Chapter Eleven
It wasn’t hard,
considering that they almost ran us down. There were a lot of
vehicles on the street—mostly small, two-wheeled contraptions with
a covered area in front, a driver perched high on a seat in back,
and a single horse. But there was only one being driven by a girl
in an electricblue party dress.
And barreling
straight down the middle of the sidewalk.
For once, Mircea
didn’t have to pull me out of the way; the crowd was already doing
that for him. It parted into two halves, surging into the road or
back against the pub. Mircea and I ended up in the road, and then
had to shuffle back even farther because the little carriage was
weaving drunkenly all over the place.
I didn’t know how
much my mother knew about horses, but I didn’t think her driving
was the problem. That was more likely the two war mages in the
coach behind her, firing spells that she was doing her best to
dodge. She wasn’t entirely successful, which probably explained why
the roof of her carriage was on fire, and why her horse had the
walleyed look of the totally panicked.
Although the horse
looked positively calm compared to the kidnapper, who was sitting
in the covered area of the coach, hands braced on either side,
screaming his head off.
“Those idiots! Are
they trying to kill her?” I demanded,
as another bolt of what looked like red lightning flashed between
the carriages.
It missed her, but
only because she’d jumped the sidewalk at the same moment,
scattering pedestrians and overturning a vendor’s cart. Apples
rolled across the street like oversized marbles, tripping people
and sending them sliding on the icy road. Unfortunately, the mages’
horse managed to avoid them just fine, and thundered after
her.
“It would appear so,”
Mircea said grimly.
I stopped staring at
the chaos long enough to stare at him. “What?”
“From what you know
of the Circle, dulceață, which do you
think they would prefer—a fully trained heir in the hands of a dark
mage, or the same heir deceased?”
A finger of ice ran
down my spine. Because I didn’t have to think. I’d just spent more
than a month dodging the Circle of my time, who had been convinced
that I was a threat thanks to my parentage, my vampire connections
and a couple of dozen other things. And their solution had been
what it always was—kill it, then kill it again.
Goddamnit!
There was a walkway
over the road ahead, and I shifted us onto it, putting us
momentarily ahead of the chase. It wouldn’t be for long. The light
weight of the vehicles allowed them to zip past the larger ones
lumbering down the road, most of which were trying to get out of
the way, anyway. But one wagon, piled high with barrels, was too
heavy to move fast enough. And a spell that missed my mother by a
fraction didn’t miss it.
Whatever was in the
barrels must have been pretty flammable. Because they exploded in a
wash of light and heat and eardrum-threatening sound, setting the
wagon ablaze and sending several of the smaller casks shooting
heavenward, like wooden cannonballs. And if I’d thought the street
had been chaotic before, it was nothing compared to
this.
Horses don’t like
fire, noise or unexpected events, and every horse on the street had
just experienced all three. Pandemonium broke out, with bolting
animals, running people and fiery barrel parts raining down from
the heavens. One of the latter took out an awning over a
tobacconist’s shop, which the owner hadn’t remembered to roll up
for the night. The dark green material went up in flames, right by
a couple more horses.
That might not have
been so bad, except for the fact that they were hitched to a
double-decker bus. It had been about to let off a group of
passengers, only they had to cling to the railings instead as the
spooked horses took off at a dead run. I caught sight of my mother
again as she and the bus raced side by side for the bridge, and
Mircea grasped my arm.
“Can you shift us
onto her coach?”
I stared at him,
wondering at what point he’d lost his mind. But he looked perfectly
serious, maybe because he thought this was as good a chance as we
were going to get. It didn’t help that I agreed with
him.
“I’m not . . . I
don’t . . . It isn’t so easy shifting onto moving things,” I
explained. Particularly ones that were all over the road and on
fire.
“Then we’ll have to
do it the old-fashioned way,” he told me. And before I could ask
what that meant, his arm went around my waist and we were running
for the side for the bridge, and then we were—
“Oh, shiiit!” I
screamed, as Mircea threw us over the side just as mother’s coach
thundered underneath.
