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The almost transparent shape of a cowboy had appeared by the main doors. He saw me at almost the same moment, and a look of profound relief flooded his features. He zoomed straight at me. I was about to ask him where he’d been, but he slipped inside my skin without so much as a hello. All I got instead was some hysterical gibbering. Then I got a glimpse of the main fight and forgot about him.
Casanova threw the mage he’d been throttling into two others, then caught sight of me and shouted. I couldn’t hear him over the din, but I didn’t really need to—it was obvious what the problem was. The Graeae had left the building.
I did a quick mental survey and realized that, until a few minutes ago, Deino was the only one who had not saved my life. Enyo had held off the mages at Casanova’s, Pemphredo had helped me in the kitchen afterwards and Deino had just made it a hat trick. They had paid their debt and now I was on my own. Casanova was yelling something again, while trying to hold off three mages at once. I still couldn’t hear him, but I read the word on his lips easily enough. “Go!”
I nodded. The Graeae were my responsibility, but they would have to wait their turn. I wasn’t sure whether it was okay to shift yet or not, and I couldn’t get a thing out of Billy. I started to crawl off but was stopped by an iron grip on my foot. Pritkin was pulling his way out of the tables with one hand and holding on to me with the other. Damn it!
“Cassie!” I whipped around at the familiar voice and saw Marlowe’s curly mop sticking out from under the remains of the stage. I couldn’t imagine what he was still doing here. There was fire everywhere, and vamps have approximately the same flash point as lighter fluid. He gestured for me to get out of the way and I flattened myself without asking why. I glanced back in time to see Pritkin lifted off the ground by an unseen hand and thrown across the mass of overturned tables, close to the main fight. Marlowe beckoned for me to join him, but there was no way. Bits of burning green silk were raining down all around the stage, creating a minefield of magical fire. It was as dangerous to me as regular fire was to a vamp; I couldn’t risk it.
I looked around quickly, but there were no other options. The fight going on behind me put the main entrance out of the question, the back room was a dead end and the side exit was a sheet of flame from where a fireball had hit the hanging bamboo curtain, setting it and half the wall ablaze. With no other choice, I did the only thing I could and reached again for my power.
This time it came readily, surging beneath my fingertips like someone had opened a floodgate. Almost dizzy with relief, I tried to think of the best place to go. Then Pritkin launched himself over the pile of tables, hands outstretched, and I freaked and shifted with no destination in mind. All I was thinking about was finding Myra. Wherever that led had to be better than hanging around while Dante’s lived up to its name.
There was no bone-jarring landing this time—only a gradual darkening of the fiery scene until it disappeared altogether, to be slowly replaced by a very dark street. After a minute, my eyes adjusted enough to make out a large building with a sign proclaiming it to be the Lyceum Theatre. I didn’t know what time it was—the street was deserted, but it could have been anywhere from midnight to close to dawn.
“I thought you’d be along,” Myra said from behind me. I whirled, my hand jerking up automatically at the sound of that smug, childish voice. Two daggers sailed straight at her, but she just stood there in the middle of the street, unconcerned. A split second later I realized why as my own weapons came sailing back at me. They didn’t wound me, but they hit with enough force to knock me off my feet and send me skidding back along the filthy street. Myra held up her hand. A gleaming bracelet that looked a lot like my own dangled from her thin wrist. Except, where mine had daggers, it had tiny interlocking shields. “A gift from some new friends. To level the playing field.”
I clambered to my feet. “When have you ever believed in a level playing field?”
She grinned. “Good point.” Then her face changed as she got a good look at me. “So, you managed to complete the ritual. Congratulations. Unfortunately, your reign is destined to be the shortest in history.”
I got a good look at her, too. For the first time, she was solid. It made sense, considering that she’d been attacked last time in spirit form. It didn’t make her eyes look any less creepy, I decided.
“Answer me one thing,” I said wearily. “Why always London? Why 1889? It’s starting to get tedious.”
“Convocation is being held in London this year,” Myra answered, sweetly obliging. “That’s the biannual meeting of the European Senate.”
“I know that!”
“Oh, of course. I keep forgetting, you grew up at a vampire’s court, didn’t you? Well, then, maybe you already know this, too. The Senate usually meets in Paris, but they’ve traveled to London this year to settle an old score. They got the idea that the crimes being reported in the newspapers as the work of Jack the Ripper were really being done by Dracula. He escaped their version of an asylum shortly before they began, so it seemed reasonable.”
“What does that have to do with me, or Mircea?”
Myra looked entirely too pleased with herself. “Everything. Mircea and that vampire the North American Senate sent to help him—”
“Augusta.”
“Yes. They proved that the crimes were the work of a human by capturing the man calling himself Jack.”
“And Jack was punished.” I’d seen part of that myself, firsthand.
“Yes, but it seems that Jack went on his killing spree in an effort to impress Dracula, hoping to win a spot in his new stable. So the Senate blames Dracula for what happened.
”
“And they want him dead.”
“Finally, you’re starting to get it!” Myra clapped her hands approvingly. “Mircea managed to convince the European Consul to grant him a few days to find and trap his brother before drastic measures were taken, but not everyone agreed with that decision. It seems Dracula made a few enemies through the years.”
I had a very bad feeling that I’d heard this story before. And it didn’t end well for Dracula. Some senators with long memories had lynched him one foggy night in London. This night.
“They plan to kill him.”
Myra laughed. “They do kill him—it’s part of that timeline you’re so concerned with protecting, Cassie. Only this time, with a little help from me, Mircea found him before they did. And something tells me they aren’t going to hesitate to take your vampire out as well, if he gets between them and their revenge.”
And he would. Mircea had spent years arranging for me to become Pythia in order to save one brother. I couldn’t see him standing aside while another was murdered.
“It’s simple enough, Cassie,” Myra said brightly. “You want the position? Not a problem. Just be better than me.”
