Claimed by Shadow

Chapter 14

The street was still dark, even to Augusta 's eyes, but I discovered other ways to see. All along the road were people, hidden in the night-in tenements, scurrying along the street or congregating in pubs. Many of them were amorphous, dark-clothed shapes against the night, but all of them had heartbeats, and it was those thousands of living, beating organs that called out to me like a siren song. Beyond the human river were darker spots, just a few streets back, but my skin prickled with awareness of their power. Vampires.

I pulled away so I wouldn't see Augusta 's features reflected in the dark glass. "There's a lot of vamps in the area," I told Pritkin, "maybe a couple dozen." I had managed the sentence without my voice cracking, but my palms had started to sweat. Even in Augusta 's body, there was no way I could fight those odds, and for all his toys, Pritkin wasn't likely to do much better.

"How long until they get here?" He sounded far too matter-of-fact for my frazzled nerves.

"What difference does it make?" I fought to keep from screaming it at him. "We need to find Mircea and hide- fast. It's the only sensible plan.”

Pritkin walked out the stage door and down the steps. I followed him, all the way to the front of the building, where he stopped, looking up and down the frost-covered road. "Humor me," he said.

"In case you've forgotten, the Senate isn't the only problem," I told him, low enough that I hoped no passing vamps would take notice. "I can't let Myra run loose-”

"Then don't. Deal with the rogue. I will handle this.”

"You'll handle this?" I'd rested my hand on a lamppost and didn't realize until I tried to pull away that I'd sunk my fingers almost completely through the cast iron. I pulled them out cautiously and leaned the listing post against a building so it didn't fall over. Getting angry in a vampire body was obviously not a good idea. "A corpse isn't much of an ally!" I told Pritkin frankly. "Some of these are Senate members. I doubt you could even slow them down. We need to hide.”

"They could track us by scent alone. Hiding isn't an option.”

"And suicide is?”

I would have said more, but someone grabbed me from behind. Again. For a half second I thought it was a vamp, but then I felt the heartbeat against my back and smelled the stink of unwashed man and stale beer. I pulled away, but the man came with me. I gave what felt like a gentle push, hardly expending any energy at all, and he went sailing across the street to crash into the heavy glass window of a pub. I could see the frozen shock on his face, the half dozen glass slivers that pierced his skin, even trace the arc of blood on the air.

His friend, whom I hadn't even noticed, gave a bellow of rage and ran at me, fist pulled back. I ducked and managed to subdue him by slipping an arm around his throat, cutting off his air supply. It was absurdly easy-the bones in his muscular workman's neck felt brittle, like a baby bird's, and instead of it being difficult to hold him, the challenge lay in not accidentally breaking anything.

I had never really thought about how delicate humans are, especially not human men, most of whom tower over me. It was suddenly all too apparent how careful vamps had to be not to leave a trail of bodies behind them. The man was making what he probably thought of as a violent attempt to break free, but to me, it was like holding a fragile butterfly by the wings and trying not to tear it. Just a little pressure to cut off the air, but carefully, gently, or the windpipe would collapse and this brawny creature would crumple like paper in my hands.

He finally went limp and I laid him down to check for a pulse. I found one and breathed a sigh of relief. "You seem to be doing well enough on your own," Pritkin commented.

"Against humans! It isn't humans hunting us.”

"No, but the principle is the same. When they looked at you, the two men saw only a weak woman, where they should have seen a predator." He gave me a brief, mirthless grin. "I often have that same advantage.”

"You can't take them all, predator or not!”

"The principle is the same," he repeated, wrenching the heavy lamppost I'd ruined out of the ground, then shoving it back into the hole, hard. The gas main underneath the street ruptured and caught fire with a whoosh, sending a bright plume skyward. I jumped back, Augusta 's instinctive terror running through me. But a vamp I hadn't even noticed caught fire and ran screaming into another. Pritkin grinned viciously. "Never be what they expect.”

