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“But the name—”
“Appropriate,” he agreed, “an incubus called Dream.” I goggled at him, and he frowned. “That is what the names it gave you mean. They are all variations of the same word. Why do you ask?”
I sat frozen in stunned comprehension, hearing a rich Spanish accent telling me that his name was Chavez, and exactly what that name meant. I rolled onto my back, staring sightlessly at the high ceiling. I’d handed three boxes from the Senate’s prison into Chavez’s manicured hands outside the ice rink. It would, of course, be too much to hope that none of them had been Dracula’s.
I briefly wondered if the incubus had been playing me all the time, or if it had been luck that he ended up as my driver. Not that it mattered—either way, I was screwed. There was no way those boxes had made it to Casanova. Which meant that, in my time, Dracula was on the loose again. And it was my fault.
“Finally!” someone said behind me. For a moment, it barely registered. I was adding Dracula to my to-do list and trying not to think about how long that list was getting. But there was something very familiar about that voice. “I didn’t think that vampire would ever leave! Now we finish this.”
I turned slowly to find a ghostly outline of a young brunette hovering a few feet off the stage. I remembered those big blue eyes and the long white dress from the last time I’d seen this particular spirit. She’d informed me that she preferred appearing as she had been when traveling in spirit form, rather than duplicating her actual appearance. As a result, she still looked about fifteen.
“Agnes.” For some reason, I wasn’t even surprised. Or maybe my nerves were just too worn down to react much. “How did you get here?”
“She hitched a ride.” Billy sounded aggrieved. “She wouldn’t let me tell you, but she was already in the necklace when I fought my way back to your body. She must’ve been hiding around Headliners, and jumped from Françoise to you.”
"Why?”
He shrugged. “We didn’t talk much. I’d bet payback figures in there somewhere, though.”
“Top of the list,” Agnes agreed. She looked at me. “Set her free.” It was a command, and spoken in the tones of one used to being immediately obeyed.
I didn’t even try to pretend I wasn’t following her. “You’re after Myra, too.”
Agnes crossed almost transparent arms and scowled at me. “Being murdered does tend to irritate me. Imagine that.”
I shook my head. “I heard her confess, but I still don’t understand how she did it.”
“She gave me a solstice gift shortly before she wen
t missing. To help keep me safe, she said.” Agnes’ lips twisted sardonically.
“The Sebastian medallion, I know. It contained arsenic— the mages found it and cut it open. But I still don’t see how it could have been dangerous. The poison was welded inside! ”
“She bored a tiny hole in the top before giving it to me. She knew my habits, knew I always dunked a charm or talisman of some sort in my beverages before I drank. It was a habit bequeathed me by my predecessor, who swore my life would end with poison if I wasn’t cautious! Of course,” Agnes said, drifting closer, “she also told me to buy stocks in ’29. Herophile was a nutter.”
“Herophile?”
“Yes, named after the second Pythia at Delphi. By all accounts, she was a little cracked, too.”
I’d been named after a nut. Why didn’t that surprise me? “But I still don’t see why Myra wanted to kill you. If the power can’t go to the assassin of a Pythia—”
“Technically, she didn’t kill me.”
“She gave you a poisoned medallion knowing what you’d do with it!” That sounded like murder to me.
“But she didn’t force me to use it,” Agnes pointed out. She held up a hand as I started to protest. “Yes, I know. Any modern court would convict her, but the power comes from a time before circumstantial evidence and reasonable doubt. She didn’t take a sword to me or bash in my head with a club. She didn’t even poison my wine—I did that. From its perspective, she’s blameless.”
“So what now?” I didn’t know what Agnes had meant by finishing this, but it sounded kind of ominous.
“I said the power considers Myra to be blameless. Not that I did,” she said viciously. “The little bitch murdered me. Why do you think I’m here?”
“And you’re planning to do what?” Now that she was a disembodied spirit, her options seemed pretty limited.
“Let her loose and find out.”
It suddenly occurred to me that Agnes did have one escape route. If she could possess Myra, she could use her power to go back and try to change things. I really hoped that wasn’t the plan, because I had no idea how I was supposed to stop her if it was. I’d had enough trouble just dealing with her heir; there was no doubt Agnes could run circles around me if she felt like it.
“You can’t intend to mess with the timeline yourself,” I said slowly, “not after spending a lifetime protecting it!”
