at his usual strength, Tomas could have ripped it from its hinges. Under the circumstances, I'd settle for him being able to run or at least walk once Françoise came back. Unlike the ogre, I couldn't carry him.

Tomas looked stubborn, but he must have reached the same conclusion I had, because the next minute I felt a brief pull at my power. It settled into a steady drain as his overtaxed system started to revive, and I sighed slightly in pleasure. The feeding process can be sensual, but this one wasn't. It was warm and comforting, like wrapping up in an old, cuddly blanket on a cold night. It felt familiar, too, and I suddenly remembered another reason I had to be angry with Tomas.

He'd been feeding from me surreptitiously while we roomed together, taking blood through the skin without leaving any telltale marks and with enough of a suggestion to cloud my mind. He'd said it was because he needed to keep track of me-part of his job had been to guarantee my safety and the feedings created a bond-but I still viewed it as a violation. Technically, I could have brought charges against him with the Senate, although that seemed kind of redundant at the moment. They'd happily kill him if they got their hands on him, no additional allegations needed.

He watched me, the lamplight gilding his dark lashes, and a warm languor spread through my veins. I found it increasingly difficult to be angry. After everything that had happened today, a little thing like a minor power drain seemed incredibly unimportant, and the sensation of peace and familiarity was welcome no matter what was causing it. And it wasn't like we had another choice: if Fey blood was anything like their other fluids, I was pretty sure it wouldn't work as vampire food. Tomas would already have fed if so, without anyone knowing.

"You're all right?" I asked as he released me, far too soon for a full feeding. "I didn't know if you were in a healing trance or-”

"I am far from all right, but thanks to you I'll recover." He sounded stronger already, which shouldn't have surprised me. There were only a few hundred first-level masters in the world, and what they could do often seemed miraculous. “There is something about this place," he said wonderingly. "It is as if every moment that passes is an hour of our time. I have never before healed so quickly.”

The answer to a riddle that had been bugging me for two days suddenly clicked into place. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it earlier. If Myra had been hiding in Faerie, land of the radically unpredictable timeline, then instead of having a week to heal from her injuries, she could have had months, even years. No wonder she'd looked good!

Tomas kissed the side of my head, the only thing he could reach, and looked at me somberly. "You should not have come back for me-it was a terrible risk. You must promise never to do it again.”

"I won't have to," I said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. It was always so beautiful, long and black and as soft as a child's. I picked a few leaves out of it with a slightly trembling hand. I was so glad to see him alive that I felt giddy. "We'll find some way to hide you from the Senate.”

Tomas was shaking his head before I even finished speaking. "Beautiful Cassie," he murmured. "It has been a very long time since anyone was willing to risk themselves for me. Very few ever have. I will remember what you tried to do.”

"I told you, we'll find somewhere for you to hide. The Senate won't find you!”

He laughed slightly, then stopped abruptly as if it hurt.

"Do you not understand? They did not find me this time. I went back to them, to him. I thought I could fight it, but I was wrong.”

I didn't have to ask who he meant. Louis-Cesar, on loan to the Consul from the European Senate, was Tomas' master. He had defeated Tomas' original master, the hated Alejandro, in a duel a century ago and then laid claim. Tomas was a first-level master, but even they vary in strength, and Louis-Cesar simply outmatched him. He'd never been able to break the bond between them.

Tomas shuddered lightly. I couldn't see it, but I could feel the slight tremor against me. "Every moment, I heard him, an endless voice, deep in my head driving me half mad! I could never relax, not for a moment. I knew as soon as I did, my will would break and I would go crawling back like a beaten dog. I told myself that soon the war would distract him and he would let me go. But tonight I awoke in the Senate's holding cells, and a guard informed me that I had walked into the compound and surrendered myself. Yet I remember nothing of it, Cassie! Nothing!" He shook more violently, a visible shudder passing over his limbs. "He pulled me to him like a puppet. He will do it again.”

I was confused. "You mean he's calling you now?”

Tomas smiled, and it was blissful. "No. There is something about Faerie-I have not heard him since we arrived. Not having to fend him off has helped me heal, now that I can use all my strength for it. I had not completely repaired lesser injuries than these in a week with his call draining me, but in this brief time my wounds are closed.”

