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“Myra,” I mouthed. The mages were out of earshot, and with no magic they couldn’t use enhanced hearing. But the vamps would hear any conversation just fine.
Mircea gazed at me for a long moment, and I could almost see him putting the pieces together. How much he understood I didn’t know, but he’d been with me when Myra and I first met. He knew she’d tried to kill me and that she’d gotten away. And he’d heard me call her by name in London, assuming he remembered so minor a detail after so long. I frankly doubted it. He would probably guess that she was up to the same tricks, but not that he was her new target. And I had no way to tell him.
Not that there was much he could do even if he did know. Mircea might be able to defend himself in the present if forewarned, but Myra could attack him in the past. The fact that he was still here was proof she hadn’t yet succeeded, but if I didn’t remain sane enough to stop her, that wouldn’t be true for long. History would rewrite itself, without Mircea in it. And with Myra as Pythia.
After what felt like a year, Mircea gave a slight nod. “Two minutes,” he said silently. I stared at him in confusion until I figured out what he meant. He was telling me when the null bomb would wear off.
He was going to let me go.
I gazed at him in disbelief. “What about you?” I mouthed. He shook his head. I didn’t know whether that meant he couldn’t tell me with such
limited communication or whether he didn’t want me to know. I realized I was gripping his arms hard enough to bruise, had he been human. But it was only when I let go that a spasm of pain crossed his face. I felt an echo of it myself, a physical ache from the lessened contact, and had to force myself not to reestablish it.
“You must go,” he said silently.
I swallowed. The second geis was new to me, but it had had a century to take hold of Mircea. If I felt like this, and the spell had had only a day to get its claws into me, what was he experiencing? Even if the Consul was right, and it had toned down after I returned to my own time, it had still been there, slowly maturing over decades. And judging by his reaction, when it woke up, it had done so with a vengeance.
The thought of deliberately putting him back in that hell was excruciating, but what other choice was there? I had to deal with Myra or we were both dead, and I couldn’t take him with me and risk continued exposure. I looked up at him, letting my remorse show on my face. “I know.”
He closed his eyes and his arms clenched around me for a long moment. I pulled him to me, kissed him and immediately the pain receded. The geis was satisfied as long as we were in close contact, and I knew why. I could almost feel the bond between us strengthening, the energy humming happily everywhere we touched. It was contented now, but what would happen when I left? I’d felt the agony he was in when I arrived and doubted this brief meeting would relieve the craving for long. In fact, it might make it worse, like offering a starving man a single bite of bread.
Mircea slowly opened his arms and pulled back. I had been expecting it, but the pain still almost drove me to my knees. I somehow kept my feet, but only half stifled an agonized noise. Wild shudders of shock radiated from my center, shaking me violently, and my hands went ice-cold. I hunched my shoulders against the blaze of longing that shook me, and wrapped my arms around myself to keep them from dragging him against me.
Casanova had made it sound like the bond was a slow progression, growing in stages over a long period of time. But ours wasn’t acting that way. Maybe because it wasn’t exactly new, at least on one side, or maybe because it had accidentally been doubled. All I knew was, it was vicious.
Mircea was standing close enough to give the impression that he was still holding me. The pain had cleared my head like smelling salts, allowing me to understand why. Although he might be willing to release me, the Consul most certainly was not. I’d refused to become her puppet, had stolen valuable merchandise from her and had placed her chief negotiator under a dangerous spell. The fact that the latter, at least, had been inadvertent was irrelevant from her perspective. I wondered what she had planned for me if her mages couldn’t break the spell. Based on Mircea’s action, I could make a good guess. Few spells outlive the demise of the caster. And if I wasn’t going to be her pet Pythia, she had no vested interest in keeping me alive.
I met Mircea’s gaze. “I’ll find a way to break this,” I told him. I didn’t bother to whisper this time. “I promise.”
He smiled slightly, but his eyes were infinitely sad. “I am sorry, dulceat taa.”
The Consul said something, but I didn’t hear her. One minute, the chamber was quiet enough to hear a pin drop; the next, a howling arctic wind had filled the room, whipping my hair in stinging strands against my face. It paused for an instant, gathering strength near the high ceiling of the chamber, before exploding into the worst ice storm I’ve ever seen.