He ran down the street after the fleeing vampires, whooping and generally making as much noise as possible, and the dark wells of power in my vision began to turn the same way. The vamps didn't know what was going on, but they'd been looking for a fight, and Pritkin seemed ready to give them one. And he called me insane.

I ran back into the theatre and found Billy cowering behind the ticket booth. I nodded approval. There was no safe place at the moment, but it beat having him with me or the maniac outside.

I turned my attention to finding Myra. There were three people in the building, and only one was human. I could hear the strong, steady heartbeat, could feel it at the back of my throat as something thick and sweet. The vamps weren't bothering with trivialities like having a pulse, but I could smell them. And even at this distance Augusta 's keen nose could pick out the crisp scent of pine.

I followed Augusta 's hunger through the backstage areas, trying to zero in on Myra 's exact location, but the place was a rabbit warren of tiny rooms and dead-end corridors, with props stuck here and there haphazardly. I fumbled out of a forest of painted trees to find myself in the wings of the stage. The theatre was dark, enough so that to a human's eyes little would have been visible. I could make out a few props-a chest, a couple of flags and some blunted lances- waiting for the next performance. There was no sign of activity, however, and the human's heartbeat was still a good way off.

I finally located my target in a room behind the stage, down a stairway filled with dust and old suits of armor. I kept a wary eye on the battered knights as I slipped by, but none so much as twitched. The first room I reached was set up like a dining room, with a large shiny wood table that practically reeked of beeswax. It was oak to match the paneling on the walls and the beams on the ceiling. There were a bunch of portraits scattered around and a big stone fireplace. It had a gothic feel to it that would have served as a good backdrop for a couple of vamps, only there weren't any.

The still-glowing embers in the fireplace and the decanter and two used glasses on the table told me that they hadn't been gone long. I peered into the next room, drawn by an odd smell, and found the human. It wasn't Myra.

A tall, portly guy with dark hair and, oddly enough, a red beard, stood by a counter with his shirt open over a pale, hairy belly. He had a candle in his hand and I identified the odor: cooked human flesh. He appeared to be trying to melt the skin on his chest and stomach, patches of which were already a flaming, lobster red. A few that had received extra attention were starting to bubble. He was crying silently, tears coursing down his cheeks to soak his beard, but he didn't stop.

I ran forward and knocked the candle away. It rolled across the floor and went out, and he looked after it blankly. Then he reached to the shelf behind him, got another one and was in the process of lighting it when I jerked it away, too. I looked into his eyes, but there was no one home. Somebody had hit him with a suggestion, a strong one. I slapped him, but it didn't seem to help. I tried to catch his eyes with mine, but it was hard to get him to focus enough to get a hold. Vampires have a hard time influencing people who are really drunk, high or crazy, because their minds don t work right. Apparently that goes for those who’ve been hit with a prior suggestion as well.

In the end, I got his attention by throwing his candles and matches into a garbage pail and refusing to let him retrieve them. He woke up enough to notice I was there and along with the recognition went a wince of pain. That was going to get a whole lot worse as his brain unfogged, but for the moment he was just uncomfortable.

"Where's Myra?" I asked. He stared at me as if he was having a hard time remembering English. "Have you seen a girl, shorter than me, weird eyes-”

"The master and Lord Mircea are dueling," he said sadly. I tried repeating the question, but he just stared at me. There was only one thought in his head, and it wasn't about Myra.

"Where is this duel?" I didn't need to find Myra if I located Mircea-she'd find me.

"Onstage.”

"I was just there-it's empty.”

"They have gone to Lord Dracula's rooms for weapons." His face twisted in pain, but I think it was less from his wounds than from the thought of his master in jeopardy. I had never met Mircea's infamous younger brother and wasn't enthusiastic about the idea. But what really concerned me was the fight. Half the Senate was after them, and they were taking time out to duel?

"Why are they fighting?”

