Claimed by Shadow

  “They kidnapped you for sale to the Fey,” he reasoned. “And you have been here ever since? But that was centuries ago!”

  “Years, actually,” Agnes corrected.

  “Time runs differently here,” I reminded him. Marlowe had said it, but I hadn’t realized just how big the difference could be. “You’re saying you’ve been here continually, ever since we left France?”

  Agnes nodded, then held up a hand to stop me when I tried to say something else. “If you’ve seen us since, don’t tell me about it. Françoise can hear us, and she doesn’t need to be influenced by knowing what will happen in her future.”

  Her future, I thought dizzily, but my past. She’d killed a dark mage at Dante’s a week ago, helping me escape. Or, rather, she was going to kill one. . . . My head was starting to hurt.

  “Do you want to get out of here or not?” Agnes demanded.

  “Yes, but we’re going to talk later,” I told her. Maybe by then I’d have sorted some of this out and be able to think straight.

  “If there is a later,” she said ominously. “Don’t forget the wards—I went to enough trouble to get them for you.” She grabbed the lantern and, in a swirl of skirts, vanished down the hallway. Tomas and I looked at each other, then hurried to follow her, Tomas still pulling on the clothes she’d brought and me stuffing wards into every pocket I could find.

  We turned at the end of the hall to ascend a long flight of stairs that was only occasionally lit by low-burning torches. At the end was another thick oak door, but it opened easily at the barest push from Françoise. Pritkin, Billy and Marlowe stood around a large round opening in a wall of rock, beyond which a mass of color shifted in a kaleidoscope of light.

  “Is this all of them?” the pixie demanded, barely bothering to glance at us. “The cycle is almost complete.”

  Billy looked nervous. “Cass, do you think I’ll keep this body once we go back?”

  “We’re going back?”

  “As soon as that thing cycles to blue. But we’ll only have about thirty seconds to get through at the right destination. We’re getting off at Dante’s, but the Senate is next on the rotation, so we have to jump quick before it turns red.”

  I found it hard to keep up. “Why are we leaving?”

  “Because you’re going to retrieve something for me.” A deep baritone echoed off the walls. I slowly realized that what I had taken to be a pillar draped in material was actually the biggest leg I’d ever seen. I looked up, and kept on doing so for a ridiculous length of time. A face as large as a searchlight beamed down at me from the shadowy vastness of the hall. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high, yet he was bent over slightly as if it cramped him. I did a double take, then just stared.

  The huge head lowered itself to get a better look at me. Frizzy brown hair obscured much of it, leaving a bulbous nose and blue eyes the size of softballs visible. “So this is the new Pythia.”

  “We had to deal with the king,” Billy explained in a low voice. “Our runes are used up until next month. Pritkin tried to caste Hagalaz and it didn’t work—it just got a little colder and we ended up with a puddle of slush. Null bombs are great, but only against magic, and we’re seriously outnumbered here. The Fey don’t need mumbo jumbo to hit us over the head. We need more weapons and some allies or the only thing we’re going to do here is die. Marlowe’s agreed to cough up the weapons from the Senate’s stash when we go back.”

  “How generous of him. What’s the catch?”

  Marlowe, for once, didn’t have a glib reply. Instead he simply stood there staring at me, looking flabbergasted. Then he slowly sank to one knee. “The Senate is always delighted to aid the Pythia,” he finally said, after several tries.

  “She isn’t Pythia,” Pritkin remarked, turning at last to acknowledge my presence. Then he stopped dead, his mouth working but no sound coming out. One hand remained raised halfway through a movement, as if he had simply forgotten to lower it.

  “My lady, what shall we call you?” Marlowe asked reverently.

  “No!” Pritkin broke out of his trance and stared between me and the kneeling vamp. “This is a trick—it must be!”

  I glanced at Tomas, baffled. “What’s going on?”

  He smiled slightly. “Your aura has changed.”

  I tried to see for myself, but I couldn’t concentrate well enough and just ended up cross-eyed. “What does it look like?”

  Marlowe answered for him. “Power,” he whispered, appearing dazzled.

