by Karen Chance
“You don’t want to know,” I told him shortly.
He didn’t argue, but his brows drew together as he surveyed the woman. He appeared genuinely concerned about her, which thawed my attitude towards him a little. It also made me wonder whether he was in equal danger himself. Billy Joe was back in our time, babysitting my body, but Tomas currently had no spirit in residence—which was another way of saying he was dead. Of course, he died every day when the sun came up, but this wasn’t the usual way. I hoped we weren’t going to find a permanent corpse when we got back.
“Let’s get her loose,” I said, to distract myself as much as him. We began trying to pry the woman off the rack, but it was harder than it sounds. Although I tried not to hurt her, I did some damage. The ropes had eaten into her flesh, and blood had dried around them almost like glue; when I pulled them away from her wrists and ankles, bits of gory tissue came off, too.
I glanced around the room, hoping to see another source of water, but there was nothing except the men chained to the walls. One was hanging from a lip of stone about nine feet off the ground. His arms were bound behind him, pulled up at a terrible angle, and weights had been attached to his feet. He wasn’t moving but swung there like a limp doll. Another was lying in the straw below, moaning softly. I did a double take; he actually looked like he’d been boiled. His skin was a horrible mottled red and was peeling away in strips. The other emaciated men showed signs that the torturers had already had some time with them. Backs were beaten raw, hands and feet were missing here and there, and pieces of flesh had been gouged out. I turned away before I was sick.
Something nudged my elbow and I looked down to see a flask floating in the air beside me. I took hold of it gingerly, eyeing the watching crowd with some suspicion. But none of them made any threatening moves, and the container smelled like whiskey. I’d have preferred water, but the alcohol might dull her pain. “Here, drink this.” I knelt by the woman’s head and held the flask to her lips. She swallowed a little of the contents, then mercifully passed out.
I left Tomas tending to her and went to try to free the men, but it soon became obvious that it wasn’t going to happen. The woman had been tied with ropes, I guess because chains don’t stretch well, but the men were in iron. I glanced at Tomas. I didn’t want to talk to him, much less ask for help, but there was no way I could get them free on my own. “Can you break these?” I finally asked.
“I can try.” He came over and we both gave it our best, but nothing happened. It was all we could do to lift the heavy chains, much less manage anything as strenuous as breaking them. We seemed to have lost a lot of strength in the transition. Just pulling the woman loose had felt like I’d spent three hours on a treadmill set on high.
Overall, I decided, things weren’t looking good. I didn’t know where I was, how I was going to get back or when the torturers were likely to show up. A rat in the corner twitched tiny whiskers at me and I kicked the ladle at it. Oh, yeah, and if I did get back where I belonged, I’d be in the middle of a fight that I wasn’t completely sure we were winning. Even for me this counted as a really bad day.
“This is useless, Cassie,” Tomas said after a few minutes. “I am as weak as a human here, and my strength is fading quickly. We should help the woman while we can. There is nothing to be done for the rest.”
I reluctantly agreed. It seemed to be my night for rescues. I eyed the ghostly army that was staring at me patiently. “Um, does anybody know how to get out of here?”
The ghosts looked at me, then at each other. Some shuffling was done until one was pushed out of the throng. It was a young man, maybe eighteen, dressed in an outfit that looked like a poor relation’s version of Louis-César’s. It was blue wool and he had a brown hat in his hand with a jaunty yellow feather sticking out of the broad brim. I guessed he’d been a dandy in life, since his cravat was very frothy, his wig was long and curled to within an inch of its life and his buff leather shoes had comical, big yellow bows on them. Pretty colorful for a ghost; based on experience, I guessed he’d been dead a year or less.
He gave a bow, and although it wasn’t as courtly as Louis-César’s, he used the same phrase. “A votre service, mademoiselle.”
Great, just great. I looked at Tomas, who was kneeling by the woman, checking her pulse. “I don’t suppose you speak French?”
