Claimed by Shadow

Chapter 7

My knees made the acquaintance of another hard floor, this one marble, and my head hit something with an audible crack. A green blur wavered in front of my face, and I slowly blinked it into focus. It turned out to be a porphyry vase taller than I was, complete with leering Gorgon-head handles. For a moment, I just sprawled beneath it, staring up at their ugly faces while my head and knees vied for the title of most abused anatomical region. But the marble was cold against my bare legs, and I didn't think lying around in the open was too smart. I pulled myself into a seated position using the vase's pedestal for leverage, and got my first clear look around.

I was in an alcove alongside a large, round room. The dark green marble floor was incised with gold lines that formed themselves into a starburst pattern directly under an immense chandelier. Three others just like it lit up a sweeping staircase, their crystals showering pinpricks of light onto the crowd below.

People passed me in a dappled river of candlelight, satin and flowing shadows. Men in swallowtail coats escorted ladies dripping with jewels. Subtle brocades vied for attention with flashy silks. Fans fluttered and hems danced in a kaleidoscope of color and movement that did nothing to help my throbbing head.

Most of the fashions looked like the ones I'd seen at the theatre, but there were a few more exotically dressed guests including an African chief wearing enough gold to buy a small country and a guy in a toga. It looked like a costume party, but I knew better. I pulled my legs up and wedged myself as far as possible into the dark alcove. It wasn't much of a hiding place, though, considering the nature of most of the room's occupants. For a moment, I just looked around in stunned awe. I'd never seen that many vampires in one place in my life.

Then I noticed an even stranger sight. A diaphanous form, transparent enough to be almost invisible, glided along one wall. It blended so well into the shadows cast by the chandelier's long tapers that for a moment I doubted my instincts. Then it passed in front of a painting so dark with age that the subject was unrecognizable, and I saw it more clearly-an amorphous column of pastel iridescence. At first I thought it was a ghost, but the only discernable features on the protrusion I assumed to be a head were two huge, silver eyes. Whatever this thing was, it had never been human.

I was so intrigued that, for an instant, I almost forgot my predicament. There was a huge amount about the Pythia gig I didn't understand, but I knew spirits. I'd met old ones who'd been around for centuries, new ones who, in a few cases, hadn't even known they were dead, friendly ones, scary ones, and some things that weren't ghosts at all. But this didn't fit into any of those categories. I realized with shock that I didn't know what it was.

It drifted along with the crowd in the direction of a ballroom directly across from the stairs. I couldn't see much of the interior, which was lit for vampire eyes rather than mine, and received only an impression of laughing, candlelight-gilded faces and rich fabrics. But the thick, cloying scent of mingled perfume and blood that spilled out of its doors convinced me that I didn't want to get any closer.

A young man, probably in his late teens, paused a few yards in front of me. He looked strangely out of place in the formally dressed crowd, wearing only a pair of plum-colored trousers in a silky fabric that hung low on his hips. His chest and feet were bare and his long hair was loose around his shoulders. It had a slight ripple to it as it cascaded down his back, like dark silk against his pale skin.

I really wanted to move, to get out of a place where my heartbeat had to be audible to the entire room, but he was in the way. And the last thing I needed was to answer questions about my right to be here when I didn't even know where here was. Then one of the guests approached, a vampire with pale blond hair wearing what looked like a military uniform-red with gold braid and highly polished black boots. He stopped directly in front of the young man, his eyes sweeping over him in obvious appreciation.

The boy shivered, back tensing, buttocks tightening. He ducked his head shyly, causing light and shadow to play across high cheekbones and a cleft chin. His face flushed with a healthy glow, making him resemble the cherubs who stared down from flaking murals overhead, all but their pink faces lost to the dark.

The vamp stripped off one of the white gloves that went with his uniform. His hand stroked possessively down the boy's side, fingers playing along the ribs until they came to rest on the thin silk clinging to his hipbone. The young man's chest started rising and falling faster, but other than for louder breathing, he made no sound. My eyes focused on the boy's bare feet, which were directly in my line of vision as I tried to melt into the floor. They were startlingly white against the dark green, and looked strangely vulnerable next to the vamp's heavy footwear.

The young man stiffened as the blond head bent towards him, probably from the first glimpse of fangs, but a hand splayed possessively on his trembling back, holding him in place. He gave a small cry when his neck was pierced, and a visible shudder ran through him. But within seconds, he slid an arm around the vampire's neck and began making low sounds in his throat, openly, generously eager.

The vampire pulled back after a minute, his mouth stained as red as his uniform. The boy smiled at him and the vamp ruffled his hair affectionately. He threw his short cloak around the young man's shoulders and they walked together into the ballroom.

With a lurch in my stomach, I realized why I hadn't seen any waiters passing with trays of drinks, or heard the chime of glasses. When the heart stops, blood pressure in the body drops to zero, the veins collapse and the blood starts to coagulate. Not only is it less palatable in that form, but it's also harder to extract. Even baby vamps learn quickly-only feed on the living. At this party, the refreshments walked around on their own. And in my brief shorts and tank top, I looked a lot more like part of the beverage parade than a guest.

