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Among the usual background noise of his family’s gossip, of higher-level vampires giving him errands to run, and of others jeering about his clothes—someone had told him that everyone was going to be wearing livery at the consul’s home, and he’d believed it—I managed to plant a suggestion.
Suddenly, we were moving much faster than before, through a maze of passageways, and then out a hidden door into a hallway. Or, no, I thought, because it deserved a better word than that. It was long and wide, with a great many people in it. It reminded me of some of the old European courts, where a monarch sat at one end of a gallery and cliques of courtiers laughed, talked, and schemed all along it.
It was easy to tell the cliques here by their clothing. I rode the small vampire down an expanse filled with priceless statuary, beautiful inlaid floors, and marble walls with the height and breadth of old Rome, and barely noticed. I was too busy gazing at costumes from all over the world and a hundred different eras.
Older vampires, especially in formal or stressful situations, liked to dress as they had in their youth. It was comfortable, familiar, and an easy way to remind everyone of exactly how old and powerful they were. So we passed by groups looking as if they had just stepped out of ancient China, or the Roman Empire, or Montezuma’s court, or some Japanese shogunate, along with dozens of others.
And those who weren’t in period dress wore the latest magical fashions, everyone trying to outdo everyone else, to the point that my ride’s elaborate blue and gold livery seemed tame by comparison.
I marveled at a jeweled octopus, its golden arms holding a woman’s upswept chignon in place, when it wasn’t moving them around to adjust its grip. Nearby, embroidered bees decorated the thick black velvet of a Tudor-era doublet, their fat bodies making constantly changing designs as they buzzed about the sumptuous fabric. And just past them, a flock of magical butterflies fluttered in the air and then straight through me, their insubstantial forms hovering around the pastoral train of a woman’s gown, which showed a garden in full bloom.
One of the small creatures had become confused, and was trying to feed off the jade and coral adornment in another woman’s coiffure. She was in a kimono printed with gamboling dragons, which spewed tiny plumes of flame at us as we passed, causing my ride to veer to the side. And to shoot her a dirty look before he got his face under control.
There were other such clashes going on everywhere, partly because of the crush, which forced the crowd too close together. And partly because, while vampires might not make magic in the traditional sense, they certainly seemed to enjoy it. And to enjoy employing it against others.
As demonstrated when my ride abruptly halted, and then just froze, staring upward in horror.
Several nearby humans glanced around, looking confused, for they saw nothing. But they could feel the sudden escalation of tension in the huge space, the quieting of murmured conversations, and the power washing over their bodies, like a hot wind. They quickly moved out of the way, and my ride followed, going from paralysis to a run worthy of an Olympic sprinter, to the amusement of the guests around us.
I don’t think the young vampire cared. He hugged the nearest wall, swallowing convulsively. And staring upward, like everyone else in the gallery, at the spectacle playing out in the air above us.
It was something I’d rarely seen, and never this close. What looked like two huge storm clouds, laced with lightning and shuddering with power, circled each other, writhing and boiling and looking for an advantage.
And then transforming into something else.
What looked like a giant, ghostly tiger emerged from the golden haze, its eyes bright as flame. While a huge flock of crows, black as the night, darted out of the dark gray cloud and tore around the room. It looked like magic, but it wasn’t—at least not the human kind. But rather two first-level masters, their power taking on forms that had meaning for them, preparing to savage each other.
It wasn’t a duel—not quite. But it was often the precursor to one, the show of power they sometimes put on before the killing started. Because if it went on long enough, it could drain a master into vulnerability.
It didn’t drain anyone this time.
Because a new cloud formed up out of nothing, all at once. It was green and black and terrifying, and carried so much power that it caused my ride to sink down onto his haunches, whimpering softly. And that was before it took the form of an enormous snake, hissing and rearing back, like a cobra ready to strike. The other two clouds abruptly parted, the tiger snarling and turning away with what I swear looked like its tail between its legs. But the other remained in place a little too long—
And was whipped viciously by the snake’s great tail, sending the “birds” crashing against the opposite wall, where they puffed away into bursts of black smoke.
Conversation, which had gone silent for the duration, resumed. The light music playing in the background likewise picked up where it had left off. A casual observer, walking in a minute late, might have been forgiven for thinking that nothing had happened.
But something had. And was likely to again. Because friction was everywhere, now that I looked for it.
The gallery was packed with masters who, until very recently, had thought they knew where they stood in the overall hierarchy. Who had believed they had a grip on the motives, desires, and histories of everyone around them. Who had spent centuries working their way into their present positions at their own courts, and building up a rock-solid foundation.
Only to find the bedrock under their feet suddenly turned to quicksand, when they were confronted by hundreds of new power players as the court of courts coalesced.
Normally, physical contests would have sorted things out, with masters competing against one another for positions of power. But my twin’s mind inform
ed me that duels were forbidden for the course of the war, lest they cost the court too many of its most useful members. So tensions were high and getting higher, with no outlet in sight.
And that was especially true around the mini courts of the other consuls.
They were seated here and there along the gallery, in areas that looked like they might once have held large statues. But the raised platforms had been cleared off, draped in swags of rich fabric, and decked in various types of seating arrangements. Turning them into smaller versions of the queen’s dais up ahead.
There the other consuls, the queen’s counterparts at senates around the world, sat surrounded by their combative creatures. They could have easily reined them in, but weren’t doing so. This queen might have proven the strongest momentarily, and won their grudging allegiance. But winning wasn’t keeping, and there were jealous eyes everywhere—on her position as much as the rest.
The whole court was a powder keg, the air thick with expectation, which might explain why nobody had yet realized what moved among them.
And because they were careless.
They didn’t expect to find me, in this place of many masters. They thought themselves safe, at least against my kind of peril. And they were right—for now.