"If my lord wins, he goes free-his brother has sworn it. But if Lord Mircea wins, he must go back into captivity, possibly forever!" The big man started sobbing as if his heart would break. I sighed. I should have known. Of course Dracula wouldn't want to go back into jail or whatever asylum the Senate had fixed up for crazy vamps. But while he and Mircea battled it out, Myra and her new buddies would end the dispute by killing them both.

I turned the large man's face towards me. "Why were you burning yourself?”

"Lord Dracula commanded it, for my failure to keep Lord Mircea from learning his whereabouts. He came here an hour ago, and I meant to tell him nothing, but then everything I knew poured out of me.”

"Mircea can be very persuasive.”

"My lord was very generous not to end my life for such incompetence.”

His eyes held the light of a true believer. I didn't even try to convince him that his god was really a monster. "What's your name?”

"Abraham Stoker, lady. I manage the theatre.”

I did a double take. Okay, that explained a lot. "It has to be late. Go home and get some medical attention for your burns. If anyone asks, you were checking on a sauce here in the kitchen and pulled it off on you.”

He nodded but looked torn, so I upped the amp on Augusta 's suggestion. It used up a lot of energy, and I had to resist the impulse to snatch him to me for a quick bite. Being in a vampire body had its downsides.

Stoker started to leave, but jerked violently halfway to the door and came to a stop. His head swiveled around to face me, despite the fact that his body remained facing forward. Another inch and he'd break his neck. "Tell me, if you can, what sort of spirit are you, to so easily possess a master vampire?”

"I told you to go home!" I eyed him cautiously. His voice had sounded funny, lower and more in control.

"And I told him to stay. It seems we know who is the stronger here, do we not?”

I was getting a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Who are you?”

"I am one whom the vile blows and buffets of the world have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.”

I blinked. "What?" He laughed, and it was a full-throated, sexy sound, one that I was fairly sure the guy I'd met blubbering over his candles would never give. "Have you forgotten me so soon? When we met only last night?”

"Last night?" It took a second, but light dawned. "You're that spirit from the ball!”

"Incubus, please, my lady." I jerked in surprise. So that's what it was. I'd seen plenty of incubi, but never outside a host. "May I presume upon our acquaintance to ask why you are here?”

"You first.”

He sighed. "I would prefer not to use this body any longer than necessary. It is in a large amount of discomfort. Trust the master to scupper my plans without even knowing what they are.”

"What plans?" It was making my neck hurt just to look at him. I moved so Stoker's head wouldn't be at that crazy angle anymore.

"But that is what we need to discuss.”

"Look, I really don't have time to chat!" I tried to move past him, but the large body was blocking the door. "Get out of my way." I could move him, of course-even without feeding recently, Augusta was stronger than a human-but I didn't want to hurt Stoker. He'd had enough of that for one night.

"No, I do not think so. As I recall, I did you something of a favor at our last meeting. I expect you to return it.”

"Return it how?" I didn't like where this conversation was headed.

"I require a body for the evening, and this one has been rendered useless. It will collapse at any moment. I need a strong body, and yours will do nicely.”

I backed up a step. "You can't invade vampires.”

"No, but you can see me even without a body, as you proved at our first meeting. Very well. I will give directions, and you will follow them, and we will let this poor fellow go off to his soft bed and his shrewish wife.”

"I don't have time to help you. I have my own job to do.”

He smiled gently. "Yes. You wish to help Lord Mircea imprison his dastardly brother and make Europe safe from his fiendish ways once more, am I right?" He laughed at my expression, and again it was that goose-bump-inducing sound. "I saw you with Mircea at the ball. I see his mark on you now.”

He paused because we both heard it at the same time-the ring of steel on steel from somewhere nearby. That would be all I needed, for Dracula to kill Mircea before Myra had the chance! I pushed at him, but he grasped my arm.

"Tell me, am I right? Is that why you are here-to save his life?”