Almost as if he heard my thought, a vamp suddenly looked my way. He had a graying goatee that matched the silver brocade on his robes. They were lined with what looked like wolf fur, and he wore a large pelt draped around his shoulders. There was also something almost wolflike in the way he paused, one foot on the last stair, his nose tilted as if scenting prey. His flat black eyes came to rest on me, and a look of fierce interest crossed his previously unreadable face.

I scrambled to my feet and stumbled into the drifting crowd, panic lancing through me. The only doors were to the ballroom, and I dove for them as if my life depended on it, which it might. Somehow, I made it ahead of him, probably because he was too polite to elbow fellow guests out of the way. But a glance over my shoulder as I entered the dark, cavernous space showed that he wasn't far behind. Anticipation had lit those expressionless eyes and I felt my stomach plummet. Some vamps preferred their food frightened and struggling; just my luck I'd find one on the first try.

I took a quick look around the ballroom, but there were no obvious exits. Of course, the stairs should have warned me-we were probably underground. I tried to focus, but it was difficult with power crawling along my skin like a cloud of insects. None of it was directed at me specifically; it was just overflow from the beings jostling me on all sides. I realized with a jarring shock that I wasn't seeing merely a room full of vamps; it was a room crowded with master-level vampires-hundreds of them.

Convocation, I thought numbly-it simply had to be. Every Senate had a biannual meeting where master-level vamps met to discuss policy. I'd never been to one, but Tony had spent days preparing for them, changing his mind about clothes and escorts as often as a teenager going to a prom.

His entire entourage had been designed to impress, and with good reason. The weeklong gathering was the one time when he and other low-level masters could rub elbows with the glitterati-their own Senate members and visiting dignitaries from other senates around the world. Boots were licked, deals were made and alliances decided for the next two years.

Tony had always gone armed to the teeth and surrounded by bodyguards, since it wasn't unknown for the entertainment to get a little out of hand. I darted towards the orchestra on instinct-their golden instruments were the brightest things in the room-and hoped I wasn't about to be another Convocation casualty. Of course, it was a bad idea. There were no service doors, hallways or exits anywhere I could see, just a large alcove surrounded by burgundy drapes. I looked back to see my pursuer almost within arm's reach, and all the breath left my lungs.

What I'd taken to be a wolf pelt, I realized with horror, wasn't wolf at all. The paws draped over his chest were normal enough, if oversized. But the head that dangled halfway down his back was pink-skinned with a shock of light brown hair. I didn't get a good look at it, just flashes under his arm as he reached for me, but that was more than enough. My eyes told me what my mind didn't want to believe. He'd skinned a werewolf halfway through the transformation, so that the gray fur shaded into human skin around his shoulders.

I tried to shift but felt too light-headed to be able to concentrate. I bit the inside of my cheek hard, to keep from passing out, and tried to climb into the orchestra pit. I'd hoped to find a hidden exit, but a clarinet player shoved me back out, hard enough that I went sprawling. I slid into oiled black boots that shone in the low light. A hand grabbed my hair, using it as a handle to jerk me upright.

I stared into black eyes dancing with dark fire and forgot about the pain in my scalp. "You reek of magic," the vamp said, his voice thick with an accent I couldn't place. "I did not think the English brave enough to provide us with such a rare treat.”

My eyes fell to the skullless head bumping lightly against his side. It was now less than a foot away, and my throat closed in horror. I could see it perfectly-the sagging features, the dull hair, the empty eye sockets-and the limp, lifeless thing frightened me more than the vamp wearing it. If it brushed against me, there was a chance I'd See part of the creature's life-and knowing my gift, it would undoubtedly be the last part.

I moved away from it as much as I could, not wanting to know what it felt like to be skinned alive, and the vamp moved his grip from my hair to my elbow. His thumb caressed the skin at the bend of my arm, lightly, gently, but it felt like liquid metal poured from his hand into my veins. Pain was too mild a description for the shock that reverberated through me, bringing tears to my eyes and blinding me to everything outside my own body. He moved down to my wrist, a delicate stroke, but it spilled a line of blood along my arm as if his touch was a knife.

“They usually cringe at the idea of feeding from magic users, too afraid of retaliation from the mages," he said contemptuously. "I will have to remember to thank our host." Panic flooded my system with adrenaline, but there was nowhere to go. I pulled backwards, even knowing it was a wasted effort, and he smiled. "Now, let us see if you taste as good as you smell.”

A warm hand descended on my shoulder, and his smile faded. "This one is taken, Dmitri.”

I didn't need to turn around to know who had spoken. The rich tones were unmistakable, as was the pleasure that danced down my arm, slicing through the pain, reducing it to a low throb. A flash of anger passed over Dmitri's face. "Then you should have kept her with you, Basarab. You know the rules.”

A claret-colored cloak fell around me, so deeply red that it was almost black. "Perhaps you did not hear me," Mircea said pleasantly. "So close to that appalling orchestra, it is not surprising.”

"I don't smell her on you," Dmitri said with open suspicion.

"Our host asked to see me shortly after I arrived. I did not think he would appreciate my bringing an extra pair of ears." The joviality had fallen from Mircea's voice.

Dmitri didn't seem to hear the warning. His eyes had fixed on the rapid pulse in my neck and he sneered, showing elongated canines. "She will not live to speak of anything she overhears." His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into my flesh hard enough to bruise. The split in my arm widened, spilling a rush of blood over my skin.