He shook his head. “A few phrases, but nothing that would help here.” He looked bitter. “I am rarely allowed at Senate headquarters.”
“Since when do they speak French in Vegas?”
He looked at me impatiently. “The European Senate is based in Paris, Cassie.”
“I didn’t know you were with them.”
“There are a great many things you don’t know.”
I didn’t have time to figure out what he was talking about. I regarded the young ghost with some annoyance. As grateful as I was not to be back in Louis-César’s body, I missed having access to his knowledge. “We don’t speak French,” I told him.
The young man looked confused, and some more shuffling was done. Another man, older this time and dressed more plainly in simple fawn-colored knee pants and a navy blue coat, was pushed forward. He hadn’t bothered to cover his bald head with a wig, and he looked like the no nonsense type. “I was a wine trader in life, mademoiselle. I often had reason to visit Angleterre; perhaps I may be of service?”
“Look, I don’t know what I’m doing here. Or where this is. Or what you want. Some information would help.”
He looked puzzled. “Your pardon, mademoiselle, but we also are at something of a loss. You are spirits, but not like us. Are you angels, sent at last in answer to our prayers?”
I snorted. I’d been compared to a lot of things in life, but never that. And Tomas sure as hell didn’t qualify, unless fallen angels counted. “Um, no. Not really.” The younger man said something and the older one looked shocked. “What’d he say?”
The man seemed embarrassed. “He fears for his lover’s life, that she will die as he did, as we all did, in this place of everlasting suffering. He said that he would not care if you were from le diable, from Satan himself, if you come bearing hope of vengeance. But he did not mean it.”
Looking at the anger on the young man’s face, I doubted that. “We’re not demons. We’re…it’s complicated. I just want to get her out of here before the jailer gets back. Can you tell me where I am?”
“You are in Carcassonne, mademoiselle, the very gate of Hell.”
“And that’s where? I mean, is this France?” The man looked at me as if I’d asked him what year it was, which had actually been my next question. Screw it. I didn’t have time to explain to a ghost that, no, I wasn’t actually crazy. At least, I didn’t think so. “Never mind. Just tell me where to take her. They’re going to kill her—she’s got to escape.”
“No one escapes.” He looked let down. “Are you not here to avenge Françoise’s death?”
I was getting a little peeved. I don’t have a lot of patience anyway, and what I’d had was pretty much gone. “I’d rather she didn’t die in the first place. Are you going to help me or not?”
Something I said got through to the young man, because he began to speak rapidly to his companion. The woman came around while they were arguing back and forth, and I patted her arm, since there was nowhere below her wrists that I could touch without hurting her. She looked at me with wide eyes but didn’t say anything. That was just as well; neither of us was in any shape for twenty questions.
The older man turned to me, looking disapproving. “Even if we help you, she may die as others have done. Would you forgo vengeance because she lives a few days?”
I lost it. It had been a long day and I was absolutely not standing there getting lectured by a pain-in-the-ass ghost. I already had Billy Joe for that. “I am not the freaking angel of death, all right? I’m not here to get revenge for you. If you want it, go get it yourselves. That’s what ghosts do. Now either help me or get the hell ou
t of my way.”
The older man drew himself up indignantly. “We cannot avenge ourselves, or we would already have done so! This castle has been used for torture for centuries, and something has been done to it, some spell laid, making it impossible for us to interfere. Do you really believe we could have stood by, letting such atrocities happen, if we had a choice? If you are not a spirit, then you must be a powerful sorceress. Help us! Help us, and we will be your slaves.” He got down on one knee, and suddenly, the whole group was kneeling. This was completely unfair.
“Um, what’s your name?”
“Pierre, mademoiselle.”
“Okay, Pierre. I’m not a witch; I’m a clairvoyant. You probably know more magic than I do. I can’t undo a spell for you, any spell. All I know is that woman is going to die very soon if we don’t get her out of here.” He didn’t look satisfied, but the young man beside him had had enough. He darted forward and started pulling on my hand and babbling so fast that, even if I’d known French, I probably wouldn’t have understood him.