I threw him off violently, not caring at the moment that poor Stoker's hand hit the wall with a bone-crunching thump. "Yes! Now get out of my way!”

I ran past him, fairly flying toward the stage, and reached the wings in record time. On the boards, two figures were engaged in a sword fight like nothing I'd ever seen. Power sizzled and crackled around them, brighter than the sparks that were struck off their swords. I concentrated on Mircea, but if he'd been hurt there was no sign of it. He wore a white shirt open at the throat, and there were no bloodstains on it that I could see. His hair had come out of its usual clip and it followed his motions, whip cracking around his lean form as he flowed through complex moves with deadly grace. I blinked and looked away, forcing myself to concentrate. When I looked back, I got my first glimpse of his legendary brother.

Usually, I get a tingle up my spine when I see a vamp, but there was nothing this time. I wasn't sure whether that was because I was in Augusta 's body, or because my brain was too busy screaming to focus. There was a strong sense of wrongness emanating from the vamp like nothing I'd ever felt. It was like the danger in the room had coalesced into a red mist, as if there was blood in the air. It went well with his dead white face and burning green eyes, the color of emeralds on fire. It did not go well with Augusta 's instincts, which were practically begging me to run.

The two vampires flowed through the motions of battle like it was silent, deadly poetry. Even with Augusta's senses I had trouble following them, their blades were striking so quickly. The sound of clashing metal echoed around the theatre like machine-gun fire, and every time I blinked they'd moved yards away from where they'd just been.

I clutched the curtains, watching with my stomach in my throat as Mircea flung himself to the ground, barely evading a savage slash from his brother's sword. He flicked his own saber at his assailant's ankles, but Dracula leaped, clearing the blade easily. By the time he landed, Mircea was back on his feet and they were off again.

" 'Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.'" I had been so intent on the combat, I hadn't sensed the Stoker's arrival until he started quoting.

"What do you want?”

"I told you before, dear lady-your help.”

"I'm busy," I snapped. Dracula flipped over his brother's head, his sword slashing downward, and if Mircea hadn't moved even faster than Augusta could see, it would have been over.

"Is it your plan to stand by and watch as they kill each other?" Dracula's blade had nicked Mircea's left arm, splattering his shoulder and chest with red, and I didn't think it would be the last time. Mircea was rumored to be a better-than-average duelist, but it looked to me like his younger brother was the faster of the two. It was a tiny difference, a fraction of a fraction of a second, maybe caused by the wound Dmitri had inflicted the night before. But sooner or later, it would be enough. And if Mircea lost, I somehow doubted Vlad had prison in mind for him.

"Who would have thought," the incubus murmured softly, a silken whisper in my ear, "the old man to have so much blood in him?”

Their shadows flickered in and out of the scenery, soaring against the back wall in a deadly dance. Something clicked as I watched them. I'd seen this before. It was the same scene as in my vision-the one that ended with Mircea's ghastly death. I swallowed thickly and turned to the incubus. "What's your plan?”

He pointed out a very familiar-looking box behind the curtains. I grabbed it with a sense of profound relief. I'd been wondering what to do about Myra since I'd left my box in a backpack somewhere in Faerie. She might be playing for the ultimate stakes, but I wasn't thrilled about having another death on my hands. Even hers.

"What's your interest in this?" I asked when I returned with the trap.

"The same as yours. We have much in common, I think. We both love dangerous creatures.”

"You're Dracula's lover?" It looked like Stoker had gotten one thing right, after all. Only he'd put succubi in his novel. A nod to nineteenth-century morality, I guessed.

"I have waited many years for my master's release," the spirit said, "but it will profit neither of us if he is killed shortly thereafter. The Senate knows he is near-I spent most of the night laying false trails, but they will not work for long. They are coming. My master does not believe that imprisonment is better than death, but I feel otherwise.”

Things suddenly made more sense. "That's why you helped me at the ball. You wanted Mircea alive so he can trap Dracula.”