"That is for me to decide." Mircea's voice was soft but deadly cold. His arm encircled my waist, drawing me back against his body. His other hand caught Dmitri's wrist. White-faced, the vamp swallowed, his hand spasming in Mircea's grip. Power sparked between them, washing the air around us in a burning mist that felt like it would eat into my skin if I stayed there long enough.

I stood in the curve of Mircea's arm, all my strength needed just to keep my knees from buckling. Mircea's power spiked, setting a warm rush of energy dancing along my body. But Dmitri didn't seem to find the sensation so pleasant. He flinched noticeably, but stubbornly hung on, his grip so tight that my hand went numb. The two vampires stared at each other for a long minute, then Dmitri abruptly stepped back, gripping his arm and panting, eyes murderous.

Mircea took hold of my wounded arm, pulling it straight, baring my blood-streaked skin. He dipped his head, his eyes fixed on the other vamp as his tongue flicked out, sliding along my arm in determined, challenging strokes. I watched him lick the blood from me in a daze, unable to look away from the sight of that proud head bowed over my wrist, mesmerized by the warm wetness of the tongue smoothing over me. Mircea raised his head after a moment and I stared at my arm in disbelief. Where there should have been wounds, there was only pale, unblemished skin.

Mircea's eyes never left Dmitri. "If you wish to contest this further, I am at your service.”

Dmitri's mouth worked for a moment, but his eyes slid away. "I would not affront our host by violating his hospitality," he said stiffly. He stepped back, anger in every line of his body. "But your abuse of the rules will be remembered, Mircea!”

As soon as he stalked off, the red haze around us dissipated like fog in sunlight. The adrenaline that had kept me on my feet abruptly left, leaving me cold and shaking, and if it hadn't been for Mircea's arm, I'd have hit the floor again. Some nearby guests, who had been watching with obvious anticipation, turned away in disappointment.

Mircea slowly pulled me backwards, into the shadows lining the wall. Nearby, a couple of vamps, a statuesque brunette and a blond, were feeding on a young woman. The female vamp was seated in a chair along the wall, the girl's body draped across her lap as she drank from her jugular. The young woman's head had fallen back, loose tendrils of blond hair tumbling around her shoulders, contrasting with the deep rose of the brunette's gown. The male vamp knelt in front of them, his long, sapphire robe spilling around him like a waterfall. Predictably, he went for another target.

He pulled the plum-colored, silky tunic the girl wore loose from the jeweled clasps at her shoulders, letting it slide through his hands slowly. The shimmering folds skimmed down her body to puddle around her hips. She moaned softly, whether in distress or encouragement, I couldn't tell. He stroked her sides and stomach soothingly for a moment, then moved a fingertip to trace the plump blue veins on her breast. Her hand crept up until it lay on his shoulder, a timid gesture of embrace.

He cradled one pale globe tenderly, his thumb brushing across the nipple in a light caress. The girl trembled visibly at his touch, but she leaned into it as his head followed his hand. She jerked violently a moment later as sharp fangs bit deep into her white flesh.

The female vamp's mouth drew the girl backwards, arching her body in a perfect bow, then the male vamp pulled her back toward him with hands and lips and teeth. Each movement flowed smoothly into the next, building a hypnotic rhythm. Her young body was soon shuddering helplessly under the dual suction. Her breath came in short gasps as she was rocked between sensations until she was begging incoherently for more.

I swallowed. The European vamps obviously didn't follow the Senate's approved method of drawing blood molecules through the skin or air. Maybe it was the era, or maybe they just played by different rules. Tony's vamps had fed publicly enough times that I thought I'd grown blasé about it, but theirs had been a far more basic act, without the sensual overtones. Given the choice, I thought I preferred their crude brutality. I'd rather know death was coming, see it as the enemy it was, than welcome it like a lover.

The male vamp had slipped a hand under the spill of plum fabric, and within seconds the girl was crying out in pleasure. But he wasn't looking at her; his eyes were locked on the brunette's, their shared gaze hot enough to burn. Feeding was an intimate act for vampires, and they never shared a body lightly. The girl appeared oblivious, or maybe she was just past caring. Her hips thrust up, accompanied by a groan loud enough to win a few amused looks from bystanders.

Shocked slightly out of my daze, I looked away. I wondered whether the girl realized that she was merely a conduit for other people's passion. I wondered whether she'd go to her death smiling, or if draining the refreshments dry was considered bad taste. Most of all, I wondered whether that was how Mircea saw me. Just a conduit-in my case, to power.

Warm lips found my neck. "The only humans here tonight are entertainment and food," he murmured, a husky whisper in the dark. "Which are you?”

His breath feathering over my nape and shoulders was enough to speed my pulse, to make my body tighten. He breathed deeply of my scent and I trembled, caught between fear and desire. The geis didn't care that this wasn't the Mircea I knew, that this was a master vampire who had no reason to protect me. It didn't understand that he was interested only in satisfying his curiosity over what had occurred at the theatre. It didn't care that he might be hungry.

"I'm here to warn you. You're in danger." It sounded lame even to my ears, but there was so much I couldn't tell him that it was almost the only thing left.

"Yes, I know. Dmitri is watching. And he does not release prey easily. We will have to be convincing, will we not?”

