Uh-uh.
“What are you doing?” Mircea asked.
“I don’t think they speak English.”
“I think it more likely that they are merely startled.”
“Okay. But they’ve had time to get over it now.”
“N-nineteen sixty-nine,” the woman finally whispered.
I frowned. “Then why are you dressed like that?”
“We’re on our way to a fancy dress party, if you must know,” her date said, finally finding his voice. “Now, who the hell are you and how did you—”
“There!” Mircea cried, pointing at something in the crowds outside.
“Thanks for the ride,” I told the partygoers, as we climbed over them to get out of the cab.
Outside, snow was swirling down out of a black sky, gilded by the lights that poured out of shop windows and glittered from stacks of multicolored signs. It looked vaguely like Times Square, except it was more of a circle, with a tipsy Cupid presiding over what looked like the Christmas rush. Hanging nets of illuminated stars hung across every street, swaying lightly in the wind. A wreath dangled drunkenly off a nearby lamppost. And half the people filling the sidewalks and dodging the street traffic were carrying shopping bags.
I looked at Mircea. “Is this—”
He nodded. “Piccadilly.”
That meant nothing to me, except that this was where my mother had dropped us off on our last little trip into time. And now, for some reason, we were back. And so was she, judging by the Victorian coach that was lying on its side across one lane of traffic, causing a major jam.
The horse was still in place, bucking and rearing at the smell of smoke from the burnt-out hulk behind it. My heart clenched; why I don’t know. I was still alive, which meant my mother had to be, too. But I didn’t see her or the kidnapper or anything else in the rapidly growing crowd.
But I guess Mircea did, because he grabbed my hand and took off.
“I think I left a shoe in the cab,” I told him, struggling to keep up as we wove through the human obstacle course at a breakneck pace.
“Considering how often that happens, perhaps you should consider ankle straps.”
“They’re dangerous.”
He tossed a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “
“You can break a foot.”
“And we wouldn’t want that,” he said, sweeping me up in his arms as we came to the entrance to a tube station.
I stared around as we were swallowed up by London’s steamy underbelly, but I didn’t see anything but coat- clad torsos, all of which appeared to be in a hurry. Finding one hustling couple in the wall-to-wall crowd wouldn’t have been easy at any time. But doing it while being buffeted by pointy elbows, harassed mothers and kids with the hyperactive look of the overly sugared was pretty much impossible.
“I’m not tall enough,” I told him, only to be hoisted up onto a strong shoulder. I put a steadying hand on the grimy wall and tried to spot a tall woman in an electric blue evening dress. The mage’s tux blended with the standard city uniform in any era, but that color would be hard to miss.
Only apparently I was missing it, because I didn’t see them.
“Did they shift again?” Mircea asked, as I desperately scanned the crowds.
“No, I’d have felt it.”
“Are you certain?”
“She’s the heir, but I’m Pythia. I’m certain.”
And a moment later I spotted her, wearing a shabby brown overcoat that wasn’t quite long enough to cover an eye-searing hem. The mage was by her side, a lanky figure in a tan trench hiding his formal blacks, but it was the right guy. I saw him clearly when he turned from the ticket counter, a panicked look on his face and that damned suitcase in his hand. And then he dragged his captive back into the crowd and down a hallway.
I hopped down and we took off after them, Mircea hoisting me over turnstiles and then forging ahead to clear a path. It was still tough going, but the crowds parted for him a lot better than they would have for me, and my bare toes got stepped on only a few dozen times before I limped onto a platform behind him. And stopped in confusion.
There were maybe three dozen people sitting on benches or leaning against walls, waiting for the next train. But a quick scan showed that none of them were the two we were after. “They didn’t shift,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the pungent smell of pot and body odor.
They were coming from a busker in beads and buckskin who was standing beside the platform, shaking his filthy hair and doing an enthusiastic rendition of “Proud Mary.” At least he was until Mircea thrust a bill into his hand. “Woman in a brown coat and blue dress; man in a trench. Where did they go?”
I was about to protest the bribe—not in principle, but because you never knew what seemingly little thing could alter time. And there’d been enough done to this era already. But then the hippie smiled the smile of the happily buzzed and pointed at the yawning mouth of the train tunnel.
And my protest turned into a curse.
I started toward the side of the platform and the dropoff to the tracks, but Mircea pulled me back. “I’ll go.”
“And if they shift again?”
“I’ll come back and get you.”
“And if there isn’t time?”
“I’ll be quick.”
I shook my head, hard enough to cause my wig to slide over one eye. I threw it down in annoyance. “I don’t know how the link between us works. If I get too far from them physically, I may not be able to follow if they shift again.”
“That seems unlikely. If the power is meant to retrieve the heir, it couldn’t be that restrictive.”
“I can’t risk it!”
Mircea’s brown eyes narrowed, like a man who was prepared to argue indefinitely, but I didn’t give him the chance. I kicked off my other shoe and jumped down beside the tracks, feeling the collected muck of who knew how many years squelching between my toes. And a second later, he landed lightly beside me, a scowl on his face and a penlight in his hand.
I assumed the little flashlight was for my benefit, but it didn’t help much. Neither did the work lights set into the walls here and there, which did little more than stretch the shadows. I couldn’t see squat once the brightly lit station had faded behind us.
Not that there was much to see. The tunnel itself was claustrophobically small, to the point that it seemed impossible that trains actually ran through this. It was also warm and damp, and reeked of dust and mildew. I was kind of glad I couldn’t see details. I could hear, though, and it wasn’t helping my nerves.
There were odd rumblings of trains that shook the ground under our feet and seemed to come from every direction at once. There was a weird echoing effect that threw our footsteps back at us, making it hard to listen for others up ahead. And then there were some very suspicious squeaks.
“I think there may be rats,” I said, my grip tightening on Mircea’s arm.
“At least one,” he said softly, about the time I saw the dim glow of another light bouncing off the concrete walls ahead. It was surprisingly distant, considering that we couldn’t be more than a couple of minutes behind them. But if they got far enough ahead to break the fragile connection, that lead might well become permanent.
I started to run.
And almost bumped into the kidnapper booking it from the opposite direction. I hadn’t seen him in the dark until he was right on top of us, but suddenly there he was, his blue eyes wild, his hair sticking up everywhere and his mouth open in the O of