Only she must have
moved again, because when we landed, hard enough to rattle my
teeth, it was on the top of the bus.
Mircea managed to
keep his feet, but I went sprawling into a big woman clutching a
little dog, which tried its best to bite my nose off. And then I
was pushed backward onto the lap of an astonished-looking man, who
appeared less flabbergasted by my sudden appearance than by the
brief outfit I was wearing.
“What? You’ve never
seen a calf before?” I demanded, as Mircea pulled me up. Only to
get us almost trampled by a crowd of panicked people trying to get
down the stairs.
Several managed it by
falling off, several more almost did and a lot of parcels and
umbrellas and hats went flying. That included someone’s bicycle,
which bounced riderless off the back of the bus and continued down
the street, looking oddly steady. Or at least it did until the
mage’s vehicle crashed into it, sending it sailing into a
storefront and then careening into us.
The bus shuddered
under the impact, and most of the people who had gotten back to
their feet were thrown onto their butts again. But the mages hadn’t
emerged unscathed from the crash, either. The light gray horse
pulling their ride broke free of its harness, neighed in terror and
then took off back down the road.
So they grabbed the
next convenient means of transportation.
Which happened to be
ours.
It was Mircea’s turn
to swear as they jumped onto the bus, knocking people aside, and,
in some cases, off the side as they vaulted up the stairs and onto
the roof. And then flew off it again as Mircea grabbed the backs of
two seats, swung up and kicked. A
couple thousand bucks’ worth of fine leather left muddy imprints on
their shirts as they rocketed backward, arms flailing and bodies
flying.
They landed what
looked like half a block down the street, which should have ended
that. But they’d no sooner hit pavement than they were back on
their feet. I saw them shake their heads, dart into the crowd and
kick into enhanced speed—and then I didn’t see anything else,
because Mircea was dragging me toward the front of the bus. “Did
they have shields?” I asked, confused, because I hadn’t seen
any.
“No.”
“Then how did they—”
I began, only to stagger and go down when the bus suddenly swerved
dangerously.
It was racing down
the road like there was no driver, which was sort of true, since I
didn’t think the guy in the driver’s seat was supposed to be there.
A third mage had appeared out of nowhere and knocked the real
driver aside, just in time for Mircea to vault down the length of
the bus and do the same to him. Only when a master vampire knocks
you aside, you don’t end up on the floor.
The guy sailed off
the bus, flew through the air and slammed face-first into the
second story of a nearby building. Which I’d kind of expected. And
then he twisted, kicked off the bricks like gravity didn’t apply to
him and jumped back on the bus. Which I
hadn’t.
I had a second to
think that the guy looked a lot like the mage I’d last seen running
a marathon inside a time bubble—tall, dark hair, red face—only that
couldn’t be right. And then he lunged for Mircea, who had turned
his back to grab the reins, and I decided to worry about it later.
I jumped after him, yelling a warning I doubted even vampire ears
could hear over the galloping horses and the creaking bus and the
screaming people.
But it didn’t matter,
because some of the passengers had clearly had enough. One
fine-looking gent with a monocle tripped the mage with his cane, a
burly-looking guy in a butcher’s apron smashed him in the face, and
a couple of other men helped flip him over the side and into the
street. Which all things considered, probably didn’t hurt him
much.
And then he was run
over by a speeding coach, which probably did.
At least, I didn’t
see him vault back on board before Mircea pulled the real driver
back into his seat and grabbed me. “We aren’t going to catch up to
her this way,” he yelled.
I nodded, feeling a
little dizzy. The Clydesdales pulling the bus were already going as
fast as they could, and they weren’t bred for speed anyway. We
weren’t going to catch up to Mom on a heavy bus loaded with people,
and neither were the mages.
“What’s the
alternative?” I yelled back.
“This!” he told me.
And flung us over the side.