The spirit blinked Stoker's eyes at me. "Next year or next decade, I will find a way to free him again. As long as he is alive there is hope.”

"So you want to trap him to save him? He won't thank you.”

"Perhaps; perhaps not. What does it matter to you?”

He had a point. And with Dracula safely tucked away, Mircea would have no reason to hang around this death trap. I held out the box. "Okay, so tell me how to work this thing.”

A couple of minutes later I was crawling behind the scenery, the box in my pocket and doubt in my mind. If the incubus was playing me I was in a lot of trouble; if not, I was still in a lot of trouble, but at least one problem would be solved. Of course, I should have known better-I never get one mess cleaned up before another makes an appearance.

This time was no exception. Myra flashed in so close to the fight that she might have been skewered had the two opponents not broken apart at just that moment, pulling back from an impasse. Dracula did something that caused Mircea to stumble-it was so fast I didn't see it-and he whirled to face the new threat. But before he could run her through, a dark shape plummeted from the rafters overhead and would have landed on him like an anvil if his reflexes hadn't been so sharp.

"Pritkin!”

He caught sight of me. "They're coming!”

"Oh, shit.”

I looked around but saw no hordes of vamps. But Pritkin had his full arsenal out and his shields up, not something he did lightly. I finally got a chance to see Mac's handiwork in operation. The sword that slashed and danced around the mage's head had the same design as the one I'd seen Mac painstakingly carving into Pritkin's skin. But it was larger- easily half as long as me-and as solid and shiny as a real weapon. It also appeared to pack quite a punch. One swipe at Dracula threw him back almost ten feet, and if he hadn't deflected the blade, it would have bisected him.

Suddenly, Dracula and Mircea were fighting side by side, their own feud forgotten in the face of the new threat. Luckily, the two brothers were so busy concentrating on the mage and his bevy of flying weapons that they didn't notice me. Unluckily, they forgot about Myra, too, who had shrunk back from the fight, and her hands were clenched as if she held something. I reached her just as she threw the sphere in her left hand, and felt the effect slam into me like a tidal wave. Oh, joy. Little Myra had got herself a null bomb.

We went down in a tangle of Augusta's voluminous skirts, Myra screaming and me swearing. The thing in her other hand turned out to be another sphere, this one dull black and about the size of a softball. I didn't recognize it, but if it was magic it wouldn't work right now, so I ignored it. Myra raked her nails down my cheek, almost resulting in Augusta going through eternity with a less-than-fashionable eye patch. I turned my head at the last second, avoiding the worst, but the scratches still hurt like a bitch.

"Girlfriend," I told her, blinking to clear the blood out of my vision, "you so do not want to fuck with me today.”

Her eyes got big, then her expression turned murderous. "You!" Myra didn't seem to like it that I'd been able to appropriate a stronger body, because she went for my throat, her reaching hands formed into claws. I managed to wrestle her hands off with minimal damage to either of us, but all I got in return was a snarl and a kick that caught me in the shin.

I slapped her hard enough that her head shot back and her eyes briefly lost focus, buying me a few seconds to check on the fight. The magical sword had disappeared and a few of Pritkin's knives were on the ground, their animation lost to the null's effects. The vamps had dealt with the others by simply allowing them to burrow so far into their flesh that they couldn't pull back out again. Both of them were a bloody mess, but they would survive. I was a lot less sure about Pritkin. He had his revolver out, but steel bullets wouldn't do much against master-level vampires, even assuming they connected.

Billy suddenly walked out onstage, in my body but with his usual swagger. He was looking up and so was Myra, and she was laughing. One glance and I knew why-the rafters were suddenly swarming with vamps. They poured in from the roof, the windows, the doors-my God, there had to be a hundred of them. I stared in stupefied awe, Augusta's voice in my head telling me what I already knew. We were screwed.

