by Karen Chance
“It’s been six months, Carlos,” Rian said, causing him to change octaves and facial expressions midway through a sentence. It gave him a weird, schizophrenic tic, but I didn’t care. I was too busy trying to absorb what she was saying.
“Six months?”
“Time passes differently here,” she reminded me. “That is why your power doesn’t work. We are no longer in your time stream.”
“But six—”
“That is one reason I agreed to come with you. Lord Rosier has waited a long time for this. He isn’t going to lose his son again if he can help it.”
“Is that why there are so many guards?” Caleb demanded.
“No.” Rian glanced around, and for a second, I thought I saw her large, almond-shaped eyes sliding behind Casanova’s. “I’ve never seen so many all at once. It’s the only good sign.”
“Good?” Casanova asked himself. “How is that—”
He abruptly stopped when several indigo-robed guards broke away from a nearby group and came in our direction. They were muffled up more than the tourists, just sharp dark eyes and arched black eyebrows showing between their turbans and the veils they’d tucked into the necks of their robes. Which didn’t entirely obscure the no-nonsense curved swords at their sides.
I didn’t say anything, either, as they came closer. Or move. Or even breathe. I tried to tell myself to act natural, but it wasn’t working so great. And I wasn’t the only one. Suddenly, the only movement in our small group was the wind whipping our robes around, and the camel thing chewing on Casanova’s hair.
Until the guards passed by, and grabbed a couple of kids who had been playing on the rocky edge of the precipice. A frantic mother came up and retrieved them, already sobbing even before one of the men started telling her off. I swallowed sand and hung my head, and poured some of the water over my hot neck until they’d gone again.
“It is good,” Rian said, clearing her throat. “For it shows that the master is worried. There are at least three times the usual number of guards on duty, perhaps more. Something that would not be the case if he didn’t consider himself to be vulnerable.”
“He thinks we can do it,” I said, translating that.
“He thinks we’ll be stupid enough to try to do it,” Casanova corrected. “The guards are to make sure we don’t succeed!”
I stared at the gate, which had a huge, old-fashioned portcullis at the top, its jagged teeth cast in some kind of black metal. The tips glinted dully in the light’s last rays, as if they’d been dipped in blood. I glanced at Caleb, who was looking at them, too.
And unlike Casanova, he and I didn’t have an out. Rosier had promised Pritkin recently not to attempt to assassinate me again, but I wasn’t sure how that worked when I was the party on the offensive. But even if it did apply, it left a whole host of options wide-open—none of which I was likely to enjoy. And as for Caleb . . .
“If you want to go back, I’ll understand,” I told him quietly.
He pursed his lips slightly, and shot me a glance. It almost looked like he was trying to hold back a grin, except that Caleb didn’t grin. It seemed to be against the war mage code or something. And because it would have been crazy under the circumstances.
“You going back?”
“No.” It wasn’t like this was going to get any easier later.
He stood up and stretched, corded muscles rippling under the thin material of the robes. “Guess I’ll go when you do.”
“Oh, for—God preserve me from brainless heroics!” Casanova snapped.
“Didn’t think you believed in God.”
“I believe in Satan,” he said, pushing the camel thing away from his hair. “I ought to. I’m standing on his bloody doorstep!”
• • •
If Satan’s doorstep was impressive, his atrium was breathtaking.
We passed through the gate into a chasm of a tunnel, the fading light from behind us washing along the ceiling like red water, too late in the day to really light our way, but too early for the lanterns that glinted in intervals overhead to be lit. I navigated by letting my fingertips trail over the rough, rocky surface of the nearest wall, which still held the heat of the day and probably would for hours considering the thickness of the stone. And felt some of that initial awe creep back.
Despite the air in here, which was pretty funky from too many bodies pressed too close together, and the constantly jostling crowd, and my seriously aching calf muscles, I still felt it—the weight of centuries pressing down like an extra atmosphere.
Caleb had been right; this place was old. Older than our pyramids, older than anything on earth. Maybe as old as this world itself, since there were chisel marks on the dark red stone, but no mortar lines that I could see. It was as if it had been carved instead of built. As if some giant had whittled away a mountain from the top down, leaving the pieces that fit his crazy blueprint and carrying away the rest.
It should have been impressive, and maybe if I was a tourist it would have been. As it was, it was more intimidating. I felt the knot in my stomach draw a little tighter, even before we stumbled out the other side a few minutes later.
Into something that looked a lot like a souk.
Shops lined streets going in all directions like spokes on a wheel. And selling everything from spices to live animals, bright metalware to gauzy clothing, pottery to vegetables, fish to leather goods, and wool to fresh-baked bread. Merchants called out offers to us new arrivals even as they tried to roll up the awnings over their shops, or light the lanterns strung like stars over the streets, or slap fresh meat onto grills, sending up mouthwatering aromas to tantalize our dust-covered taste buds. It was loud and raucous and crowded and strangely jolly, but Caleb didn’t appear enthralled.
“Servants, my ass,” he muttered.
It took me a moment to realize what he meant, because most of the people hanging around the gate, waiting for friends and family to come out, looked like a mix of those on the road. With one exception. A depressing number had what looked like slaves following along behind, thin men and women, and in some cases children, in bare feet and simple tunics, their arms reaching for packages and boxes or the reins of animals.