  “You need to proclaim a reign title, Cassie,” Tomas said. “Your rule doesn’t officially begin until then. Lady Phemonoe was named after the first of the line. You can take the same title if you wish or choose another.”

  Pritkin had come back to life and was striding across the room, looking outraged. “Herophile,” I said quickly, the name from my vision coming automatically. I looked nervously at Tomas. “Is that okay?” Pritkin’s hand, which had been reaching for me, stopped and dropped to his side.

  “Where’s the golem?” I asked Billy, keeping an eye on the mage. He had the look of an atheist who’d just had a visit from God: stunned, disbelieving and faintly ill.

  “You don’t want to know,” Billy answered, staring fixedly at the portal, his throat working nervously.

  “What do you mean?”

  The king answered for him. It was hard to believe that, for a moment, I’d actually forgotten someone that large. “He was given to my steward as a gift. He very generously loaned him to me.”

  “They turned him loose a couple of hours ago,” Billy said. “They’re going to give him another hour, then go after him. Something about training their hunting dogs.”

  “What?” I was horrified. “But he could be killed!”

  “Technically, he isn’t alive,” Billy pointed out, “so he can’t die.”

  “He may not have been alive before, but he is now!” I looked around for support but didn’t find any. Marlowe had moved up beside Pritkin, looking worried. Billy was staring at the swirls of color inside the portal and biting his lip, and I doubted the golem’s fate was uppermost in his mind. “We can’t leave him!”

  “Of course,” the king murmured, a sound as loud as anyone else’s bellow, “you could save him, if you like.”

  I had a very bad feeling about this. “How would I do that?”

  The king smiled, showing teeth the size of golf balls. “By making a trade.”

  “Careful, Cass,” Billy muttered. “He wants something from you, but he wouldn’t tell us what.”

  “Quiet, remnant!” The king thundered. “Keep your tongue behind your teeth, or someone may cut it out!” Then, as quick as a flash, his mood changed and he smiled angelically. “ ’Tis only a book, lady, a trifling matter.”

  “Their destination is next,” the pixie warned.

  Pritkin suddenly come back to life. “Where is Mac?”

  I stared at him blankly, and then it hit. Oh, my God. No one had told him.

  The pixie answered before I could begin to think of a reply. “The forest demanded a sacrifice before it would let us through. It went for the girl, but the mage offered himself instead.”

  I transferred my stare to her. She must have seen Mac deliberately do something to draw attention to himself. He had understood—the forest wouldn’t let me go, wouldn’t stop attacking us, until it had a sacrifice.

  So he gave it one.

  Tomas squeezed my shoulder in silent sympathy, but I hardly felt it. There had been no blood on the ground when we left. The earth had absorbed it, had absorbed him. The wards I’d stuffed in my pocket suddenly felt like bricks.

  Pritkin had looked confused at the pixie’s offhand comment, but whatever he saw on my face was explanation enough. Comprehension flooded his eyes. “You planned this,” he said in a strangely dead voice. “You tricked us into rescuing that . . . thing, so you could complete the ritual. The geis made any other candidate impossible.”

  “I didn’t plan anything,”
I said. I wanted to tell him how horribly sorry I was, to say something worthy of Mac, but my brain didn’t seem to be working.

  “About the book,” the king rumbled.

  I looked up at him, confused. “What book?”

  His face contorted slightly and I realized that he was trying to look innocent. It didn’t appear to be an expression he employed very often, judging by the result. “The Codex Merlini.”

  “What?” The name meant nothing to me, but Pritkin jerked violently.

  Marlowe looked intrigued. “But you can pick one up at any magical bookstore.”

  The king made a sound like boulders rubbing together. I finally realized that he was laughing. “Not that one. The lost volume.” He looked down at me and his eyes were hungry. “Bring me the second volume of the Codex, and you can have the creature. You have my word.”

  “No!” Pritkin suddenly lunged for me, his face thunderous, but a second later he was skidding across the floor from the brutal shove Tomas gave him. He hit the wall but did an acrobatic flip back to his feet and started for us again. His eyes were ice-cold and promised pain for someone.

