by Karen Chance
It was like a thousand voices speaking at once, each in a different language. But the English words were louder, or maybe they were just louder to me. So loud they hurt, like nails scraping the inside of my brain.
Until Louis-Cesare’s arms tightened, and the screaming became softer. More like a shout in the ear instead of a megaphone. Not pleasant, but bearable.
“I won’t have to come again, young one. This time, I am not leaving. This time I will carve a bloody path of vengeance through those who have wronged me. Their corpses shall litter the Earth, as will those of any who—ah!”
The voice broke off abruptly, I wasn’t sure why. And then I heard it, another voice behind the first, too quiet to make out. But whispering, whispering.
“Save your breath, mage!” the monster hissed. “You do not control me. Did you think you could use a god as your puppet?”
Jonathan, Louis-Cesare mouthed.
“I will take your power,” the thing that had been Sokkwi said, “and once I am back in the sun, I will add to it such a mighty sum that all the Earth shall tremble!” The huge head was suddenly back in Hassani’s face. “But you first.”
I started fighting again, knowing what was coming even if the others didn’t. I’d just seen it, and it had been memorable. And, sure enough, the burst of caustic venom hit Hassani dead center barely a second later . . .
And kept on going.
“What the—” I stared. I’d seen that shit dissolve solid rock! How was he just standing there?
“One of the Teacher’s master powers,” Zakarriyyah murmured. “To project an image somewhere he is not.”
“So, where is he?” I asked, because I only saw one of him, standing calmly in the middle of a torrent of poison that couldn’t hurt him, because he wasn’t really there. But he was somewhere, and I didn’t think playing hide and seek with a demigod was going to work for long.
And neither did the demigod.
“I don’t have to look for you,” the voice in my head echoed again. “You will come to me. The only question is, how many of your people do I have to kill first?”
“Scatter,” Zakarriyyah said—unnecessarily. We were already doing it, with me and Louis-Cesare heading for my bike until it was crushed under the massive body slithering this way. It loomed up in my vision, a solid wall of gleaming scales, blackness smothering the light and swallowing the earth—
And swallowing us, or flat out running us over, crushing our bones into powder. Except that I’d been wrong earlier. Louis-Cesare hadn’t used the Veil, his own personal master power, after all. It took a huge amount of energy and couldn’t be deployed again for hours.
So, if he had, I wouldn’t be looking at the world through a haze of white, like a London fog had just rolled in.
Or staring in disbelief as a river of scales slammed into me, yet didn’t hurt.
The creature passed right on through us and out the other side, leaving me staring around wildly, confused, disoriented, and seriously skeeved out.
“All right?” Louis-Cesare asked.
I nodded breathlessly. That was a lie, but the truth wouldn’t help us right now. Not when I could still see the massive creature stopped in the middle of the room, not ten yards away.
But it couldn’t see me.
Like Hassani, I simply wasn’t there anymore.
Louis-Cesare was able to slip out of phase with the world for a short time, transitioning into some kind of non-space I didn’t fully understand. I doubted he did, either, since he couldn’t stay there for long. A minute, maybe two—probably the former since he’d dragged me along with him—and that was it.
We didn’t have much time.
“Come on!” I said, pulling on him, but he wasn’t budging. Unless you counted going the other way—toward the snake. “What are you doing?”
“You bought us time; we used it,” he told me. “But we have to finish this—”
“How?” I demanded, holding onto him.
“—and the chance will pass by if you don’t trust me.”
“Like you trusted me?”
He at least had the grace to blush. “Dory—”
“Later,” I said, and released him. He nodded, although he did not appear to be looking forward to later. Personally, I’d just be grateful if we had one.
Especially when he started climbing the goddamned snake.
I married a crazy man, I thought, hugging myself to keep from going up there after him. Louis-Cesare could survive being flung against a stone wall. I doubted that I could, especially now.
But damn it, climb faster.
