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place for an explosion was over the water. But the stick was too short to push the fireball far enough to do any good, and climbing over the railing wouldn’t help. A stone retaining wall started immediately on the other side, flowing straight down to the water’s edge.
But I had to do something. The explosion had begun expanding again in super slow motion. Agnes was losing her grip on time.
I pulled off my T-shirt again and draped it around the fiery mass. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Improvising!”
The glowing mass lit up the thin cotton, and a few brown spots appeared. The shirt was on fire, but with time still in slow mo, I thought I might have a minute before it disintegrated. I grabbed both ends, creating a big slingshot, and spun around in a wide circle until I got up some momentum. Then I let go, sending the entire burning mass spinning away into the night.
It made it almost to mid-river, a bright ruby ball of fire against the black of the water, before splashing down. It went under, lighting up a school of fish as it slowly began to sink. Then Agnes gave a small sigh, time sped back up to normal and the underwater explosion threw a column of water twenty feet into the air.
Chapter Two
Most of the water fell on a nearby sailing ship docked for the night. But not all. I scooped fish guts out of my bra and glared at Agnes. She didn’t notice, having already taken off.
“What’s the rush?” I demanded, jogging to keep up.
“It’ll be November fifth in another hour,” she said as light erupted behind us. I looked over my shoulder to see lanterns being lit all over the ship. Sailors scrambled to the railing, staring alternately at the waves rocking them back and forth and at the mangled sushi that had splattered the deck and lay draped over the ropes.
I turned back to find that Agnes had almost disappeared up the path. I ran after her, rain slapping me in the face.
“And?”
“Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, ’twas his intent, to blow up King and Parli’ment,” she singsonged.
Something clicked. “Three-score barrels of powder below, to prove old England’s overthrow.” She looked surprised. “I had a British governess,” I explained.
“Then you know the score. Some English Catholics want to blow up parliament and James the First along with it. They don’t want a Protestant king, and they think his death will return the country to Catholicism. It might have worked, if one of the members of the plot hadn’t had a relative in parliament. He received a letter warning him to skip tomorrow’s session and ratted them out.”
“And Fawkes was found in the cellar surrounded by the evidence hours before parliament met.”
“But the Guild is here to see that this time, he succeeds.”
“Why would they care about that?”
She put on a burst of speed instead of answering, probably in response to the candles appearing in windows all around us. We ran, slipping and sliding over mud and water-slick grass, until we reached the painted room. I slammed the door on a few shouts from outside and leaned against it, panting.
“They don’t. It’s their own history they hope to help,” she said, glancing at me and grinning, the adrenaline rush sparkling in her eyes. “They were just getting started in these days. But before they could grow their numbers significantly, the Circle found out what they were up to and hunted them down, almost to a man. It took them centuries to recover. I suppose they think that a massive civil war might give the Circle more important things to worry about.”
She headed down the stairs and I followed silently. By Circle she meant the Silver Circle, the world’s largest magical association and an umbrella organization for thousands of covens. To most people in the supernatural community, the Circle represented order, safety and stability.
I wasn’t one of those people.
That had a lot to do with the fact that the Circle was currently trying to kill me in the hopes that a more suitable Pythia would take my place. Suitable in their view, meaning someone brainwashed from childhood to believe that they could do no wrong. They’d had a few thousand years of treating the Pythias as their personal errand girls and weren’t happy to have a more independent-minded type in office.
“Speaking of the Circle—” I began, before Agnes clapped a hand to my mouth. We’d reentered the outer room of the cellar, and I guess she didn’t want us alerting the mage that we’d returned. Just as well. I’d gotten the impression that a little tension between the Pythia and her magical protectors was normal, but the whole I-want-you-dead thing might freak her out.
What freaked me out was the reappearance of the mage, pale and wild-eyed, exploding out of the gunpowder room at a dead run. He crashed into me and I instinctively grabbed him, getting a fist to the stomach in return. I kicked him in the knee and he yelled and reared back, fist clenched, but stopped when he felt Agnes’ gun beside his ear.
“Go ahead,” she told him. “The paperwork for a trial is a real bitch.”
“So are you!” he snarled.
I clutched my stomach and covered him with my gun while Agnes pulled a pair of cuffs out of her coat. “I have a problem,” I told her quickly, before she could shift away. “I really am Pythia, but I don’t know what I’m doing and there’s no one in my time who can help me.”
“That’s a problem,” she agreed, snicking the cuffs shut.
“Yeah.”