I saw the flash of heat in his eyes a second before a hand slid behind my head and a hot mouth descended onto mine. I'd expected passion, but not the rush of overwhelming relief that filled me and spilled over into a strange and quiet joy. It felt like I'd been holding my breath for too long and was finally allowed to breathe. My hands curled reflexively where they lay against his chest, and for a long moment I was motionless, letting myself be kissed. Then my hand moved off his shoulder and down the side of his torso to the warm, sleek swell of Mircea's hip. It wasn't meant to be a caress, but somehow it turned into one. A broad palm circled my waist, a warm tongue slipped between my lips, and the geis really woke up.

It was the difference between a single match and a bonfire. I inhaled a sobbing gasp, and tugged him downward. Fire gathered in that kiss, collected between our bodies and spilled over our skin, sending a shower of sparks through me. It was better than I'd thought it could be: strong and hard and hot and fierce. My hands seemed to exist only to tangle in that rich, dark hair, my mouth only to taste that smooth tongue.

Powerful arms swept me up and he backed me into the wall; then we were devouring each other with shuddering, desperate hunger. His arm tightened around my waist, his legs shifted to make way for mine, drawing my thigh between the warm, muscular columns of his. I ached to feel him inside me, and like the girl, I suddenly didn't care about the surroundings, or the desperate noises I was making. I wanted him with an ache that threatened to devour me.

The kiss finally broke for lack of air on my part and I pressed my cheek against Mircea's chest, gasping for breath. The pine scent that always clung to him engulfed me-it was almost as if I could see the forest, verdant and deep, spread out under an evening sky. I inhaled against the warm heat of his body, and felt weak. The only thing holding me up was his strength, bracing me against the wall, pressing skintight against me.

Mircea drew back after a moment, looking a little shaken himself, and I somehow found my legs. "You seem to have a number of talents, little witch.”

Any answer I might have made caught in my throat when I noticed what he was wearing. His clothes at the theatre had seemed a bit off, but this was really over the top. My hands sank into a claret-colored coat voluminous enough to act like a cloak. It was made of rich, heavy wool with a silken nap, edged by a thick band of gold embroidery. It fell a little past his knees, brushing the tops of dark brown boots. The outer garment opened to reveal a thin, golden brown inner robe, so soft that it had to be cashmere. It was loose but light enough that it clung to his body, outlining the sharply defined muscles of his chest, the long waist, the narrow hips, and the heavy weight of his sex.

I assumed it was traditional Romanian dress for a noble and, oddly enough, it suited him. But I doubted he'd chosen it for fashion's sake. Mircea preferred simple clothes that stood out because of superb tailoring. Tonight he was making a statement, the outfit a far more potent reminder of his lineage than the vest he'd worn to the theatre had been. The dragons on the waistcoat had been almost invisible- although I assumed vampiric sight would have picked them out easily enough-a subtle reference to his family symbol. Where it had whispered a reminder of his rank, his current outfit screamed it. I wondered who the message was for, and why he would need to make it badly enough to go around looking like a barbarian chief.

The impression was reinforced by the sword hanging from a jeweled belt at his waist. The gold and cabochon rubies glinted dimly in the thin light, heavy and obviously old, like something out of a crusader's treasure. As perhaps it was. I'd never seen Mircea carry a weapon before-when you're a master vampire, it's a little redundant-and it startled me. "You're armed.”

"In this company, certainly." He moved behind me, baring my body to the room, and an arm slid around my waist, pulling me tight against him. As he kissed along my shoulder, silky hair, longer than my own, fell forward over my throat, but that wasn't his destination. He brought my arm up and around his neck in a backwards embrace, and the pinpricks of fangs dented my skin.

He was directly over the artery in my upper arm, but he wasn't feeding-I'd have felt the energy drain, even if he didn't pierce the skin. But it probably looked convincing. It also put him in perfect position to whisper in my ear, his voice low and dangerous. "What concerns me is that you, who claim to be merely human, are not. You are either very foolish or… more than you appear. What urgent business brings you here tonight?”

The geis was enjoying the silk of Mircea's breath against my cheek. It flooded my body with molten sweetness to the point that I could barely breathe, much less talk. And what would I have told him? There was a problem, otherwise I wouldn't be here, but I had no idea what it was. And in this company, it was beyond ludicrous to think that I could affect anything. I was seriously beginning to doubt that my power knew what it was doing.

"You ruined the play for me," Mircea whispered. "I could not stop thinking about you. All I could see was that lovely body spread out for me… in my box… in my carriage… in my bed.”

He pulled me around to face him and his mouth covered mine again, sweeping us away. The kiss was rougher and sweeter at the same time, threatening to overwhelm me with the mindlessness of pleasure. I could have no more broken away than I could have fought the whole room and won.

Mircea finally pulled back, eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed. "Why do I want to touch you so badly?" The voice turned rough. "What have you done to me?”

I thought that should be my line. "I'm here to help," I told him shakily. "You're in danger.”

His fingers stroked along the curve of my face, slowly, tenderly, as if he were touching something far more intimate. I licked my lips, and Mircea's eyes dropped to my mouth. "I can see that.”

"Mircea! I'm serious!”

