connecting in an arm-numbing jolt that echoed loudly in the empty space. Dracula was simply not there anymore. I didn't understand it and neither did Augusta, but then I saw Stoker clutching a small black box. He gave me a slight smile, then slid sideways and passed out. The incubus rose from his chest, looking as smug as a largely featureless spirit can.
Augusta snatched up the box, but hesitated when she saw the way the spirit's face changed. She glanced from its demon visage to me, then again demonstrated utter practicality. She dropped it and ran.
I looked around, but no vamps were visible. Weirdly enough, other than for the chair arm and some blood smears on the stage, the theatre looked like nothing had ever happened. Still, something was missing. 'Where are the wards?' I asked Billy.
He drifted out of me slowly, as if reluctant to leave the shelter of my body. He peered around, but there was no sign of the theatre ghosts. They were probably recovering from the energy drain of whatever they'd done to Myra. 'Destroyed-the dislocator took them out.”
'They're gone? All of them?”
'They wouldn't have lasted anyway, Cass. They weren't offensive wards. They were designed to operate defensively on a body, as protection, not like some kind of weapon. What you saw was them self- destructing.”
I thought of the eagle making one final dive and my throat got tight.
'Cassie!' Billy's voice was like a slap. 'Don't do this- not now! We have no wards and the vamps will be back any minute. We need to get gone.”
I searched around for Myra, but without Augusta's senses, it was futile. I didn't believe for a second that the ghosts had killed her. For one thing, it would take a lot more than one ghost, or even one and a half, to drain a healthy human. For another, I'm just not that lucky. I briefly contemplated trying to go back in time, to be there to catch her before she made her grand exit, but the presence of that other bomb made me hesitate. I'd seen what a dislocator could do in my vision; I didn't want to experience it firsthand.
I slid off the stage with considerably less than Augusta's undead grace and picked up the black box. It weighed no more than it had before. I shook it doubtfully, but the spirit only smiled. It looked rather strange with bloody eyes and fangs. 'He is in there, I assure you.”
'Now what?' I asked, as its features slipped back into benevolent vagueness.
'I wait,' it said, with a lot more serenity than I'd have felt in its position. Still, if you were immortal, I guess the prospect of a few decades' delay didn't faze you much.
Pritkin's eyelashes were fluttering. 'Myra's gone,' I told him before he could ask. He nodded but didn't say anything. I looked back up at my nebulous ally. 'Have you seen Mircea?' I assumed he'd survived, since the sequence of events from the vision had been interrupted, but I had to be sure.
'I believe he will be along.' It started to fade, and I held out a hand to stop it.
“Thank you for your help. I know you didn't do it for me, but-well, anyway.' I suddenly realized something. 'I don't even know your name. I'm Cassie Palmer.”
It fluctuated to a light pink. 'So few people bother to ask,' it said in a pleased voice. 'I have used many names through the centuries. It varies, depending on the sex and culture of the body I am inhabiting. I was Aisling once in Ireland, Sapna in India, Amets in France. Call me what you will, Cassie.”
It flushed a darker shade, almost a rose, which I guess was good because it started quoting Shakespeare again. ' 'When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won.'' It started fading out once more, and this time I let it.
Pritkin grasped the side of the orchestra pit and hauled himself up onstage. He peered back over the side, holding out a hand, but I ignored it. Something was tickling the back of my mind. It felt like I'd just been handed a puzzle piece; only I didn't know what it was or where it fit.
'Are you hurt?' Pritkin's voice floated down to me.
'No.' I finally took his hand and crawled back onto the stage. Almost the moment I did so, hysterical shrieks erupted from the pit behind me. Stoker had woken up, and with no incubus to deflect it, the full force of his wounds hit him all at once. Burns are painful, and ones as bad as his had to be excruciating. Pritkin jumped back in the hole, but the man's pitiful cries didn't stop.
I was about to follow him when a black box dangling in front of my face suddenly filled my vision. A low, rich voice purred in my ear. 'Good evening, Trouble.”
Chapter 15
I didn't answer, momentarily stunned at the immense wave of relief that swept through me at hearing that voice alive and well. I controlled my features, waiting for the
I caught the box. It looked just like mine. 'What is this?' Dark eyes met mine, glittering wickedly. 'I offer a trade.' Stoker, crazed from pain, suddenly scrambled out of the pit and took off up the center aisle. Pritkin went after him, why I couldn't imagine. Maybe so Mircea could wipe his memory, although that seemed unnecessary. When he'd written a confused version of everything years later, it had sold as fiction.
'Hurry up,' I called, and Pritkin waved an arm before disappearing through the doors to the lobby.
Mircea smiled, and it was one of his better efforts, despite the fact that he was covered in blood, most of it his. 'Are you not interested in pursuing your quarrel with the young hoyden who was here earlier?”
'What?' I stared at the box for a moment, uncomprehending. Then what he'd said sunk in. No. No way. I'd been trying so hard to find Myra, and now she was being dumped in my lap? Or, to be more precise, waved under my nose? It was bizarre.
'I intended the trap for my brother,' Mircea said. 'But when I saw that he had been captured already, I decided to employ it for other purposes. The young… woman… made the mistake of running to the balcony to watch the effects of her device. I found her there.”
He put Myra 's box on the boards, and put a hand on Dracula's. 'The Senators will be back,' I said, unable to tear my eyes away from the small black container that imprisoned my rival. For some reason, my ears were ringing. 'They'll just kill him anyway.”
'Kill who?' Mircea was mildly curious. 'You cannot mean my brother. Tragically, he died in the blast.”
'They'll smell him.”
'Not in this.' Mircea sounded like he knew. And it wasn't as if they'd search him for the box. They might risk war over Dracula himself, but over a suspicion? I didn't think so.
'Why do you cry?' he asked suddenly, his hand on my cheek. His thumb wiped away a tear I couldn't remember shedding. As mild as the contact was, it woke up the
I pulled away. 'Please… don't.' Unlike in my own time, there was no physical pain at withdrawal. But the emotional price was still there, and it was high.
Mircea waited, but I offered no explanation. To my surprise, he let it drop. 'Unless I am mistaken, you won,' was his only comment. 'Victory is usually a reason for smiles, not tears.”
'Victory came at too high a price.' Way too high.
“They often do.' Something moved on my arm, and I jumped. I looked down to find a small green lizard on my forearm, quivering in fear. It stared at me out of big black eyes for a second, then scurried off to hide behind my elbow. Mircea laughed.
'Where did that come from?' It was one of Mac's; I recognized it.
'It must have hid out, Cass,' Billy murmured. 'I guess it latched on to me when I threw the others. It looks like we saved something, after all.' Its tail was ticklish as it scurried up my inner arm, but I let it alone. I'd learned a long time ago; something, however small, was better than nothing.
Pritkin slammed open the theatre doors, dragging in Stoker's six-foot-two frame, and I snatched up Myra 's box. Mircea took the one containing his brother, and I didn't protest. For all I knew, this was how it had happened