It happened so fast I
didn’t have time to scream before we landed in a mostly empty
wagon. The lack of weight was probably why it was beating the bus
in the race to get the hell out of Dodge. But it wasn’t beating it
by much, particularly after the driver turned around to shout at us
and rammed into the next vehicle in line.
But it looked like
Mircea hadn’t planned on staying long, because before I could get a
breath, we were jumping onto another wagon and then into a
four-wheeled cab, which had gotten close enough for him to grab the
door. And then through the back, trying not to step on the
occupants’ toes, and out the other side into—
Well, I guess it was
a car. Except it looked more like a roofless carriage with no
horses and a big stick coming out of the floorboard. It also had a
huge, bulbous horn, a couple of foot pedals and a freaked-out
driver who was currently dangling from the hand of a master
vampire.
“You know, I could
use a little more warning next time!” I told Mircea breathlessly,
as he dropped the man gently into the road.
He shot me a glance.
“Now you know how I feel whenever you shift.”
“I tell you when
we’re about to shift!”
“When you remember.”
He picked me up and deposited me in what I guess was the
passenger’s seat, since it didn’t have a stick. “Fair warning: this
is going to be a bumpy ride.”
Yeah, like it hadn’t
been so far, I didn’t say, because my ass had no sooner touched
leather than we barreled onto the sidewalk, slung around a bunch of
people, clipped the side of a shop and then shot
ahead.
“Are you sure you
know how to operate this thing?” I demanded, trying to get my limbs
sorted out.
“This is a Lutzmann.
I used to own one.”
“Yeah, but did you
actually drive it?”
He just raised an
eyebrow and shot ahead, as I frantically searched for a seat belt.
Which I didn’t find, because, apparently, they hadn’t been invented
yet. Maybe because the car’s top speed appeared to be about thirty
miles an hour, which sounds like nothing unless you’re in a vehicle
with no sides, a high center of gravity and a stick for steering. I
don’t think all four wheels were ever on the ground at the same
time as we careened down a street littered with obstacles, half of
them living and all of them disapproving.
But however pathetic,
our speed was constant, while it looked like the horses pulling
Mother’s coach were getting tired. Because a moment later I spotted
them, just up ahead.
Mircea must have seen
them, too, because he floored it, taking us up to maybe a whopping
thirty-five. But it was lucky he had. Because a second later, red
lightning lit up the night, shooting just behind us to explode
against a building, blackening the bricks and taking out a
window.
I whipped my neck
around and saw what I’d expected—three damn mages in a coach they’d
stolen somewhere. It had two horses and a lightweight body, and
damned if they weren’t gaining. And it looked like they held a
grudge, because a lot of the bolts blistering through the air were
aimed at us.
One took out a row of
streetlamps, popping them one after another as a bolt leapt from
light to light to light, burning through the night right alongside
us. Another hit a swinging pub sign, appropriately named the Fiery
Phoenix. The Phoenix went up in smoke and then so did we, as a
spell crashed into the back of the car, picking it up and sending
it sailing through the air, straight at—
I screamed and
grabbed Mircea, shifting us just as he grabbed me back and jumped.
The result was a confusing few seconds of shifting and then flying
through the air, as his jump ended up taking place on the other
side of the shift. And then we landed in a heap, half in the street
and half in the gutter, before rolling onto the sidewalk and a lot
of unhappy pedestrians.
I barely noticed, too
busy watching the car smash into the front of a church. And wedge
between two of the pillars. And explode.
And then the bastard
mages zipped by us, splashing us with filthy water from a ditch in
the street. The one we’d already rolled through. And the next thing
I knew, we were clinging to the back of their vehicle as it pelted
down the road, past the remains of the little car and into a street
on the right.
Mircea must have done
it, moving us with that vampire speed that sometimes seemed almost
as fast as shifting. Because I sure as hell hadn’t. I wasn’t up to
doing much, frankly, except clinging to the leather-bound trunk on
the back of the coach and trying not to puke. And then it started
raining.
Of course it
did.
