So help me, I saw something in the smoke, with eyes, looking back. Something male and wicked. I could almost smell it—cold, like stone. Vampirically cold, weighted with age and purpose. It seemed to look around the circle, studying each of us. Marking us, for future reference.
Wolf braced as if cornered. We wouldn’t scream, we wouldn’t run, because it wouldn’t do any good. We would face it and fight.
This was the power of suggestion at work, nothing else. This was Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, and we were trying to draw meaning from half-perceived images, building worlds out of shadows. But Wolf’s hackles were rising, a shivering down the back of my spine that told me something was watching us. The urge to run grew. Yes, let’s, please. I ought to listen to Wolf more often.
Kumarbis’s eyes were closed, his arms spread, basking in the radiance of the ritual. Enkidu’s jaw was taut, and he held himself in the rigid stance of a cornered wolf. He was feeling much like I was, then. I gathered he didn’t know what to expect out of this ritual any more than I did. He had committed to all this without knowing details. Did that make him loyal, foolish, or both? Sakhmet also watched the patterns in the smoke, but every now and then she glanced at Enkidu, and her fingers clenched as if she wanted to reach out to him and take his hand.
Zora moved to the center of the circle. In one hand she had a dagger, a clearly ceremonial piece with a slender, shining blade and a carved bone handle. Kneeling before the collection of items she’d placed there, she opened the jar and grabbed the flailing mouse. She held up the mouse in one hand and dagger in the other, beseeching the smoke rising into the expanse above us.
“Show me our enemy, show me the future!”
She dug the point of the dagger into the mouse and wrenched, splitting open the tiny body. Expertly, as if she had done this before, or often, she twisted the knife again, digging out a brick-red chunk of flesh the size and shape of a peanut. Its heart. The mouse squealed, a brief to make a difference. ws power and shockingly loud sound. There was surprisingly little blood.
She dropped the mouse and ate its heart. Still hot. Zora chewed twice and swallowed. The body of the mouse was still twitching.
I stared, too shocked to react. The torches crackled and sparked. Zora’s eyes were closed, and she clasped the dagger before her, point down. A few drops of blood dripped onto the paper.
By then, we were all holding our breath. I thought I heard a voice, a murky sound to go with the smoke and shadows. A soft, mocking chuckle. It didn’t come from any of us. Zora’s chants had spoken of defeating our enemy. But someone was laughing at us.
I caught Enkidu’s gaze, tried to ask the question—who?—but he gave his head a small shake. “Zora—” I growled at the magician, questioning.
Her eyes opened, she looked up, jumped to her feet, and held out the blood-smeared dagger as if she might actually use it to defend herself. But there was nothing to attack, and even the laughter faded until I thought I’d imagined it.
Her tunic flapping around her legs, she turned back to her place on the circle and raised her arms. Shouting, she repeated chants from the ritual with a tone of defiance. More smiting of our enemy, along with words of banishing.
The only way I knew it was over was when she sat heavily, dropping the knife and putting her head in her hands. The smoke remained, drifting upward, and I continued to see patterns, whorls and spirals reflecting the shapes drawn on the floor. The torches still burned, and the stinging smoke and weight of expectation remained. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
We stood around the circle, blinking at each other.
“What happened?” I said finally, breaking the quiet with the suddenness of shattering glass. Felt stupid doing it, but somebody had to say something. “Something happened, right?” I couldn’t be sure anymore. Maybe I was still tranquilized and dreaming all this. Except I didn’t think my imagination was that good. My nose flared, picking up the scent of fresh blood. The mouse carcass, little more than bits of flesh and mangled fur, still lay in the middle of the circle. The smell made me oddly hungry.
“What did you learn?” Enkidu asked. Demanded.
Zora looked exhausted. She held her hands, stained with blood and soot, like they were newly discovered treasure. Like she was surprised this had worked, heaven help us.
“Zoroaster?” Kumarbis prompted, and at this she looked up, nodded. She crept to the center of the circle and retrieved the piece of paper, read the bloody pattern smeared on it, and nodded.
I expected a fortune-teller’s vague pronouncement. A brooding man seeks your destruction, great changes loom in your future, your lucky numbers are two and twelve, and so on, yadda, whatever.
Zora spoke in an even, matter-of-fact tone. “He’s in Split, Croatia, in the old town, the ruins of Diocletian’s Palace. Very near his own origin. A place of healing and power for him. He thinks it’s a place of safety, so his defenses are few. This is very good for us.”
“How the hell—” I clamped my teeth shut before I could finish the outburst. Zora knew, the ritual worked, they were right.
Kumarbis laughed, the low victorious chuckle of a supervillain, though he probably didn’t hear it that way. “We have him. Finally, we can stop him to make a difference. ws power. Thank you, thank you all.” The vampire’s eyes were half lidded, his lips curling back, showing fang. He might have become emperor of everything, as happy as he looked.
If Zora could use magic to find Roman, then maybe she really could stop him