"So we are already on a first-name basis. Good; I despise formality." As he spoke, the geis tugged at me with a persistent, unfulfilled ache. I felt the power of his shoulders under my hands and masculine hardness against my hip. It took an incredible amount of control not to let my body arch against him, silently begging to be taken. "As you know mine, do you think I could have your name?”

I almost told him; that's how far gone I was. Some tiny sliver of reason spoke up at the last minute, shouting a warning, and I bit my tongue to cut off the words. The pain brought me back to sanity, to the strains of a waltz and the hum of conversation.

I looked around, but all I could see beyond the orchestra was a flickering darkness studded with candle flame. The high ceiling disappeared into shadow, the only bright spots a few glints where candlelight splashed over cracking gilt in faded murals. Nearby, the two vamps had finished their meal, and surprisingly the young woman was still alive. The male vamp was giving her something to drink out of a flask, and she accepted it without hesitation. At this point, she'd probably dive headfirst off the roof if he told her.

Somewhere in all this was the problem I'd been sent to fix, and I had to concentrate if I had any hope of finding it. "It could be the woman-the one who was with you at the theatre-who's the target," I told Mircea. "Is she here?" It would be better to have them together, although what I was supposed to do if another master attacked them I had no idea.

One of those dark eyebrows lifted in a very familiar gesture. "Why should I tell you? I know what you are. I try to be open-minded about these things, at least when the sorceress is young, pretty and thoughtfully wears so few clothes." He ran a single finger up my spine, dancing lightly along the vertebrae. "You have less on every time we meet-I applaud the trend." His words were light, but his eyes were intense on my face. "But however trying Augusta may be at times, her death would be more so.”

"Then help me prevent it!”

"But are you here to prevent it? You rescued a man who slipped us poison-”

"Someone else slipped it to you! He was trying to take it away!”

"-and will not even give me your name. Yet you ask for my trust.”

"If you think I'm an enemy, why rescue me? Why not let Dmitri do his worst?”

Mircea's mouth curled into a predatory smile. "A show of strength is often useful on these occasions, and I do not care for the man. Dmitri's tastes are well known, and I find them… displeasing. Depriving him of a prize was no hardship." His hand smoothed down the bow of my back, and my spine turned liquid. "Now, little witch, you are going to tell me what you are doing here, and explain some very curious events at the theatre two nights ago.”

I stared at him, my mind blank. The truth was impossible if I had any hope of not messing up the timeline more than it already was, but he would smell a lie before I finished getting the words out. There was only one possibility that might work. "Take me to Augusta, and I'll think about it." When he hesitated, I forced a laugh. "The great Mircea, afraid of an unarmed girl!”

His lips quirked upward with slow mirth. After a moment, his expression slipped into a true grin, one that made him look years younger. He raised my hand and kissed the palm. "You are quite correct, of course. What is life without a taste of danger?" He tucked my arm into his. "Come, let us see what Augusta can make of you.”

Despite the crowded ballroom, Augusta was not difficult to find. She and another female vamp, a petite brunette, had commandeered a spot on the other side of the room and cleared a space on the floor. A crowd had gathered around them, laughing and calling out encouragement, although I couldn't see the attraction. The two vampires appeared merely to be standing in the middle of the circle.

We stopped by the vamp in the toga. "Your Augusta is making herself very popular," he observed.

Mircea looked pained. "She is not my Augusta," he murmured, and the vamp laughed. He'd seemed plain before, with flyaway brown hair that looked like he went to Pritkin's barber and a wind-chapped complexion. But laughter changed the face entirely, adding animation to the whiskey-colored eyes and charm to the expression. When he laughed, he was handsome.

"That's not what she says.”

"As you should know better than anyone, Consul, some women are prone to exaggeration… and fits of temper.”

"The more passionate ones," he agreed. "Although they are frequently worth the trouble. Speaking of passionate shrews, how is your Consul?”

"She is well. I wondered that you did not ask before.”

"Your news fair drove all else from my mind.”

"Shall I tell her so?”

That produced another chuckle. "Only if you wish to incite a war, my friend." The vampire hadn't so much as glanced at me, which I'd assumed was due to my status as party snack. But his eyes suddenly slid in my direction. "And who is this? Are you beginning a collection of dainty blondes, Mircea?”

The Consul smiled at me, but it didn't reach his eyes. Mircea's grip tightened a fraction. "Are we not permitted to bring guests, Consul?”

"Guests, yes. As long as they are one of us, or human.”

He tilted my chin up with a finger. Something shifted behind his eyes, a killer peeking out from behind the jovial mask. "Very pretty. And very powerful. You will answer for her actions, of course.”

Mircea bowed slightly and the Consul left to work the room, chatting and talking, back to charming in a blink. I repressed a shiver. "They don't seem to like magic users here," I said weakly.

"They can complicate matters. Different precautions must be taken than are needed for our people.”

"I'm surprised he let me stay, then.”

"You caught him in a good mood. Augusta and I recently removed a problem for him.”

"I'm not planning to cause any trouble," I assured aim fervently. Mircea just looked at me, a wry quirk to his lips. "I'm not!”

"Why would I doubt you? Merely because the first time we met, I was almost poisoned, and the second, I came very close to a duel?" His smile broadened. "Fortunately, I don't mind trouble. If, as the Consul said, the reward is worth it.”