The great beast wasn’t making it easy. The skin was slick, and the creature wasn’t staying put to hunt for us, because we weren’t the target. Hassani was. And to flush him out, any of his people would do.
The huge body suddenly moved like quicksilver, spotting some of the fleeing vamps and crossing the room after them in seconds. But they weren’t staying still, either, and had jury rigged a few surprises in the short time they’d had. Including working together to topple one of the already cracked pillars, sending it crashing down onto the beast and causing huge, broken pieces to scatter everywhere.
One passed through me as I ran after them, but didn’t kill me because of the Veil. But we had seconds left there at best, and Louis-Cesare wasn’t even half way up the great body. I could see him through the dust and debris, looking impossibly small next to those acres of scales.
Hurry up, I thought savagely. Whatever you’re going to do, do it now! Before we’re both—
Back.
A flying bit of rock cut a line across my cheek, a burning warning as I stumbled back into real space. I looked up, and sure enough, Louis-Cesare was visible, too, clinging to the great hide as the creature lunged after the fleeing vamps. Who were suddenly fleeing the other way.
I stared in disbelief at those crazy bastards, who swarmed the huge body, not one or two of them, but all of them, all at once. It was futile, like a bunch of ants charging a bull elephant. But for a brief moment, it worked, causing Sokkwi to pause in confusion.
And a moment was enough.
A blade flashed, high on the scaly hide; the great head reared back as if in pain, and a stream of poison spewed wildly everywhere. Several of Hassani’s people cried out and then were silenced, their bodies dusting away to ashes when the droplets touched them. And something that looked a lot like a long, jagged fang arced through the air—
And was caught, but not by me.
Not by Hassani, either, although he was there, in the shadows of the great stairs as another army joined the fray. One composed of emaciated brown bodies that reflected the torchlight like lacquer as they surged down the steps, including the one in front, whose shriveled, date-like eyes I’d seen staring at a door for centuries, waiting—
For this.
Louis-Cesare jumped free, unable to use the weapon he’d provided them without dusting to powder. But the poison didn’t seem to have the same effect on the prisoners. Their skin burned with it, but they didn’t disintegrate, I didn’t know why.
“They’re his Children,” Zakarriyyah said, coming up beside me. “It gives them limited immunity.”
Limited being the word, I thought, watching great wounds open up in that strange skin, but the prisoners didn’t seem to care. They waded into the fray, the fang held aloft in the leader’s hand, who used it like a dagger to do what steel never could, and tear open the belly of the beast. The prisoners immediately swarmed into the flood of viscera, tearing, clawing, biting.
And laughing.
Terrible, yet joyous laughter rang around the room and echoed off the stones, sending hard chills climbing up and down my body, while the monster writhed and twisted, trying to throw off his tormentors. Only they weren’t there anymore. They were inside, ripping their former master apart from within, eating him alive even as they were themselves consumed.
Hassani staggered over, pale as a ghost, which he nearly was. The rich blood o
f a consul had gone to feed the prisoners for this, their final battle. But it seemed almost futile, with what we knew.
“He’ll just come back,” I said hoarsely.
“Let us test that theory.” Hassani looked at Louis-Cesare, who had come up on Zakarriyyah’s other side. “If you would be so kind?”
Louis-Cesare handed over his rapier, with the col de mort attached, which Hassani threw to the leader of the prisoners. He’d been waiting alongside the great wound he had made, waiting while his skin burned and his people died, waiting, for what I didn’t know. Until one of them brought it forth: a huge, still beating heart.
“Your consul didn’t understand the need, when she fought him,” Hassani said, his usually rich voice a soft rasp. “He was but a pile of bones. What could bones do?”
A lot, I thought dizzily, if they happened to belong to a demigod.
“My friend, the honor is yours,” Hassani said to the leader.