A vamp dropped in front of me, plummeting the three floors from the rafters without even missing his footing on the landing. Before I got a good look at him, Billy reached into his pocket and tossed something at us. I caught a glint of gold as a tiny shape arced in the air, and then it changed.

Mac's eagle swooped down in a beautiful dive, gray feathers a blur against the dark theatre, but those glittering eyes just as bright as ever, and the vamp was suddenly not there anymore. A scream, a thud, and he landed in front of me again, this time missing a good chunk of his throat. He was a master-he'd live-but he wasn't going to be doing any fighting anytime soon.

The vamps attacked in a swarm, flooding the stage, and Billy threw the remaining wards into the air in a glittering arc. A wave of spitting, hissing and howling beasts tore into the vamps. A miniature tornado took out half a dozen, tearing along a rafter, tossing bodies everywhere before fading away. A snake the size of an anaconda dropped around another vamp's neck, winding its coils over his eyes, causing him to stagger blindly off the stage into the orchestra pit. A huge wolf jumped on one, snarling and tearing huge chunks out of his torso, while a spider the size of a Volkswagon had another wound up in silk, hanging him from the rafters with an air of pleased concentration.

Myra brought my attention back to earth by attempting to stake me. Luckily, Augusta believed in whalebone-and lots of it-for stays. I ended up with a bruised rib and Myra with a blunt stake. I grabbed it out of her hand. "I'm already Pythia! There's no changing it!”

Myra only laughed. "I already killed one Pythia," she said viciously. "What's one more?”

"You killed Agnes?" I almost let her go in surprise. Not that it surprised me that she was capable of it, but what about the prohibition? "Then why are you after me? Even if I die, you'll never be Pythia!”

"If you're clever, there are ways around almost any problem." She glanced at the combatants. "We'll see what can't be changed!”

The other ball had become tangled in my skirts, but a kick from her started it rolling slowly across the floor toward the fight. I finally got a grip on her by grabbing a handful of hair, but although it must have hurt, she was smiling, her eyes following the black orb like it carried the secret to all her dreams. Considering that her dreams involved mayhem and death, and that she'd probably gotten that thing from her good buddy Rasputin, I decided that it would be very bad if it succeeded in crossing the stage.

It was just like my vision-Mircea covered in blood, fighting for his life, and someone tossing a weapon at him from the shadows. I knew what came next, but with Myra fighting me every inch of the way, I couldn't reach the ball in time to stop it. I dropped her in a heap and ran after her little contraption.

I hadn't gotten two steps before she tackled me, and it was like trying to get away from an enraged octopus- everywhere I moved, she seemed to be there first. Normally, Augusta would have been able to stow her under one arm and run with her or simply knock her unconscious. But the first idea would slow me down and the second was out because I didn't know Augusta's strength well enough to risk it.

Half walking, half crawling, I moved slowly toward the ball, but it was taking too much time. I caught sight of a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye and didn't hesitate. "She's going to destroy the theatre!" I screamed, pointing at Myra.

Myra looked at me like I was mad, but the theatre ghosts heard me just fine. The woman's face had already been screwed into a vicious snarl, watching the mess being made on her beloved stage, and now she had someone to blame. She threw the severed head, which was suddenly looking a lot less jolly, straight at Myra. When they merged, Myra gave a shriek and started convulsing. I shoved her away from me just as the woman joined her tiny partner. A whirlwind started up that left me unable to see more than a thrashing tornado of white and blue.

This was no mere mugging-the ghosts had obviously given all the warnings they intended and had gotten down to business. A living person should have been stronger than they were, but it was two against one and they were on ground that had held generations of the bodies of their ancestors. That's like an extra battery pack for a ghost, something Myra must have figured out. She screamed as they dove for her again, half in fear and half in rage, and vanished.

I lunged after the ball, but a vamp got in my way. I threw Myra's stake at him, more as a diversion than anything else, my aim being what it is. Apparently, Augusta's was better, because it connected.