I didn't know what to say to that so we watched the women for a while. I still couldn't tell what they were doing, possibly because they had their backs to us. The brunette was in pale blue, the icy color embellished with too much lace, but Augusta wore a gorgeous off-the-shoulder champagne satin gown with a gold and cream brocade train. I might not like her, but there was no question that she knew how to dress. The full skirts blocked my view for a moment; then something tore through the middle of them, coming straight at me.

"Oh, no! He's loose!" Augusta 's voice rang out over the room, shaking with laughter. A wild-eyed, naked creature scrabbled on hands and knees for the edge of the circle, leaving a trail of droplets behind him. They were black and oily looking against the deep green. Right before he could reach me, something snapped his head back, throwing him twitching onto his side.

Augusta had a leash in her hand as she walked towards him, one end of which was looped around his neck. He lay on his back, quivering in terror, as she stood over him. "Up," she said impatiently, tugging on the leash.

It forced his chin up, and I got a glimpse of his face through a snarl of greasy black hair. His mouth worked with pain, then tightened into a rictus of rage, distorting his features beyond recognition. But I knew those beetle black eyes. I'd seen them in more than a few nightmares. "Jack," I whispered, and he stared up at me blindly. "What's wrong?" the brunette called. "I thought you liked to play with women!”

"I think he prefers the helpless kind," Augusta said, trailing her long fingernails down his chest, hard enough to leave red welts among the sparse hair. "So they call you the Ripper, do they?" she crooned. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll truly deserve the name.”

The man curled into a ball in a vain attempt to protect himself from those daggerlike fingernails, and I gasped when I saw his back. It had been lacerated until the skin hung in strips, what little there was of it. Mircea noticed as well. "If you don't let him rest soon, Augusta, he'll die and spoil your fun," he observed mildly.

She laughed. "Oh, I don't think so," she said with a coy look.

Mircea frowned and knelt by the man's side. He looked up after only a moment. "You've made that madman one of us?" he asked incredulously.

Augusta shrugged. "I'll dispose of him when I'm finished, or you may, if you like, for all the trouble he gave you. But you will have to wait." She casually stroked the side of Jack's face, an almost tender gesture, and he gave a desperate, broken cry. I realized with sickened disgust that she'd thrust one of those long fingernails through his right eyeball. "I like this one. He screams so nicely.”

Mircea shook off Jack's hand, which had grasped his trouser cuff in a silent plea, and Augusta dragged her captive back to the center of the space. Better to show him off, I supposed. Mircea glanced at me as I struggled to show no emotion. "How did you know who he is? Augusta only unveiled him tonight.”

"I heard a rumor," I managed, after swallowing hard. "How did you find him?”

"He found us. We were looking for someone else." Jack screamed as the brunette ground her heel into his groin, and I flinched before I could stop myself. "She'll grow tired of him quickly enough, once he breaks," Mircea said. I didn't comment. They would find out soon enough that it's hard to break an already fractured mind.

My attention was diverted from Jack by the sight of two ghostly figures. They had moved from among the assembled spectators into the circle itself, unseen by the crowd. One was the intriguing creature from earlier, still a featureless blob; the other was Myra.

I froze. On the edge of the circle stood the chief pain in my butt in all her spiritual glory. It was easy to recognize her since the only other time we'd met she'd also been in spirit form. I could hardly believe my eyes, especially since she looked healthier than before I'd stabbed her. Her fair hair, which had hung in lank, unwashed strings the only other time we'd met, was combed and shining. Her face was pale but she looked like she'd gained a few much-needed pounds. How the hell had she recovered so fast? "What are you doing here?" I demanded. Mircea thought I was talking to him. "You wished to see Augusta. There she is, safe and sound.”

"To right a wrong, of course." Myra 's voice was high and sweet, like a child's. It didn't go well with her expression. If looks could kill, I'd already be out of her way. "Isn't that what we were trained to do?" She was staying near the brunette, not coming any closer. I wasn't sure whether that was because Augusta was there, too, or because the brunette's body offered her a shield from my knives. I freed my hand from Mircea's cloak, just in case, but he caught my wrist.

"That is a pretty trinket you're wearing, but I would not advise sending anything deadly at Augusta. You can see what she does to those foolish enough to attack her." I ignored him. "What wrong?”

"Oh, but I forgot," Myra added sweetly; "you weren't trained, were you? How dreadful.”

That singsong voice was really starting to get on my nerves. "This isn't a game, Myra.”

"No," she agreed. "It's a contest, for very high stakes. The highest, you might say."

"Meaning what?”

Mircea followed the line of my gaze but of course saw nothing. "To whom are you speaking?”

"Meaning you aren't fit to be Pythia." She regarded me out of eyes that were such a pale blue, they were almost white. I assumed they weren't that light when she was in her body, but at the moment it was creepy. "Agnes was old and dangerously unstable when she appointed you. If her decision had gone through the usual review process, she'd have been laughed out of the hall. But she skipped all that, didn't she? She went behind everyone's backs and fucked up a system that's been in place for thousands of years. I'm here to fix that.”

"By killing me?”

"Nothing so crude. Let me give you a little lesson, your first and last, all in one," she said pleasantly. "Any being that travels in linear time is defined by its past. Take that past away, or change it, and you redefine that being." She smiled, but there was acid in it. "Or do away with it completely.”

