by Karen Chance
Pritkin flinched slightly, but he never dropped his gaze. "You don't understand what's at stake."
"And that would be why, I wonder? Because nobody ever tells me anything?" That last was pretty much a scream, but I didn't care. I'd known that seeing him again would be hard, I just hadn't known how hard. I'd been right before. Burying emotions was a hell of a lot better than experiencing them, especially when they felt like this.
"I will tell you what you want to know, if you will promise to hear me out before shifting. If you thought you were a target before, it is nothing to what you will be with that thing in your possession. It must be destroyed!"
I couldn't have shifted to save my life; I was having a hard time even standing up. But Pritkin didn't know that. It gave me an advantage, a lever to finally pry some answers out of him. But for the life of me, I couldn't work up much enthusiasm about it.
"I've spent my whole life playing games," I told him quietly. "It's the vamp's favorite pastime. A whisper here, a wink there, a clue that may or may not go anywhere and may or may not have been dropped on purpose. I'm tired of games. I just want someone to tell me the truth. Haven't I earned that much yet?"
Pritkin closed his eyes briefly, and swallowed, a brief bob of his Adam's apple up and down. I searched his still-youthful face, trying to peer behind the mask. To see a thousand years of experience. But there was nothing.
I'd grown up around creatures who never showed their age, at least not physically. But you could always tell the older ones, and not just by the aura of power they gave off. There was a gravity to them, like air took on extra weight when they entered a room. As if everything about them was somehow more: deeper, brighter, richer.
He opened his eyes, but I didn't look away. I scrutinized him, trying to keep the Consul in mind, the way she felt, the way she drew all eyes without seemingly doing a thing. I watched a faint blush spread across his cheekbones as I continued to inspect him, and mentally shook my head. No. No way was he that old.
Which left the sojourn in Hell. He'd said that much of his younger years had been spent there, but also that he'd just got back in 1793. Which was crazy. If he'd disappeared from history because he had, in fact, disappeared from earth, then he'd left in the early Middle Ages. And if he'd only just returned…a thousand years on earth would scar a person; what would a millennium in the demon realms do?
How would it be, I wondered, to be snatched into a world you knew nothing about, where your only use was as a trophy? Some kind of freakish experiment for your father to show off? And what had Pritkin done to get thrown out anyway? How exactly did someone get tossed out of Hell?
"Rosier tried to kill you so that you couldn't do what you have just done—retrieve the Codex and with it a spell known as the Ephesian Letters," he finally said.
Maybe it was because I was tired, or under the strain of being near Pritkin and not being able to touch him, to hit him, to run my hands through his hair and make it stand up, damn it, but I was having a hard time following. "What?"
"They were words carved into the ancient Temple of Artemis at Ephesus—"
"Nick told me what the Ephesian Letters are," I said impatiently. "Why does anyone care about an old spell?"
"Because of what it can do. What, in fact, it did do, thousands of years ago." Pritkin sat on the edge of the table. "What it will continue to do, if no one ever casts the counterspell that I foolishly wrote down. Merlin the wise, indeed."
"Then I was right. You are Merlin." I found it hard to take in, despite all the evidence. Pritkin was just…Pritkin. Not some legend out of another time.
"Myrddin, in fact, not that I used the name for long. A French poet thought it sounded obscene and changed it. Fair enough; he changed everything else."
"Then the stories aren't true? There was no Camelot, or Lancelot or Arthur—"
"Oh, there was an Arthur, after a fashion. And I can see his face, if he read half the things written about him! That rumor about his sister alone—he'd have cut out someone's heart for that one." He thought for a moment. "Or she would. Frightening woman."
"So you're what, like a thousand years old?" I still didn't believe it.
"Not…precisely. I was born in the sixth century, but did not manage to live even one normal life span before Rosier came to claim me. And time in the demon realms runs differently from here, much like in Faerie. Only more so. I was there, as far as I can tell, barely a human decade. But when I returned" — he shook his head, and there was still wonder on his face—“the world had changed."
"When I met you in Paris, you told me that you'd only just come back. Was that when you returned?"
"More or less. I had been back a few years by then, enough to learn my way around to some degree, but not enough to keep from being pickpocketed by a spell that hadn't even been invented in my day but was old hat in the eighteenth century."
"By Manassier's grandfather."
"Yes. He and an associate were living in that nebulous world betwixt and between. The Circle had rejected them for unbecoming conduct—and, I suspect, gross incompetence—but they didn't have any skills wanted by the dark. They made a precarious living relieving naive country bumpkins of their worldly possessions and, whenever possible, draining them of their magic. They couldn't get past my shields to make the latter possible, but they did manage to make off with the Codex."
"And that mysterious spell you were going to tell me about."
Pritkin propped his head on one hand, a tired gesture I could never remember seeing before. "I have made many mistakes in life, but the worst of all had to be writing down that blasted spell."
"But Nick said it was never written down. That it was lost after the temple burned and the priests all died."
"One survived and, in extreme old age, left exactly one copy. I don't know whether he was senile, or merely unwilling to let his most precious secret die with him. Perhaps he'd forgotten what it does; maybe he never knew. I only know that I found his scribbled ramblings in an old temple in Angelsey. How they got there." He shrugged. "Possibly a Roman legionary picked them up as a curiosity in the East before being reassigned. I never knew."