  “Interrupt me again, mage, and I’ll have your liver for dinner,” the king warned. His voice left no doubt that he meant it. Pritkin skidded to a halt.

  I glanced from Pritkin’s furious face to Marlowe’s interested one. “What am I missing?”

  “The Codex is the . . . the primer, if you like, the text on which all modern magic is based,” Marlowe informed me. “Merlin composed it, partly from his own work, and partly from his research into the available magical texts of his day—many of which are now lost to us. He was afraid that knowledge would be lost if someone didn’t catalog it for future generations. But legend says that we only have half his work, that there was originally a second volume.” He glanced at the king. “Even if it still exists, what good would it do you? Human magic doesn’t work here.”

  “Some does,” the king replied evasively. He was trying to look as if the conversation barely interested him, but doing a lousy job. His enormous eyes were fairly dancing with excitement, and the cheeks over the curly beard were flushed. “Merlin divided his spells into two parts for security. The spells themselves were in volume one, the counterspells in volume two. Most of the counterspells have been discovered by trial and error through the years, except the odd lot, like that geis of yours. I want—”

  My brain stuttered to a halt at the magic word. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me the Codex contains a spell to remove the geis?”

  “It is said to contain the counters to all Merlin’s spells. He invented the dúthracht, so it should be in there.” He regarded me shrewdly. “Does that add incentive, seer?”

  I put on my poker face and hoped it was better than his. “Some. But I don’t see how I can help you. If the book was lost—”

  “Are you Pythia or not?” he bellowed, shaking the rafters. “Go back in time and find it, before it disappeared!”

  I took in the eagerness written on his huge face and made a swift decision. “I could try,” I agreed. “But the price you offer is too low. What else will you give?”

  Pritkin let out an expletive and leapt for me. His face was beet red and he looked like he was about to burst a vein. Tomas took a step forward, but it was Marlowe, moving in a blur, who got a choke hold around his throat. I met the furious green gaze helplessly. I would talk to Pritkin later, try to explain everything, but now was not the time.

  The king looked like he was thinking about adding Pritkin to the evening menu, but I interrupted. “We were bargaining, Your Majesty, and there isn’t much time.” I gestured at the portal, which was glowing a bright, true blue, with swirls of peacock, teal, navy and royal moving in lazy patterns over the surface.

  “What do you want?” he asked swiftly.

  After years of watching Tony wheel and deal, this was almost too easy. “I need to find a vampire,” I told him. “His name is Antonio, although he may be using an alias. He’s said to be somewhere in Faerie. In addition to the golem, I want Antonio’s location and enough aid from you to retrieve him.” And anyone with him, I silently added. “And sanctuary for Tomas, here at your court, for as long as he needs it.”

  “The golem’s life and the sanctuary are simple enough,” the king said, “but the other . . .” He trailed off thoughtfully. “I know of the vampire of whom you speak,” he finally admitted. “But reaching him will be difficult—and dangerous.”

  “As will finding your book,” I pointed out.

  He hesitated, but the color at the edge of the spiral was starting to bleed to purple. He was out of time and I was the only one who could retrieve the book he wanted so badly. “Done. Bring me the book, and you will have your vampire.”

  I nodded and started forward, only to collide with Billy, who was backing away. “I-I need to rethink this,” he babbled. “I’ll take the next bus.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I demanded.

  His face was white, and his hands were sketching agitated patterns in the air. “What if I lose my body when we return? I just got it back, Cass!”

  “A little while ago, you were worried about what might happen if you stayed!”

  “And now I’m worried about what’ll happen if I go.” He looked genuinely terrified. “You don’t understand what could be through there!”

  “Billy! We don’t have time for this! You already came through a portal on the way here.”

  “Yeah, and look what it got me! Think it through, Cass!”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, and wasn’t given the chance to find out. “Get in the portal, remnant,” the pixie said. “We don’t need your kind here.”

  “Stay out of this, dolly,” Billy warned, swiping at her with his hat.