"I know that." What I didn't understand was why she was here, in this time. If Augusta had just turned Jack, then it looked like I was back in the 1880s. If Myra wanted to change my past, she was a little early. "Do you have a point?”

"What is happening?" Mircea demanded, looking back and forth between the vampires and me as if he realized he was missing something.

"Do I have a point?" Myra mimicked. "God, you're thick. I know first-year initiates who catch on faster!”

She glanced at Mircea, and I tensed. I really didn't like her expression. "If you want to kill me, why attack him?”

"You still don't get cause and effect, do you?" Her voice held genuine astonishment. "Let me spell it out for you. Mircea protected you most of your life. Why do you think Antonio never lost his temper and killed you? Why did he open his arms and welcome you back after you ran away? If Mircea is removed, his protection is removed. And that means you die, long before you become a problem for me.”

The ghostly creature behind Myra jerked slightly, as if it didn't like this information any better than I did. It moved those huge eyes back and forth between the two of us, its color shading from a silvery hue to dark purple. Odd flutterings starting around the edge of its diaphanous shape and, with no further warning, it changed. The pale, almost featureless face grew a mouthful of deadly-looking fangs, and the eyes flooded with dark red, like old blood. I stared at it in shock, but Myra didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she thought I was grimacing at her.

"And did Agnes become a problem for you?" I demanded. I was assuming that Myra had been the woman at the theatre who had poisoned Mircea's wine. How she'd recovered so fast I didn't know, but if she was here, then she could have been there. And it wasn't as if there were a lot of other contenders. I couldn't know whether the poison she'd used was the same kind that had killed Agnes, but the similarity in method was interesting. "Is that why you killed her?”

Myra laughed as if I'd said something genuinely funny. "That's against the rules, or didn't you know?" she asked. Then she stepped into the brunette's body and disappeared.

Mircea gripped my upper arms. "Are you mad?”

"The brunette," I gasped. I didn't say any more, because the vamp Myra had possessed suddenly hurtled herself at Mircea. He grabbed her around the throat before I had a chance to blink, holding her away from him. She twisted and fought, but her reach wasn't quite long enough. Not that it would have made any difference if it had been. Apparently, to Myra a vamp was a vamp. She didn't understand that the brunette was a child compared to Mircea, and that he could break her as easily. But she was a fast learner. In less than a minute, Myra flew out of the woman, disappearing into the crowd.

The brunette collapsed, sobbing, clutching Mircea's feet and begging for forgiveness almost incoherently. "She was possessed-she didn't know what she was doing," I told him.

He lifted the hysterical vamp to her feet and looked at me over her head, his face darkening with anger. "Vampires cannot be possessed!”

I thought of Casanova but decided not to debate the point. "Not by most things," I agreed, my eyes on the crowd, which had grown with the advent of violence.

I'd invaded a vamp before, a first-level master. The difference was that I'd done it by accident, not knowing about that facet of my power, and almost scared myself to death. It hadn't done him much good either. But Myra could obviously manage it at will, and there was a whole roomful of vampires for her to choose from.

"What is out there?" Mircea pushed the sobbing vamp towards Augusta -her master, I assumed-and started to examine the crowd himself, those quick dark eyes taking it in, no doubt memorizing the faces. Too bad that sort of thing wouldn't help.

I didn't have to answer, because a woman who might have walked straight out of Versailles, in cream-colored panniers and a two-foot-tall headdress, lurched out of the crowd. She didn't make a beeline for Mircea as I'd expected, but staggered drunkenly about the circle, careening into Jack, who was huddled off to the side, trying to disappear into the shadows. They went down in a tumbled mass, naked, dirty legs entwined with embroidered satin, until Augusta snatched up his leash and yanked him away.

The vamp didn't get up, but stayed in the middle of the floor, limbs thrashing, head rolling, eyes showing white. It looked like she was fighting the possession, trying to throw Myra out. If she succeeded, it would really help. My knives could rip through flesh as easily as spirit, but I couldn't risk attacking when Myra was clothed in someone else's body. Her puppets might not deserve an untimely death, not to mention what it would do to the timeline.

Several vamps started toward the woman, looking concerned, and I grabbed Mircea's arm. "Get them back! I can stop this if I get a clear shot.”

"No! You are not killing the host merely-”

"I'm not going to touch the host," I said as the woman screamed and clawed the air. "Once the spirit realizes it can't control her, it will come out. As soon as it does-”

I stopped, but too late. Normally, Myra wouldn't have been able to hear a whispered comment from yards away, but in a vamp's body, she also had a vamp's hearing. The woman's head raised and she gave me a smile that was halfway between a grin and a grimace; then she collapsed. One of the women who had been trying to help her suddenly darted back into the crowd, no doubt with a passenger on board. Damn it!

I searched the crowd for the new host, but when I finally spied her, she'd fainted into the arms of a young vamp. Myra was playing hide-and-seek. "Watch the women," I told Mircea, hoping Myra would overhear. She'd been in only women so far, possibly because she didn't like invading a male's body any more than I did. And those closest to Mircea were all women. If Myra overheard me and switched to men, he'd at least get a split-second warning before he was attacked again.