"You can't hear him here?”

"For the first time in a century, I am free of him," he said, and his voice held awe, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "I have no master." He looked at me, and there was a fierce joy in his face. "For four and a half centuries, I was someone's slave! My master's voice controlled me completely, until I thought I would never break free!" He stared around the dank little cell in wonder. "But here, none of our rules seem to apply.”

I felt my eyes start to burn. "Yeah, I noticed." If our magic worked here, Mac would have wiped the floor with the Fey.

"What is it?”

I shook my head. I didn't want to think about it, much less talk. But suddenly everything came pouring out of me anyway. It took me less than half an hour to bring him up to speed on what had been happening since we last met. That seemed wrong somehow, that so much pain could be summed up in so few words. Not that Tomas seemed to understand.

"MacAdam was a warrior. He understood the risks. You all did.”

I looked at him bleakly. "Yes, which is why he wasn't supposed to come with us. That was never the plan.”

Tomas shrugged. "Plans change in battle. Every warrior knows this.”

"You didn't know him, or you wouldn't sound so… indifferent!" I snapped.

His eyes flashed. "I am not indifferent, Cassie. The mage helped to bring me here, to get me away from the Senate. I owe him much that I will never be able to repay. But at least I can honor the sacrifice he made without belittling him.”

"I'm not belittling him!”

"Aren't you?" Tomas held my eyes without flinching. "He was an old warrior. He had experience and courage and he knew his own mind. And he died for something he believed in-you. You do him no honor by questioning his judgment now.”

"His judgment got him killed! He should have stayed down." And I should have searched for Myra on my own. I'd said that no one else was going to die because of me, yet here I was, adding another mark to my body count. "He shouldn't have believed in me. No one should.”

"And why not?" Tomas looked genuinely confused.

I let out a half-bitter, half-hysterical laugh. "Because getting close to me is a one-way ticket to trouble. You ought to know." Tomas had brought a lot of his problems on himself, but I had to wonder whether he would have made those same bad decisions if he had never met me.

Tomas shook his head. "You take too much on yourself, Cassie. Not everything is your fault, not every crisis is yours to solve.”

"I know that!" But however much I might like to think otherwise, I was to blame for what had happened to Mac. He'd been here because of me, he'd been vulnerable because of me, and ultimately, he'd died because of me.

"Do you?" I felt Tomas' arm slip around me. "Then you've changed." Warm lips ghosted against my hair. "Perhaps I see things clearer, because I've been a warrior longer.”

"I'm not a warrior at all.”

"I thought the same once. But when the Spaniards came to our village, I fought with the rest, to save the corn that would feed us through the winter. I lost many friends then, Cassie. The man who had been like a father to me was taken, and because he would not betray where we had hidden the harvest, they fed him to their dogs, piece by piece. Then they carried off the women and burned the village to the ground.”

He sounded so matter-of-fact about it that I stared. He smiled sadly. "I grieved for him by honoring what he fought for, by keeping our small group together and free.”

He stopped and I knew why. It was one of the few things he'd told me about his life. Alejandro had eventually finished what the conquistadors had begun, by killing Tomas' village in some sort of game. I'd never heard the whole story, only a few small fragments, but I didn't want to make him relive it.

I decided to change the subject. "Louis-César said your mother was a noblewoman. How did you end up in a village?”

"After the conquest, no one was noble, no one commoner. You were either European or nothing. My mother had been a priestess of Inti, the sun god, and had taken a vow of chastity for life, but a conquistador took her as booty after the fall of Cuzco. She had expected to be treated with honor, according to the rules of war, but he knew nothing of our customs and would not have cared if he did. He was merely a farmer's son from Extremadura out to make a fortune, and didn't care much how he did it. She hated him.”

"How did she get away?”

"No one thought she could scale a wall ten feet high when seven months pregnant, and they failed to watch her closely. She got away, but she had no money, and her defilement made her an outcast from her former calling. Not that it mattered. The temple had been plundered and the land was ravaged by disease and war. She fled the capital, where the Spaniards were fighting among themselves, but found things no better in the countryside." Tomas smiled bitterly. “They forgot, you cannot eat gold. Most of the farmers who had not died had run away. Famine was everywhere. Grain became more valuable than the riches the conquistadors had wanted so badly.”