Mircea was making
some kinds of signs at me, probably afraid the mages would hear if
he said anything. Which would have worked great, except that my
eyes kept crossing. But I guess he must have meant I’m going to leave you for a minute to go do something
insanely stupid. Because the next second, he vaulted around
the side of the coach, kicked in the door and disappeared into the
small, covered area.
And then things
started to get interesting. At least, they did if you consider
cursing and kicking and a wildly rocking coach and a spell that
blew off the roof to be interesting. It wasn’t doing so much for
me, but I didn’t have time to worry about it, because a fist
punched through the back of the coach, almost in my
face.
Since it was a left
one and wasn’t wearing Mircea’s OMEGA watch, I had no compunction
at all about slipping off the one shoe I hadn’t yet managed to lose
and using the stiletto heel to try to sever it at the wrist. It
didn’t work as well as its namesake, but it must have been a
distraction, at least. Because somebody cursed and somebody
grunted, and then somebody went sailing out the side of the
carriage to splat against one thundering along right next to
us.
Which would have been
great if it hadn’t happened to be Mom’s.
The mage grasped hold
of the coach with one hand and flung a spell at me with the other,
but it didn’t connect—thanks to the kidnapper, of all people. I
could see him, because there was no covered area of the coach
anymore, due to the fire. The rain had put it out, or maybe it had
burnt out after it consumed all the cloth over the cab. But either
way, only the wire frame remained in place, which didn’t hinder the
kidnapper at all from slamming his heavy-looking suitcase upside
the mage’s head.
That sent the spell
flying off course, missing me but setting the hem of my dress
alight. Fortunately, the mud puddle I’d just finished wallowing in
had pretty much soaked the material, and that and the pelting rain
took care of the fire before it took care of me. I was left with a
ruined dress, a burn on my thigh and a serious case of Had
Enough.
If my mother could
shift seven people through most of a century, I could shift five a
few hundred yards, like to the next street over. It would get them
off her ass, and once Mircea and I shifted back, we’d have only the
mage to deal with. I just needed to get the damn war mages all in
one place in order to—
And then I didn’t,
because Mom did it for me.
She slammed her coach
into ours, almost knocking me off my perch. It did more than that
to the mage, who had been trying to grab her while the kidnapper
tried to grab him. The sudden movement sent him flailing back, and
he fell through the missing roof of our coach, splintering the wood
forming the back of it in the process. That left me looking at
Mircea, who had a mage under one arm and another by the throat, and
was trying to get a foot in the new arrival’s stomach.
He looked up at me
and I looked at him, and then to the side, where a gap in the
buildings showed a nice, broad street running parallel to this one.
“Fair warning,” I told him. And shifted.
And immediately
regretted it.
It felt like my body
was coming apart at the seams, a searing, tearing pain that shot
down every nerve. It hurt badly enough to have wrenched a scream
from my throat, if I still had one. I didn’t, because it was
streaming in molecules across space, like the rest of me, like my
brain, which was nonetheless informing me that this was too far,
too much. That maybe I should have remembered that the two horses
would count as people, too; like maybe I should have thought about
how tired I already was; like maybe this would be my last shift
ever because my freaking head was going to explode.
At least, it would if
I had the energy to rematerialize it long enough, which I wouldn’t
if this went on much longer. What was going to happen instead was a
quick unraveling of me and the horses and the coach and everyone
inside it into particles blowing on the breeze that the rain would
wash away, like we’d never existed at all. I knew it with the
absolute conviction of someone who could already feel it happening,
feel pieces and parts beginning to break away from their patterns,
to jumble up, to distort—
And then I thought,
No.
And then I thought,
Stop.
And we
did.
Really, really
abruptly.
I hadn’t known it was
possible, mainly because I’d never had reason to try. But somehow,
I had aborted the shift. Right in the goddamned
middle.
It had been that or
die, so it had seemed the lesser of two evils. Until we
rematerialized not a street over, but still on this one. Sort
of.