"How did you find it?"
"Because I was searching for it. Not that spell specifically but anything old that might have survived. I didn't have high hopes—the place had been burnt by the Romans during their Druid-killing sprees, and what was left was plundered by the Saxons a few centuries later. But no one had thought an old scroll to be of much use, especially one in a language none of them could read, and it somehow survived. Languages have always been a specialty of mine. And I pounced on it."
"For what?"
"For curiosity partly. For the rest…I was so proud of myself, thought I'd found my life's work, before I understood how long that life might be. It seemed an utter good—cataloging and preserving the old knowledge at a time in which the whole world seemed to be coming down around our ears. I had no way of knowing that what I recorded might well bring that to pass much more efficiently than the damn Saxons ever could!"
"But what does it do?" I thought I was going to go crazy if he didn't just tell me.
"The Ephesian Letters is a spell and a counterspell in one, depending on voice, inflection and which way it is read. One way closes a door; the other opens it."
"What door?"
"The door between worlds. Rosier fears that if the spell is found, someone might reverse it, opening a gateway to rivals his kind have not had to face in—" He had been sorting through the pile of pages at his elbow and had picked one out of the group. It must have been the translation Nick was working on, unless ancient Ephesian priests used lined notebook paper. His breath caught. "What is this?"
I glanced at it. "Nick was translating the counterspell for me, for the geis."
"This isn't the counterspell," Pritkin said, his face draining of color as I watched. I glanced down at the paper, but it didn't make much sense.
ASKION: Shadowless ones. Where gods onc
e ruled,
KATASKION: Shadowy. Humans now do.
LIX: Earth. Earth is blocked
TETRAX: Time. To Time's Guardian.
DAMNAMENEUS: Sun overpowered. With this, the sun is overpowered.
AISION: True Voice. And the oracle speaks with a true voice.
Pritkin grabbed me by the arms. "Take us back, quickly!"
"Back where?"
"To the moment Nick got up to leave! I have to catch him!"
"Why, what did he—"
"There's no time to explain. Just do it!"
I pushed a limp strand of hair out of my eyes and tried to focus. God, I was so tired. "I can't shift right now. Maybe tomorrow—"
Pritkin swore. "If I don't find him, there won't be a tomorrow!" And he was gone. I didn't even see him leave, just the door slamming shut behind him.
Chapter 26
And then the lights went out. I sat there in the dark and seriously thought about putting my head down and going to sleep. It was nice and quiet down here, and maybe no one would find me until morning.
If there was a morning.
I groaned and got up. As I'd always suspected, being in charge sucked. Especially when no one even realized you were.
I felt around until I was sure I had the entire Codex, rolled it all, including the translation of the spell I didn't need, into a tube and wrapped a rubber band around it. Then I shoved the whole thing down my bodice. Mircea hadn't laced it as tightly as Sal, but it still fit snugly, and with the tube down there taking up what little room there was, breathing once more became an issue. But at least no one was budging that thing. Now if I didn't pass out from lack of air, everything would be fine.
I eased out into the corridor and tried to remember how far it was to the fire stairs. But it's not the sort of thing you really notice when the lights are on. I'd covered what I thought was about the right distance when someone grabbed me.
I screamed and somebody yelled and then I was slammed up against the wall. It hurt and I was already in a foul mood. I didn't hold back at all when I kneed whoever-it-was in the groin.
"You'd better hope that doesn't scar!" Casanova hissed.
"You're a vampire. You'll heal. What are you doing here?"
"It's my casino!" he said, a little shrilly. "I have every right to be here. It's you and your hoodlum friends who need to go, before you cause any more trouble!"
"Avoiding trouble is not a big motivator for me these days. Not dying is a big motivator for me; not watching Mircea go insane is a big motivator for me. Speaking of which—"
"The Senate isn't here, but I just received word that they're on their way. And I haven't been confirmed in this job yet, you know! How do you think it's going to look when the Consul shows up and the whole damn place is dark?"
"Why is she coming here?" That was all I needed.
"How the hell should I know? Do I look like someone who is regularly consulted on Senate matters? I try to stay as far away from those crazy bastards as possible." He paused. "Lord Mircea excepting, of course."
"Of course. Why is it dark in here?"
"Because one of those freeloaders you dumped on me has caused a blackout!"
"You can't be sure it's the kids," I said, feeling guilty.
"Oh, no? Well, the power company says we have power. They all but called me an idiot when I called them just now! Yet, no lights. And, if I may point out, no slot machines, no table games, no anything. I'm losing a fortune here!"
"It's been all of ten minutes. Relax. I'll take care of it."
"You're damn right you will. Right now!"
"Stop yelling. I have a bigger problem. Have you seen Nick?"
"Yes, how do you think I found you? He said—"
I grabbed Casanova by what felt like his lapels and shook him. "Where is he?"
He pried my hands off with a curse. "Again, how the hell should I know? And this is imported Italian silk, all right?"
"Where did you see him?"