The slashing, brutal winds ignored me and a small space around me, and for a minute I thought my ward had finally decided to wake up, but there was no flood of golden light, no distinctive pentagram shape. Something else was protecting me, and for the moment I didn’t care what—just so long as it kept it up. Everywhere outside that small island of calm, chaos raged.
Mircea stepped away and I gasped in pain as the geis realized that something had gone wrong. I would have grabbed him again, despite the consequences, but I couldn’t see him in the swirling white void. “Mircea!” I screamed, but my voice was lost in the deafening winds.
Not knowing what else to do, I leapt forward and threw myself over Tomas. Thankfully, the clear spot went with me. It didn’t cover him entirely, and his wounds were too extreme for me to stretch out on top of him, but frostbite on his lower legs was the least of my worries.
I fumbled for his restraints, but I couldn’t see them, couldn’t see anything next to the violent, thrashing world of white. Then something bounced on the table right beside me and I understood what the odd, thumping noise raining down all around us was. The wind carried hailstones the size of bowling balls, and since they were trapped between the four walls of the Senate chamber, they had nowhere to spend their fury except to ricochet off every available surface. It was like being caught in Hell’s pinball game. If I didn’t get Tomas loose soon, they’d crush his feet, and no way could I drag him anywhere.
I had to get us out of there and I had to find Myra, although how I was supposed to deal with her in my current state I had no idea. All I wanted was to curl into a little ball and wait for Mircea to find me—and if I stayed, I knew he would. Whatever strength had allowed him to pull away, the geis was stronger. It wouldn’t be long now.
Something hit Tomas’ right leg, jarring his whole body. I stretched but couldn’t reach far enough to shield his lower limbs without leaving his head unprotected, and I couldn’t pull his legs up because they were strapped down. I tried to shift, but although I felt something this time, like a slight tug, I still couldn’t go anywhere. Hurry up, I thought desperately.
I finally figured out the release on Tomas’ hand restraints and had just clicked them open when the room suddenly became a lot more crowded. A tattoo parlor was sitting in the middle of it, so close to the main table that it was almost on top of us. Mac’s face, half obscured by snow even though it was only a few yards away, appeared in the main window under the flashing MAG INK sign. A second later, an arm covered in wriggling designs reached out the front door and grabbed Tomas by the leg, clicking off the right ankle restraint with practiced ease.
As soon as Mac hauled Tomas in the door, I scrambled across the table after them. The shop had landed on the impressive row of steps leading up to the dais on which the table sat, and was therefore tilted towards me. If I made it another few feet, my momentum should do the rest.
I had just managed to clasp the hand Pritkin held out when someone grabbed my ankle. My ward—damn it— didn’t flare, but Sheba suddenly got busy. She had ignored Mircea, either because of the null effect or because she didn’t view him as a threat. But whoever had grabbed me was another matter. I felt her flow down my body, then there was the sound of a snarling great cat and a surprised yelp from a dignified Senate leader. Sheba launched herself off my foot, and a second later the Consul let go of my leg.
“Come on!” Pritkin gave a heave and I almost flew the rest of the way across the slick tabletop. We tumbled in the door of the shop and suddenly I could see again. Neither Mac nor Tomas was in the front, but I didn’t have time to worry about it. At Pritkin’s yell of “We’re clear!” the whole building started to shake.
The next minute we were barreling through pure stone, on a crazy zigzag course into the middle of MAGIC’s foundations. We were making pretty good time, it seemed to me, although I was so busy holding on to Pritkin, who had a death grip on the counter, that it was hard to tell. I did see a dark blur, however, coming down the newly carved tunnel, and the next minute Kit Marlowe tumbled into the wildly lurching room.
He looked grim and determined, and there was an air of danger about him that I didn’t remember from our brief childhood meeting. Of course, that night he’d been enjoying Tony’s best hospitality, not bleeding from half a dozen wounds. “Oh, bugger it!” I heard Pritkin mutter. He pulled me off his back, pressed my hands around the edges of the desk and yelled, “Hold on,” loudly enough to threaten to rupture my eardrum. Then he let go and went flying across the room at Marlowe.
They grappled, but without magic it was down to old-fashioned dirty fighting and pure muscle, and they seemed about evenly matched. Marlowe was yelling something at me, but I couldn’t hear him over the racket our tunneling efforts were making. And I was too consumed by the waves of pain coursing through me from the geis to care.