I didn’t know if it would be enough; Hassani had said that Sokkwi did not have the same weaknesses as other vamps. But the next moment, the air was suffused with ashes, a huge swirling storm of them, coating our eyes, our ears, our tongues, everything. And when we finally emerged from the choking cloud, we stared around in wonder.
The great body had disappeared.
The gods, it seemed, weren’t so immortal, after all.
Chapter Fifteen
Dory, Cairo
Vampire monks, or so I’d been told, knew how to party, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to this one. I’d had all day to rest, while being attended by an absolute throng of servants, to the point that I’d finally had to lock the door to keep them out of the room so I could nap. It was night again now, and I was feeling surprisingly well, all things considered; that wasn’t the problem.
That was the problem, I thought, staring into the mirror.
“You look lovely,” the woman behind me said.
It was That Bitch, whose real name was Maha. I’d been told that it meant “Beautiful Cow” which . . . okay. Different strokes. She and I had made up, and as a peace offering, she was in my bathroom, attempting to get me ready for the party to end all parties, celebrating the death of the bastard downstairs.
There was just one problem.
“I don’t think it fits,” I said, tugging on the latest fake hairdo.
Glamouries didn’t work at this court, so she’d come up with a selection of wigs to cover my no longer burnt, but terribly bald head. There was everything from short and blonde to vibrant red and flowy, along with a brunette that almost matched my real hair in cut and style. Because it turned out that, while vamp healers could repair a damaged brain and heal baldly burned flesh, they could not regrow hair.
Not that I was totally bald. It was more like a third of my hair that was missing in action, all along the left side of my head, from above the ear to the nape. But it was not festive.
“You just have to get used to it,” she told me, with her own long, lustrous, beautiful hair rippling down to her butt. She’d had it up before, in a no-nonsense bun, but tonight it was down and it was glorious.
I sighed.
“Can I see the brunette one again?”
She obliged and I tugged it on, but the same problem persisted. It’s hard to fit a wig, any wig, when your own hair is so lopsided. After a few frustrating moments, I pulled the dark, shiny mass off again and stared at my terrible reflection.
Maybe I’d just get room service.
“There is another option,” Maha said, holding out her hand. On the palm was a familiar sight, although not a familiar shape. I picked up the little golden item she was offering and frowned at it. It was beautiful, like a delicate brooch made in the form of a spray of flowers, with the gold work so fine that the tiny stems quivered whenever it moved.
But it wasn’t a brooch. The tell-tale thrum of a magical tat vibrated against my palm, although softer than I was used to. Not weaker but . . . different. There was magic here, but not a kind I knew.
“It’s a weapon?” I asked, looking up at her.
Maha laughed. And then the laughter faded, and her face became somber. “What kind of life have you lived?” she asked softly. “That that is the only magic you know?”
“It isn’t the only kind,” I said, feeling defensive. An emotion that melted away into wonder when she turned me around to face the mirror again, and placed the tiny object—not in my hair, as I’d expected, since I didn’t see what else she could do with it. But on my bald skin.
No, make that in my skin, I realized, as it melted into the surface the same way that my little bird had done. But while the birdie had had an immediate effect on my senses, this charm didn’t seem to make any difference at all. And then the most amazing thing happened.
“Do you like it?” Maha asked, watching my face.
Well, obviously, I didn’t say, but not because I was practicing my diplomacy. But because I was honestly speechless for a moment. The delicate spray of stems, flowers and leaves had expanded, twining along my bare patch of scalp until they covered it in an exuberance of beauty. And unlike most tats, even magical ones, this wasn’t a mere blue outline. This looked like the tattoo had been made with liquid gold.
It glimmered against my skin and set off my dark hair like a diadem. I laughed in wonder, and felt it gingerly when it finally stopped. It was solid and cool under my fingertips. It was amazing.
“I look like that chick from Hunger Games,” I said. “You know, the one with the camera crew?”
“You look beautiful,” Maha said, and it sounded genuine.