  Suddenly, a blur shot in front of us, heading for the portal, and I barely had a chance to recognize Françoise before a bright light flashed and she was gone. The king let out an enraged bellow. “Bring her back!” he ordered.

  The pixie unsheathed her tiny sword. I’d seen what that thing could do, but Billy hadn’t and he didn’t even bother to dodge. The side of the sword caught him in the stomach, lifting him off his feet and smacking him backwards. I had a chance to see his wide-eyed shock, and then he was gone. The pixie flew straight into the portal after him, their flashes coming so close together that they almost looked like one.

  I turned to see that Pritkin had collapsed to his knees, Marlowe on his back. I was moving forward to intervene when he suddenly hit the vamp in the temple and simultaneously brought his other elbow back in a savage jab to the ribs. Marlowe let go and staggered backwards, straight into the vortex. Pritkin stayed down for a second, a hand to his injured throat, trying to get his breath back. From his gasping wheezes, it sounded like Marlowe’s choke hold had been closer to a strangulation.

  “Cassie, you must go,” Tomas said urgently. He paused, his expression an odd mix of tenderness and pain. “Try not to get killed.”

  “Yeah. You, too.” I would have preferred time to say good-bye, but there wasn’t any. I kissed him quickly, took a running start and threw myself at the swirl of color. At the last second Pritkin dove in beside me. There was a flash of light, then another, then only blackness.

  Chapter 13

  I came around because a pounding was reverberating in my head. I realized three things simultaneously: I was back at Dante’s, the pounding was coming from large speakers masquerading as giant tiki heads and Elvis was looking really rough—even for a dead guy. I blinked and Kit Marlowe shoved a drink into my hand. “Try to look normal,” he murmured as Elvis started on the chorus to “Jailhouse Rock.”

  I looked around dazedly but found it hard to concentrate on anything but the huge man in white sequins who was swaying in what I guess was meant to be an alluring fashion. The bullet that had recently scalped him had been large caliber, and I didn’t think the emergency toupee was holding up too well. The ladies throwing everything from room keys to und
erwear onstage didn’t seem to notice, though. I guess love really is blind.

  I wanted to ask what was going on, but my brain and mouth didn’t seem to be connected. I sat, swaying a little in my chair. Half the audience was doing the same, but their movements were an unconscious imitation of the performance and not because of an unclear concept of which way was up. What was wrong with me? I’d barely had the thought when I remembered: the portal. Unlike the unnoticeable transition at MAGIC, this one had packed a wallop. Trust Tony to cheap out. Judging by the way my head felt, he’d gone for the bargain-basement version since he hadn’t planned to ever have to use it himself. I hoped it had given him a really big migraine.

  Marlowe picked a blue lace thong off his ear, one of the offerings to the god of rock ’n’ roll that hadn’t quite made the stage, and tossed it over his shoulder. “We’re in trouble,” he said unnecessarily.

  I raised an eyebrow. What else was new? Marlowe used his swizzle stick to poke the fist-sized shrunken head that was posing as a centerpiece. The fact that the ugly thing sat on a pretty nest of dark green palm fronds and orange birds of paradise helped not at all. A shriveled, raisinlike eye reluctantly opened and rotated in his direction. “Can’t it wait? This is my favorite song.”

  “I need a refill,” Marlowe told it tersely. “One of the same.” The head closed its eyes, but its mouth kept moving.

  “What—” I paused to swallow because my tongue felt about twice the usual size, then tried again. “What is it doing?”

  “Communicating with the bar,” Marlowe answered, glancing around surreptitiously.

  “I’m going to pass out now,” I informed him.

  Marlowe shot me a reproving glance. “You will do no such thing. The Circle has us surrounded. Two of their operatives saw us flash in and now everyone they left at the casino is here. They’re too wary of the internal defenses and your abilities to try anything without backup, so we have a few moments, but that’s all. You have to be ready to move.”

  “Move where? You said we’re surrounded.”

  “Casanova is going to arrange a diversion, but for the moment all we can do is sit tight. And have a drink,” he added, as I tried valiantly to keep my eyes from crossing. “Alcohol usually helps in these cases.”