Pierre regarded me unfavorably, but he did agree to translate after some prompting by the younger ghost. “There is an underground passage, mademoiselle, from the foot of one of the towers to the river Aude. It has long been an escape route in times of trouble. Etienne can show you.”
I looked dubiously at Tomas. “Can you carry her?” He nodded and moved to pick her up. His eyes widened slightly and he stumbled before getting to his feet. “What is it?”
“She weighs more than I expected.” He frowned. “We must hurry, Cassie, or my strength may fail entirely.”
I agreed and tugged at the door handle. It finally opened after a few false starts—I kept putting my hand through it. I could solidify enough to manipulate things, but Tomas was right—it was getting harder. I was panting by the time we made it to the corridor, but there was nobody to hear. Guess all the torturers were on a coffee break. Unlike at Dante’s, though, I knew for a fact that people were around, and that they were coming soon.
The young ghost faded in and out as we started down a different flight of stairs from the one I’d used last time. This one wasn’t any brighter, but the yellow feather in his hat had that good old ghostly luminescence and we followed it as if it was a candle. I didn’t stub a toe this time, although I was soon wishing I hadn’t skipped my jogging session so often. Simply walking down the stairs was starting to feel like running a marathon. I began to have sympathy for Billy Joe’s bitch sessions every time I asked him to bring me something.
By the time we got to the bottom of the staircase, I was whipped. I started to lean against the wall but stopped when I almost fell through it. “How much farther?” The young man didn’t reply, only motioned me forward desperately. I looked around, but the chorus hadn’t come along. I wasn’t upset. They seemed more interested in hurting somebody than in saving a life, something that didn’t endear them to me.
We stumbled into a passage so dark that the only light came from the bobbing feather on our guide’s hat. It became steadily more damp as we continued, to the point that we were soon sloshing through puddles we couldn’t see, which I hoped meant we were getting close to the river. The damned tunnel seemed endless, and decades’ worth of cobwebs caught in the woman’s hair, but I didn’t have the energy to brush them off. Finally we emerged on the other side, but only a tiny crescent moon and the spreading Milky Way arching over us gave the scene any light. Night without modern electricity is damn dark, but it seemed almost bright to me after the tunnel.
Tomas’ strength gave out a short time later and I had to help him. We put the woman between us and all but dragged her along narrow cobblestone paths. I didn’t want to risk hurting her, but sticking around wasn’t a good idea, either. I knew what that psycho jailor had planned. Even if she died in the escape, it beat the hell out of burning to death.
The city that surrounded the castle was seriously creepy at night, with the rows of houses leaning so far over the road in places that neighbors on opposite sides of the street could have shaken hands. We jumped whenever an owl hooted or a dog barked, but we kept going. I tried not to look back at the hulking outline of the castle, with its conical roofs making ominous black shadows against the dark sky. I hoped whatever destination Feather had in mind was close. It took a lifetime, it took forever, to the point that all I could do was concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over. Finally, when I was about to have to call a halt or collapse anyway, I saw a tiny light in the distance, so dim that I thought I’d imagined it at first. It slowly grew brighter and coalesced into a candle sitting in the window of a small house. Feather didn’t materialize, maybe because he was as worn out as I was, but I summoned enough energy to knock on the door instead of putting my fist through it. Finally, it opened and light spilled out, looking unbearably bright after the darkness. I scrunched up my eyes and, when I opened them, I was looking into Louis-César’s worried face.
Chapter 8
I was lying on the ground. It took me a second to realize that I was both back in my correct time and back in my own body. I would have cried with relief if I’d had the strength.
Billy Joe coalesced over me and he looked pissed. “Why didn’t you tell me you could do that? I got trapped in there! I could have died!”
I didn’t try to sit up, since the asphalt seemed to be doing a pretty violent version of the hula beneath me. “Don’t be a drama queen. You’re already dead.”