I met her eyes in the mirror. “Thank you.”
She ducked her head. “There is a command for when you wish to remove it. I will write it down for you.”
“I’ll return it in good condition,” I promised.
She looked startled. “But it is a gift.”
“A gift?” I put a hand back to the delicate tracery, feeling it slide solidly under my touch. “But . . . I couldn’t. It’s too much—”
“Too much?” Those beautiful eyes flashed.
“Uh, I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.” It was grim. “I have seen how you have been treated, since you arrived. I did not add to it, but I did not object, either, to my shame. The men’s crude comments; the women’s jealousy; virtually everyone declining to so much as touch your hand, thinking you tainted. And for what? An accident of birth you could not control, and which gave you the abilities to save us all?”
I blinked at her. “I . . . didn’t exactly—”
She didn’t want to hear it. “You saved our consul. Our leader for time out of mind, and my Sire. I will not forget that. I do not speak for the others, but as for me, you have made a friend this day, Dorina Basarab.”
“Dory,” I said, and tried to ignore the pang that the other name caused. It was hard considering that, while I may have helped to solve a problem for Hassani, I hadn’t done a damned thing about finding my sister. She’d been gone for almost a day, and I knew little more than I had when she was taken.
I needed to change that.
“Thank you,” I said to Maha. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I’ll be grateful to count you as one.”
She smiled, and then impulsively hugged me. “I will leave you to change.”
“Is Hassani going to be at the party?” I asked, because I had a few questions for the wily old consul.
“Yes, he says he is feeling up to it.” She looked fondly exasperated. “And none of us would gainsay him.”
She left and I turned to the next challenge: what to wear.
Twenty minutes later, I was still working on it, thanks to dear uncle Radu.
I hadn’t had a lot of time to prep for this mission, and my wardrobe was seriously deficient for a high-level diplomatic trip. I’d made the mistake of calling on Radu for help, as he had the time and was interested in fashion. And, yeah, I don’t know what I’d been thinking, either.
&nbs
p; Laid out on the bed and hung around the room were a couple dozen evening outfits. All of them were beautiful, all of them were expensive, and all of them would have looked perfectly appropriate on a high-priced hooker. Radu’s idea of diplomacy apparently involved vamping the hell out of whoever I met by showing as much skin as possible.
In fairness to him, the sexy all-black, all-silver, or all blood red color scheme, and the sleek, sultry lines worked great at our home court, where they complimented my father’s minimalist Armani wardrobe and heightened the already strong family resemblance. Clothes were weapons there, designed to remind people of your age or power or family affiliation. And the Basarab faction was looking strong these days.
But it couldn’t have been more out of place here.
Maha had had on a white and gold caftan like garment with long, fitted sleeves and delicate gold embroidery over the shoulders and down the front. It had covered her from neck to toes, yet hadn’t looked restrictive, moving gracefully when she walked and highlighting her dark beauty. I needed something comparable, something elegant but classy, something . . .
Completely unlike any of these.
I sighed, biting my lip. I never cared much about clothes, but these people . . . they were trying, suddenly. I’d been mobbed all afternoon by shamefaced men bearing flowers and embarrassed looking women inquiring after my health and plying me with food I didn’t want, because whatever sedative Maha had given me had shut down my system. We’d all misunderstood each other, but now . . . well, I wanted to show that I was trying, too, by respecting their customs. But the only caftan-y thing I owned was—
Well, there was a thought.
I walked over to my luggage and pulled out the package from Aswan. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, which seemed completely inadequate for the spill of royal purple that fell into my hands, shimmering softly. The color had been in-your-face glaring in the simple market stall, but now it looked deeper, richer, and far more luxurious. I hesitated for a moment, then shucked my bathrobe and pulled the swath of silk over my head. It was careful not to catch it on my new floral accessory, but needn’t have worried. The smooth, golden lines stayed flat against my skin, and the garment itself was surprisingly light.