Hunt the Moon

“Yes.”

“Then why can’t I sense it?” Mircea asked, wrinkling his nose, as if he expected to be able to smell it or something.

I thought that unlikely. All I could smell was pee. The alley must serve as the local latrine.

“Did you sense the other one?” I asked.

“Not . . . precisely. But I saw something, like a current in the air—”

“Probably caused by the different weather patterns that piece of air was shifting through,” I told him, figuring it out as I spoke. “Rain, sleet, snow—on fast forward, they’re going to make it look a little weird.”

“Then you’re saying I didn’t actually see anything.”

“You can’t see time, just what it does.”

His fingers tightened. “Then your mother could throw a bubble over us and we would never see it coming?”

“Something like that,” I said grimly.

Mircea abruptly pulled me behind him.

“That won’t help,” I said, peering between the crates at a busy street. “If she hits you with something, I probably won’t know how to counter it. And without you, the mage can take me out easily.” He’d managed to throw a master vamp at a wall, so that was sort of a given.

“Then how do we fight something we cannot see?” Mircea demanded.

I glanced back at him. “By not getting hit with it in the first place.”

“And how do we do that?”

“I’m open to suggestion,” I told him honestly.

I actually had no idea what to do. I’d assumed that my mother would be resisting her captor, and that when we caught up with him, the fight would be three against one. I’d liked those odds; I’d been all about those odds. I wasn’t so thrilled with these.

Because I couldn’t manipulate time like that. I hadn’t known that anybody could manipulate time like that. And while I had to get only a finger on her to shift her away, I had to stay alive long enough to do it.

I also had to find her. But the light was lousy and the street was packed with people rushing home through the cold. Most were in dark colors—brown or black or dark gray—not electric blue. But outside the illumination of shop doors and gas lamps, pretty much everything looked the same. If she stayed in the shadows, she’d blend in perfectly.

But while I couldn’t see her, I could feel her rapidly getting farther away, the golden cord between us stretching like an elastic band. “She’s moving,” I said, and ducked out into the street.

Mircea didn’t try to stop me, but he looked less than thrilled. I didn’t say anything, because I wasn’t any happier. As if I didn’t have enough other reasons, I was freezing to death. Unfortunately, my coat was a century or so away.

He must have noticed me shivering, because he stripped off the jacket of his tux and put it around me. It was thin, but the wool was top quality and still warm from his body. I clutched it around me as we dodged a street preacher, a hawker selling roasted nuts and a seemingly endless line of wagons.

Despite the weather, it looked like half the damn city was out tonight.

And then I saw why when we came to a crossroads. Four streets, all of them busy, converged here. I was sure we were in the right area, but there was no way to know which road they’d taken. And if I guessed wrong, by the time we backtracked—

“Can you shift to her?” Mircea asked, as we stood on the street corner, trying to look four ways at once.

“No.” Spatial shifts had more restrictions than the time variety, and if I couldn’t see her, I couldn’t shift. “Can you track her?”

“I can try.” He did the eyes-closed, head-back-andmouth-slightly-open thing again while I huddled inside the coat and tried to be optimistic. But it wasn’t easy. Even in the cold, the place reeked. The streets were packed with horse manure, garbage rotted in the gutters, and the joys of deodorant were apparently unknown to most of the crowd. Add that to the smell of spilled beer radiating out of a nearby pub, and it wasn’t looking good. My only hope was that she would shift through time again, and I could catch up that way.

At least, I hoped I could.

The fact was, I was getting pretty tired. The stuff at the party hadn’t been fun, and then there’d been the small matter of shifting a century or so and taking someone else along for the ride. I didn’t know how many more shifts I had in me, especially of the time variety. And if I ran out of juice and she shifted again—

I decided not to think about that. Besides, she had to be getting tired, too. I didn’t know if she’d had anything to do with what happened at the party, although it seemed likely. But even if not, she’d just shifted herself and five other people more than a century.

I didn’t know how the hell she’d done that. Or, rather, I understood it technically—the mages had been too close when she shifted, and had ended up trapped in the backwash of the spell. That was what happened when I took someone along with me, only I usually had to be touching them to do it. But I’d accidentally taken Pritkin on a shift once without touching him, so I knew it was possible. But six?

Carrying just one person this far had felt like it was wrenching my guts out. I couldn’t even imagine doing five more. Not that the power couldn’t handle it; the Pythian power was pretty much inexhaustible, as far as I’d been able to tell. But the person channeling it was not. And then there’d been the time wave and the time loop and the haring across London and—

And I didn’t know why she wasn’t passed out on the damn sidewalk. But she had to be tired. She had to be.

Because if she wasn’t, we were screwed.

“This way.”

I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes, half dozing despite the cold, until a tug on my arm woke me up. I followed Mircea down the street, not saying anything because I didn’t want to distract him. But apparently he could track and talk at the same time, because he glanced at me before we’d gone five yards.

“Do we have a plan?”

“I need to touch her.”

“That is not a plan, dulceață; it is an objective.”

I frowned. “Okay, your turn.”

“If I get close enough, I can drain the mage and end this.”

He was referring to the ability of master vampires to pull blood particles through the air, without the need to do the Bela Lugosi thing. I’d seen Mircea drain a guy dry in a few seconds once, but while it was damned impressive, it wouldn’t work here. “He’ll have a shield up—”

“I can drain a man even through a shield. But it takes longer.”

“How long?”

“For the average mage . . .” He shrugged. “Thirty seconds to incapacitate; perhaps a minute to kill. But with stronger shields, war-mage strength, for instance, multiply that by five.”

I didn’t think the mage had that kind of shield, but what did I know? I hadn’t thought he’d be able to kidnap my mother, either. “So worst-case scenario, two and a half minutes to unconsciousness.”

“From across a room, yes. But if I am right on top of him . . . perhaps cut that by two-thirds.”

I didn’t stop moving, but I stared at him incredulously. “You can drain a war mage to unconsciousness in fifty seconds—through his shields?”

“It depends on the mage, and I do not know this one’s capacities. But normally—”

“Normally?”

His lips quirked. “Let us say, it is what I would expect.”

I decided not to ask what he was basing that on.

“Still, two and a half minutes isn’t bad,” I said hopefully. “We might be able to keep them in sight for that long.”

“Yes, but if I try it from a distance, he will almost certainly notice before I can incapacitate him. And then they will either shift away or attack.”

“And we can’t afford for them to do either.”

“No.” He looked frustrated. “Normally, I would call on the family to assist, but I have never cared for London