"In the lobby. I ran into him right after the lights went out. He was trying to find a way out of here and I was trying to find you. We traded information."
"You helped him leave?" I grabbed Casanova again, despite his curse.
"I pointed him in the right direction; I didn't personally escort him out. And what difference does it make?"
"You have to stop him!"
"I'll make you a deal. Get those urchins of yours to undo whatever they did wrong this time and I'll have the mage detained. I've got a near panic going on in the lobby!"
"Fine." I doubted the low-level vamps Casanova employed would have much luck stopping a war mage, but maybe they could slow him down long enough for Pritkin to locate him.
Casanova called security on his cell phone while we navigated the dark stairs. It turned out that he hadn't been exaggerating the situation in the lobby. A few security people had flashlights that they were waving around like strobes over the frightened crowd, while others yelled contradictory instructions through bullhorns. A bunch of gamers were playing guitars and singing in the corner, in the faint glow of the lighters they held over their heads. I thought I recognized the tune, but the words seemed to be something about the nazgul. And the pterodactyl things were watching it all out of bright, hungry eyes.
I scanned the room for Nick, but it was really difficult to make out faces. Casanova started toward the security team, most of whom were over by the moat. Boats poled along by Charons in black robes and death masks usually ferried people back and forth between the entrance and the lobby, but they were beached due to the lack of light, and the drawbridge that served as an alternate entrance appeared to be stuck in the open position.
A couple of impatient types had decided to try wading the moat and found it deeper than they'd expected. The security detail was fishing them out, while preventing anyone else from following. And another guard was forcibly restraining someone who already had one foot in the water.
Someone who looked an awful lot like Nick.
"There!" I pointed, but Casanova was ahead of me. A gesture sent two of his vampire guards to help the beleaguered human, but Nick somehow dodged them, making for the backstage areas and, presumably, the employee exits.
"Tell security to close off the exits," I told Casanova.
"Which ones?"
"All of them!" I wasn't taking a chance on Nick doubling back, something that would be all too easy in this crowd.
Casanova got busy on the phone as I tried to keep track of Nick in the squirming, flickering mass of humanity. For five long minutes I lost sight of him; then one of the pterodactyl things screeched and I looked skyward. I grabbed Casanova's arm and pointed. "Look!"
Several security men's flashlights followed my gesture. The twin beams illuminated the figure of a man, who looked like he was somehow walking on thin air. Casanova blinked. "What's that crazy bastard think he's doing?"
"What is he standing on?" I hadn't thought the mages numbered levitation in their repertoire.
"The catwalks. They're painted the same color as the ceiling so nobody notices them. We use them for making repairs." Casanova grabbed a flashlight from the nearest guard and shone it between a maze of glittering rock formations. I still couldn't see what he was talking about, but Nick was obviously standing on something.
"Why is he up there?"
"He's probably trying to make it out onto the roof, assuming he doesn't break his fool neck first." Casanova cursed. "My insurance premiums are going to skyrocket if he falls."
"Why would he?"
"Because the catwalks also serve as support for the larger stalactites, with the rocks protruding right down through the middle of them!"
Nick had stopped in front of a rock that looked too wide to reach around, and I was sure he wouldn't make it. But I should have known better. Nick might look harmless, but he was a war mage. Luckily, so was Pritkin, and he'd seen him, too. The flashlights illuminated a bright blond head scrambling to catch up, but Nick had a good lead. He thr
ust a dagger into the side of the fake rock, making an extra foothold for himself, and used it to hop around the obstacle.
"Can he really get to the roof?" I demanded, clutching Casanova's arm tight enough to make the beam wiggle. I knew he couldn't reach the level with the turrets, where I'd been two weeks ago, but the lower one over the entrance would be even better from his perspective. It was tantalizingly close to the ground.
"If he gets all the way across, yes. There's an access hatch onto the roof for repairing the main sign." Casanova glanced at me. "How badly do you want him down?"
"Bad. Why?"
"Because some of my guards are armed."
"You can't start shooting in a roomful of people!"
"We can pass it off as part of the show," he said, gesturing around. Most of the trapped tourists had decided that this must be unscheduled entertainment and had paused their complaints long enough to crane their necks upwards, straining to see through the gloom.
"Will you pass it off if someone dies? Bullets ricochet!"
"My boys are good shots."
"And he's a mage. None will get through his shields. Can you get someone outside, to intercept him?"
Before Casanova could answer, Nick spotted his pursuer and threw a spell, just as Pritkin was edging around the fat stalactite. It hit the mass of fake rock dead on, causing it to crack down the middle and sending a rain of plaster into the watching crowd. That was followed by a shower of sparks as Pritkin and Nick simultaneously threw spells at each other. The audience cheered, but it was the final straw for the pterodactyl things, who launched themselves into the air and went screeching toward the fight.
"Casanova!"
"I can't call them off—don't even ask."
"What do you mean? Are you in charge around here or aren't you?!"
One of the creatures targeted Pritkin, clawing and pecking at his shields. The other creature went after Nick, but he fired a spell at it that singed one of its batlike wings, sending it wheeling away over the crowd. It was soon back for more, but in the meantime he'd made it to the next stalactite.