A very pale and shaky-looking Stoker lurched out of the wings, staggering toward the ball as fast as his unsteady legs would carry him. It wasn't fast enough. The small sphere had reached the fight and rolled under the feet of the two combatants, who were now fighting against a circle of Senate members. It was getting pushed about as they shuffled and jockeyed for position, going first one way and then the other. The look of abject terror on Stoker's face was enough to make me run full-out after it.

I arrived just in time to get hit in the face by a sandbag on a rope that had fallen from the rafters. It was one of four that were swinging around, being dodged easily by most vamps, except the one who hadn't been paying attention. It had to have weighed fifty pounds, and had got up a lot of momentum on its arc. By the time I noticed it, there was no time to do anything but take it. It knocked me off my feet and I went skidding on my back for several yards.

"Dislocator!" Stoker had collapsed onto the stage, and unfortunately it was on his stomach. He screamed, but it was the same odd word, over and over.

I scrambled back up as the duelists paused, looking down at the small sphere at their feet. Everyone froze for half a second. Then the Senators melted away, flowing out of the theatre as quickly as they'd come into it, Mircea grabbed Billy and jumped straight up to the rafters, and Dracula ran towards us after snatching up Stoker. Pritkin threw an arm around my waist and took a flying leap off the stage. We landed in the orchestra pit, and because he'd rolled us at the last minute, he took the brunt of the impact.

It knocked him out and rattled my teeth, and the next second, a wave of power shot over our heads from stage level. The bomb must have found something to connect with, maybe some of the fallen vamps. If so, I didn't think they'd be getting up again. The impact had felt nothing like a null bomb. It was darker and almost greasy, and in no way would ever be mistaken for a defensive weapon.

I raised my head to find that I was almost nose to nose with Dracula. He looked strangely pleased to see me; then I was staring at the knife hilt sticking out of my chest, right between the third and fourth ribs. It hurt, but not like I would have expected. There was no bright, searing pain, and very little blood. That might have been because Augusta hadn't fed recently or because the bastard had missed her heart by a fraction of an inch.

Vlad was preparing to take off her head, why I couldn't imagine. Maybe because she was helping Mircea? Maybe because he was a nut? Who knew? But he was taking his time about unsheathing the long knife at his side. The one he'd used on me was one of Pritkin's-he must have pulled it out of his own flesh-but this one looked like an old family weapon, with a heavy, inlaid grip and a fine, polished blade. Too bad he wouldn't get a chance to use it.

"Billy, you're about to have company!" My yell echoed off the theatre walls. "Get down here.”

"You have caused me a great deal of trouble," Dracula was telling me as my body tore towards us across the stage. 'I will enjoy this.”

"I doubt it," I said, and shifted.

A very confusing split second later, I ended up almost running off the stage. Billy screamed in my head and I stopped, balancing on the very edge. It gave me a perfect view of Dracula getting acquainted with Senate member Augusta. He should have decapitated her without the fanfare while he had the chance. As it was, she was more than happy to give a demonstration of exactly how she'd gotten onto the Senate in the first place. What she lacked in fighting skill she made up for in ruthlessness and utter practicality. She tore Pritkin's knife out of her chest, ignoring the splitting, fleshy sound it made, and stabbed it into Dracula's while he was still gloating over his kill.

Unlike him, she didn't miss.

I saw the shock on his face as the heart was pierced, and heard the sound of metal splitting wood when the knife hit the floor below. She sank it deeply enough to trap him like a bug on a pin, then snatched off the arm from one of the first-row seats nearby, using his heirloom to carve the end into a nice, jagged point. The metal weapon wouldn't kill him, although it didn't seem to be doing him any good, but the stake would. Augusta glanced up, as if waiting for me to intervene, but I just looked at her. I'd saved one of Mircea's brothers; I didn't owe him two.