The street was a
posh-looking curve of neoclassical buildings fronted by pale stone
that the gaslight turned gold against the black sky. Along both
sides of the street ran a covered colonnade, which I hadn’t really
noticed because I’d been kind of busy. I noticed it now since we
landed up close and personal—as in, right on top of
it.
That put us well
above the street, flying along a narrow roofline barely wide enough
to accommodate the coach, the horses and the heads that popped out
of the side of the coach to look down at the street below. And then
turned to look at me. And then one of the mages managed to get an
arm up, and I had absolutely no doubt what he planned to do with
it.
But I couldn’t stop
him. I could barely even see him, wavering around in front of my
blurry vision along with everyone else. Which was why it took me a
moment to realize that he suddenly wasn’t there anymore. That
Mircea had just bailed with him and the rest, throwing the whole
kicking, fighting knot over the side of the colonnade.
Which would have been
fine if I’d still been able to shift. But I wasn’t and I couldn’t,
and the end of the colonnade was coming up and I was trying to
bail, too, because falling from the back of a galloping coach
wouldn’t be fun, but it was a lot better than the alternative. But
my goddamned foot had gotten wedged behind the goddamned box and it
wasn’t coming out, and I didn’t have time to figure out what was
wrong with a brick wall staring me in the face and—
And then I was
staring into a lovely pair of lapis eyes instead.
I blinked, stunned
and confused and more than a little sick, as one of the mages ran
up alongside the carriage. It was the one my mother was driving, in
the middle of the road like a sane person, and which I was now
somehow on top of. The mage grabbed for her and she broke eye
contact with me long enough to glance at him, and then he was gone,
popping out of existence like Niall had back in the suite. I knew
that was what had happened, because a second later he showed up
again in the middle of the street in front of us.
And then she ran him
down.
“Damn, Liz!” the
kidnapper said, staring up at her.
“Who are you?” she
asked, turning those amazing eyes on me again.
And for some reason,
I couldn’t answer. I stared into that lovely face, so close, closer
than I’d ever thought it would be, and I couldn’t say anything at
all. My throat closed up and my eyes filled and my face crumbled
and I probably looked like a complete, blubbering idiot. But try as
I might, I couldn’t seem to say
anything—
And then the
kidnapper answered for me.
“Agnes sent her,” he
said harshly. “It’s a trap!”
“I don’t think so,”
she said, her eyes never leaving my face. I don’t know what
expression I was wearing, but she looked stunned, disbelieving,
shocked. She put out a hand to touch my cheek, and it trembled
slightly. “I don’t think so,” she whispered.
“I’m telling you,
they’re working together!” he hissed. “She’s the one who helped
that bitch drag me back—”
“Agnes is a good
woman.”
“She’s a bitch!” he shrieked. “And this one’s just as bad.
You have to—”
I never found out
what he wanted her to do. Because four mages jumped on the coach at
the same time, which was impossible, since at least two of them
were supposed to be dead. But they all looked pretty lively to me,
including the one who grabbed the kidnapper around the throat and
jerked him back off his feet. I didn’t see what the others did,
because the next moment we were shifting, flowing through time with
an ease I’d never before experienced.
Shifting was usually
metallic and electric and vaguely terrifying, like the thrilling
ride of a roller coaster you suspect might just be out of control.
But this wasn’t. It was warm and soft and natural, like breathing,
a light caress that picked us up and gentled us along toward . . .
somewhen. I didn’t know; I didn’t care. I just wanted to stay here,
right here—
“But this isn’t your
fight,” she told me simply, as the tide washed us toward an unknown
shore.
I shook my head,
trying to tell her that she was wrong, that it was my fight; it so
very definitely was. But I still couldn’t talk, even as I felt her
hand dissolve under mine, as the current washed us in two different
directions, as I cried out and tried to hold on to something that
simply wasn’t there anymore—
And the next thing I
knew, I was standing on a street corner, surrounded by flashing
neon lights and falling snow and shimmery, delicate nets of hanging
stars, watching a Victorian coach veer across modern traffic
lanes—for an instant. Before vanishing again into
nothingness.
And just like that,
she was gone.