“That was completely uncalled for.”
“Cry me a river.” Billy Joe was about to say something else but had to move because Louis-César bent over me and he wasn’t about to get caught in any more bodies.
“Mademoiselle Palmer, are you all right? Can you hear me?”
“Don’t touch me.” I decided I wanted to sit up after all, mainly because my skirt had ridden up to the point that my pink lace undies were showing, but no way did I want him near me. Every time we touched, I ended up thrown through time. My senses had been trying to warn me earlier, but it had been impossible to tell the difference between the fear caused by his nearness and the general terror of being captured by the Senate. In any case, I’d had all the out-of-body experiences I needed for a very long time. “Where’s Tomas?” I was still unhappy with him, but the thought that I might have accidentally killed him wasn’t pleasant.
“He is here.” Louis-César moved away about a foot, and I could see Tomas standing behind him. He was looking at the Frenchman with a weird expression, sort of stunned, almost like he didn’t recognize him.
“Are you ok?” I asked him in concern. I hoped somebody was home, since I had no idea how to go about finding some wandering spirit. After a long moment, Tomas nodded, but he didn’t speak. I decided that wasn’t good. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Billy Joe pushed in between us, careful not to touch anybody, and glared at me. “He’s fine. He came around a few minutes ago when you decided to rejoin us.” He scowled. “What’s the idea of going on vacation when there’s a crisis on?”
I ignored him. “Give me a hand up.” Tomas thought I was talking to him and bent over, forcing Billy Joe to dodge out of the way. I sat and looked about. There were eleven dead wererats, including Jimmy. His glassy rat eyes stared at me accusingly through the dissipating smoke, and I swore. “Damn it! I wanted to talk to him!” I rounded on Pritkin, who was standing with his arms raised theatrically, almost like he was pushing on something, only there was nothing there but air. “You killed him before I could ask about my father!”
Pritkin wasn’t paying me any attention. His eyes were focused outside our circle and he didn’t look good. His face was red, his eyes were glazed and the cords on the sides of his neck were bulging. When he spoke, it was in a strangled whisper. “I can’t hold much longer.” That didn’t make sense until I noticed a faint blue tinge to the air around us and realized that we were standing inside the mage’s shields. He’d created a defensive bubb
le around us by expanding his own protection, but it looked thin and weak, not like his old shields at all. Perhaps he’d stretched it too far; personal shields were designed for one person only. He was right; it wasn’t going to last.
“We have to get Cassie out of here,” Tomas said, and I noticed that his face also looked strained. Not as if he were bench-pressing a few hundred pounds like Pritkin, but as if he was terrified. He wasn’t watching the mage, though, or anything beyond him. He was looking at me.
Louis-César was the only one who seemed normal, with no visible signs of strain on that pleasant face. “Mademoiselle, if you have recovered sufficiently, may I suggest that you return to MAGIC? Tomas will take you.”
Pritkin mumbled something and a glowing symbol wrote itself in the air for an instant, so close I could have reached out and touched it, before dissolving into the shields. I knew what he was doing since one of the mages at Tony’s had set up a perimeter ward on his vault using words of power. I had been intrigued that he could build a protective spell on something as intangible as a spoken word, but he’d explained that he was using it as a focus for his own energy.
Magic comes from many sources. The Fey and, to a much lesser degree, lycanthropes are said to get theirs from nature, drawing on the massive energy of the planet as it moves at terrifying speeds through space. Gravity, sunlight, the pull of the moon, can all be converted to energy if you know how. I’ve even heard speculation that the Earth generates a magical field the same way it does a gravitational one, and that someday, someone will figure out how to tap it. That is the holy grail of modern magical theory, though, and no one has managed to do it so far—although countless hours have been lost trying. Until the mystery is solved, human magic users can borrow only a tiny amount from nature; most of their power has to come from themselves. Except for dark-magic users, who can borrow tremendous magical energy by stealing the lives of others or from the netherworld, but they pay a huge price for it.