Augusta's arm flashed down, almost too fast to see. But the makeshift stake hit only the floor of the theatre, connecting in an arm-numbing jolt that echoed loudly in the empty space. Dracula was simply not there anymore. I didn't understand it and neither did Augusta, but then I saw Stoker clutching a small black box. He gave me a slight smile, then slid sideways and passed out. The incubus rose from his chest, looking as smug as a largely featureless spirit can.

Augusta snatched up the box, but hesitated when she saw the way the spirit's face changed. She glanced from its demon visage to me, then again demonstrated utter practicality. She dropped it and ran.

I looked around, but no vamps were visible. Weirdly enough, other than for the chair arm and some blood smears on the stage, the theatre looked like nothing had ever happened. Still, something was missing. "Where are the wards?" I asked Billy.

He drifted out of me slowly, as if reluctant to leave the shelter of my body. He peered around, but there was no sign of the theatre ghosts. They were probably recovering from the energy drain of whatever they'd done to Myra. "Destroyed-the dislocator took them out.”

"They're gone? All of them?”

"They wouldn't have lasted anyway, Cass. They weren't offensive wards. They were designed to operate defensively on a body, as protection, not like some kind of weapon. What you saw was them self-destructing.”

I thought of the eagle making one final dive and my throat got tight.

"Cassie!" Billy's voice was like a slap. "Don't do this- not now! We have no wards and the vamps will be back any minute. We need to get gone.”

I searched around for Myra, but without Augusta's senses, it was futile. I didn't believe for a second that the ghosts had killed her. For one thing, it would take a lot more than one ghost, or even one and a half, to drain a healthy human. For another, I'm just not that lucky. I briefly contemplated trying to go back in time, to be there to catch her before she made her grand exit, but the presence of that other bomb made me hesitate. I'd seen what a dislocator could do in my vision; I didn't want to experience it firsthand.

I slid off the stage with considerably less than Augusta's undead grace and picked up the black box. It weighed no more than it had before. I shook it doubtfully, but the spirit only smiled. It looked rather strange with bloody eyes and fangs. "He is in there, I assure you.”

"Now what?" I asked, as its features slipped back into benevolent vagueness.

"I wait," it said, with a lot more serenity than I'd have felt in its position. Still, if you were immortal, I guess the prospect of a few decades' delay didn't faze you much.

Pritkin's eyelashes were fluttering. "Myra's gone," I told him before he could ask. He nodded but didn't say anything. I looked back up at my nebulous ally. "Have you seen Mircea?" I assumed he'd survived, since the sequence of events from the vision had been interrupted, but I had to be sure.

"I believe he will be along." It started to fade, and I held out a hand to stop it.

“Thank you for your help. I know you didn't do it for me, but-well, anyway." I suddenly realized something. "I don't even know your name. I'm Cassie Palmer.”

It fluctuated to a light pink. "So few people bother to ask," it said in a pleased voice. "I have used many names through the centuries. It varies, depending on the sex and culture of the body I am inhabiting. I was Aisling once in Ireland, Sapna in India, Amets in France. Call me what you will, Cassie.”

It flushed a darker shade, almost a rose, which I guess was good because it started quoting Shakespeare again. " 'When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won.'" It started fading out once more, and this time I let it.

Pritkin grasped the side of the orchestra pit and hauled himself up onstage. He peered back over the side, holding out a hand, but I ignored it. Something was tickling the back of my mind. It felt like I'd just been handed a puzzle piece; only I didn't know what it was or where it fit.

"Are you hurt?" Pritkin's voice floated down to me.

"No." I finally took his hand and crawled back onto the stage. Almost the moment I did so, hysterical shrieks erupted from the pit behind me. Stoker had woken up, and with no incubus to deflect it, the full force of his wounds hit him all at once. Burns are painful, and ones as bad as his had to be excruciating. Pritkin jumped back in the hole, but the man's pitiful cries didn't stop.

I was about to follow him when a black box dangling in front of my face suddenly filled my vision. A low, rich voice purred in my ear. "Good evening, Trouble.”