I went back to scanning the crowd of vamps, who were muttering among themselves but showing no signs of dispersing. In fact, more were drifting over every minute from around the ballroom, as people realized where the entertainment was currently to be found. And the more who crowded in on us, the harder it was to predict where Myra would strike from next.

Fear crept up my spine. All I could see was that ring of faces, avidly waiting to see someone bleed, something die. A male vamp, wearing a vivid green burnoose, fell onto the floor. He was up in an instant, looking around with a snarl, his fangs very white against his dark skin. Then I saw movement toward the center of the circle and caught a look of hatred on Augusta 's face, her blue eyes narrowed to icy chips. The young man had been a diversion.

I clutched Mircea's arm and pointed. "Not him! She's in Augusta!”

A murmur went through the crowd-everyone knew something was wrong, but no one was likely to interfere. This was Europe, and both Mircea and Augusta were members of the North American Senate. If they wanted to kill each other, that was their affair. No one would lift a finger to hinder or to help.

"You can't kill her," I told him in a rush. "Just… disable her, or something." Enough to force Myra to come out and face me. Augusta grabbed up a huge iron candleholder the size of a coat rack that had been lighting the area. She hefted it like it was made of paper, and I realized a flaw in my plan. If she was a Senate member, she had to be a first-level master.

Just like Mircea.

Augusta came at us, brandishing the flaming candlestick, and Mircea swung me out of the way. She barreled past us but turned in a flash and was back for more, slashing with the candleholder like it was an extra-long sword. Sparks flew everywhere and all hell broke loose in the crowd. Vampires are mortally afraid of fire, and the way she was slinging it around, it could hit anyone. There was a mad rush to the door.

Augusta took another swing, Mircea dodged and a dark figure broke away from the crowd, dashing at him with an outthrust hand. Mircea hadn't seen him, but he felt it when the stake slammed into his side. I screamed, and Dmitri looked up for an instant, smirking; then the expression froze on his face. I saw a blade coming out of his chest in the perfect position to have sliced through his heart, and the hilt was in Mircea's hand. Dmitri gave it a disbelieving look and collapsed, his body spasming violently.

Mircea dropped to one knee, a hand to his side, and I knew it was bad. Mircea's blade was metal-meaning that Dmitri might eventually heal. But the stake Mircea pulled out of his side was wood. When I saw it, my world went gray. I tried telling myself that even if it had hit his heart, that alone wouldn't kill a first-level master. But that wasn't much comfort with Augusta around to finish the job.

She had stopped her attack, surprise on her features when Mircea went down. But she recovered almost instantly, running forward to rip the bloody blade out of Dmitri's chest. She looked at me and laughed. "You aren't even going to make this a challenge, are you?”

She turned back to Mircea and I didn't even hesitate. Killing Augusta would dramatically alter time, but so would letting Mircea die. I'd never been as scared as I was watching the blood pour from Mircea's side and having no power to stop it. I would not watch his head taken, too.

My knives leapt out of the bracelet and flew at Augusta. With vampire agility, she was able to get the candlestick up in time to shield herself, but in the process she knocked a candle free. It landed on her shoulder before bouncing to the floor, and a spark caught on the bodice of her dress. It burst into a tiny flame, smaller than that of a match. A human would have snuffed it out between her fingers with no concern, but Augusta started screaming and thrashing around like a drowning victim going down for the last time.

Apparently, the terror of fire was enough to override Myra 's control, because Augusta promptly forgot all about the attack. Mircea tried to get her to hold still so he could smother the flames with his handkerchief, but she wouldn't listen. She slipped on a patch of Jack's blood and ended up on her elegant backside, and I had to jump out of the way to keep from having her roll right into me.

" Augusta! Stay still!" Mircea bellowed, but Augusta wasn't listening. Instead of putting out the flame, all her rolling around had caused more oxygen to get to it, and a finger of fire leapt to one of the long curls that framed her face. Her screams became more like shrieks, and she whipped off the fashionable curls, sending them flying. That explained why her head hadn't gone up like a gasoline fire- half of the golden coiffure was fake and probably made of human hair.

Myra rose out of her, abandoning ship now that she could no longer control it. I waved my arms and screamed frantically at my knives, which had zeroed in on the terrified Augusta. "No-not her! Get Myra!" They either didn't hear me or were having too much fun to obey.

The spirit creature was more single-minded. It dove through Myra, as insubstantial as a breath of wind, but she staggered backwards, clawing at her chest and screaming. After a stunned second, I realized that she'd been given the spiritual equivalent of a mugging. The spirit emerged from her back, so flush with stolen power that it was blinding silver, looking at it like staring into a searchlight.

I blinked, and when I looked again, it had faded out. Myra dropped to her knees, almost transparent, the energy that should have allowed her to remain here for hours gone. She turned a furious blue glare on me. "Doesn't matter. You can't guard him all the time.”

She shifted out just as Augusta scrambled to her feet and careened into Mircea, screaming and clawing like she blamed him for the danger. I tossed him the cloak, and he wrapped it around her to smother the flames, just as I felt the tug of my power.

"Tell me, little witch," he gasped, holding the struggling vampire with obvious difficulty. "What happens when you are trying to cause trouble?”

A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over me, and I felt myself falling. I crashed headfirst into Mac's cot, where Billy Joe had been playing a game of solitaire, scattering his cards everywhere. "I fold," I said weakly, and passed out.