"Yet your mother found a village that would take her in?”

"She hid in her family's chullpa-a crypt where food and offerings were left for mummified ancestors-and one of the palace servants found her. He had long loved her, but the priestesses were considered the wives of Inti. Sleeping with one of them was a terrible crime. The punishment was to be stripped and chained to a wall, and left to starve to death.”

"So he had worshipped from afar?”

Tomas smiled. "Very afar. But he began looking for her as soon as he heard she had escaped. He persuaded her to go away with him to his family's village. It was almost fifty miles from the capital, and so small that they hoped the Spanish would overlook it. They lived there together until I was eight, when she died of smallpox along with half the village.”

"I'm sorry." It seemed there were no safe topics, after all. I fingered the eagle charm that I'd unconsciously picked up. I couldn't volunteer to go back and get Tomas' mother out of danger, before disease carried her away. I couldn't even help my own mother without drastically changing time. For all my supposed power, I didn't seem to be able to do much at all.

Tomas bent over to kiss me gently. His lips were soft and warm, and before I realized it, I was kissing him back. I'd wanted to do that for so long, it seemed as natural as breathing. Just touching him pushed away the memories of the attack, cleansing some part of me the bathwater hadn't been able to reach. Tomas deepened the kiss until I could feel it all the way to my toes, like tendrils of sunshine were curling through me. He tasted like wine, dark and sweet and burning, and I felt like I could never get enough.

But after a moment, I pulled back. It wasn't easy-the geis had recognized Tomas and the Pythia's power agreed that he would do fine to complete the ritual. Their need overrode my aversion to even thinking about intimacy at the moment. I wanted to fill my mind with thoughts and sensations that didn't involve horror and pain. I wanted him to touch me with those long, elegant hands, to have his mouth hot and demanding on mine. The look in his eyes was a caress itself, and an invitation. But the consequences for a few moments of passion would be severe.

Tomas let me go, an expression that I couldn't name flashing across his face. "I'm sorry, Cassie. I know I am not the one you want.”

What could Tomas know about what I wanted? Most of the time, I didn't know myself. "What I want isn't the point," I said, trying to ignore the way his hand was playing along my side from breast to hip, over and over in a lazy, sensual stroke. It made my heart speed up and breathing difficult, like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. Oh, yeah, the geis liked him fine.

"What do you mean?" Tomas' hand stilled on my hip. That was not a great help to my blood pressure. Despite the fact that I had moved back, we were less than a foot apart. I struggled not to look down and failed miserably. The blanket had slipped off the front half of Tomas' body. Long legs shifted in the shadows, and between them was ample evidence of just how recovered he was.

"I can't," I said, trying to remember exactly why that was. My fingers traced a line down his high forehead to the tender eyelids that fluttered closed under my touch, to the proud nose and warm, full lips. It was a perfect profile, burnished bronze in the lamplight like the head on an ancient coin, but his appearance wasn't what had attracted me to him. I'd loved his kindness, his strength and-I'd thought at the time-his honesty. Now I merely craved a warm body and soft skin next to mine, and a face that was familiar and caring.

"You saved my life, Cassie, even though I once put yours at risk. Let me do something for you." Tomas' voice was at its best, whiskey deep and smoky, as if golden liquor had been magically turned into sound. It had always been one of his most attractive features, partly because, unlike the carefully contrived outfits and blatant attempts at seduction, it was unconscious. It was more the real Tomas, and so alluring that I wondered why he'd bothered with the rest. But of course I knew why-because Louis-César had ordered him to, after Mircea decided that he would do to fulfill the ritual. I suppose they'd worried about the possibility of me recognizing one of Mircea's people after so many years at Tony's, where they came and went on a regular basis. But it hadn't been fair to Tomas, and for the first time I wondered whether he'd resented being used.

"I don't see what you can do," I said, "unless you can talk the king into letting us go, or make my power work here.”

Tomas smiled. "Or lift the geis?”