Most of the slaves didn’t look native. Some of them didn’t even look human. I was staring, probably rudely, at one with mottled blue skin and what looked like a few extra arms when Rian grabbed my sleeve.
Because yeah.
The guards were thick on the ground in here, too.
They were slightly less obvious, lounging by food stalls or interspersed with the crowd by the gate. But there were plenty of them, scanning the new arrivals with the watchfulness of cops and security forces everywhere. And they didn’t look like they missed much.
But they missed us, thanks to Caleb.
He waved a hand, sending a jolt of something to goose the last in a line of camels a little ways in front of us. It gave a startled bleat and crashed into the next in line, and then the whole group, already tense from the dark tunnel they’d just been through, were bellowing and bucking and scattering in all directions. The frantic driver and his boy ran after them, yelling for help, which they reluctantly got from some of the merchants with vulnerable piles of fruit and veg.
They didn’t get any from the guards.
But for a moment, everyone was watching the show instead of the line, and we slipped through.
“This way, quickly,” Rian said, pulling us out of the crush around the gate and into the more anonymous crowd.
Or, at least, that’s what it looked like she said. I couldn’t hear a damned thing. To the sounds of people talking and cart wheels squeaking and animals bleating and merchants cursing and music blaring from every tavern on every street had just been added a blast of horns from the higher walls, heralding the arrival of night.
I grabbed Rian’s arm, so I wouldn’
t lose her, and gave up on subtlety. Nobody could hear me in all this anyway. “Where are they keeping him?” I yelled, only to have her nod at the street directly ahead of us. And say something I couldn’t make out, because I don’t have vampire hearing.
But then, maybe I didn’t need it.
Far above the smelly, raucous, lively streets was a long, low, elegant building of balconies and terraces and a few graceful towers. Patches of greenery interlaced the stone here and there, almost shocking in this landscape. What looked like fountains caught the last of the light in a few places. And while the place looked like it had also been carved out of the local stone, it must have come from a different strata. Because it was a pale, honey gold that shimmered against the darker layers all around, as if laced with gold dust.
If ever anything had screamed palace, that was it.
“It’s not behind the highest wall,” Caleb said, in my ear. As if he’d come to the same conclusion.
“So . . . that’s good at least.”
“Depends.”
I turned to look at him. “On what?”
“On what’s on those upper three levels.”
They were dark, now that the local sun had set, set into the cliffs under an overhang of stone, with just a few stray lights gleaming here and there ominously. Like a heavy brow over glittering eyes. I felt myself start to tense up again, even without knowing why.
And then I got a reason when Caleb gave me a massive shove from behind.
I stumbled and then hit the ground, wrenching a wrist and skinning my hands in the process. But I didn’t mind. Because a moment later, somebody in a swift-moving chariot tore through the souk—including the area where I’d just been standing. If I’d stayed where I was, I’d have been crushed under its wheels like the worldly belongings of one unfortunate immigrant.
The driver never even appeared to notice. I watched from the ground as he turned onto one of the spokelike streets radiating out from the hub formed by the gate, his bright green silk robe flapping as he whipped his chariot back and forth on a crazy course that seemed intent on doing the most damage possible. Until it hit the front of a shop and crashed inside, the camel creatures bucking and rearing and making enough noise to cut through even the noise of the crowd.
The driver jumped off, laughing, and disappeared into a tavern across the street, along with a girl in a skimpy outfit.
Leaving the merchant with the camel-filled shop to sort things out for himself.
And me to get hauled off the ground by an irate war mage.
“Thanks,” I told him. “I didn’t see—” I stopped, because Caleb wasn’t looking real concerned over my skinned knees right now. Caleb was looking the way Pritkin had a few times back when we’d first met.
Right before he tried to kill me.
“What?” I said, looking around for another chariot. But the street was clear—at least of maniacal vehicles. People were washing back into the lane, including the immigrant’s family scurrying to collect what remained of their belongings. Things were returning to what passed for normal around here.
But Caleb didn’t look like he thought so.
“Notice anything?” he hissed.
“What are you—” I stopped because I had. I’d just noticed something. Not something added, but something missing.
Or somebody.
“Where,” Caleb asked me through clenched teeth, “is that damned vampire?”
Chapter Sixteen
I scanned the crowd, but there was no sign of a mouthy vampire in a dusty Obi-Wan robe screeching about being almost run down. Or a calm, serene one under the control of a being probably used to the crazy drivers around here. There was no one at all but the thinning stream of people through the gate and the life around the shops getting back to normal.
I didn’t understand. We’d been distracted for only a second. Where could she have gone so fast? And why would she just leave us in an alien city filled with guards who probably had our pictures taped to their dartboards?
My mouth felt dry, so I swallowed. “I asked her where Pritkin was being kept. Maybe she went off to find out.”
Caleb shot me a furious look. “And maybe she went off to win bonus points with her lord and master by ratting us out!”
I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous. If she didn’t want me going after Pritkin, all she had to do was stay in Vegas. I’d never have made it this far without her. I could have opened the gate, but not gotten past the guards. I needed an incubus for that—”
“And she made sure you got one!”
“Yes, so why help us if she just planned to turn us in?”
“Perhaps she thought she’d get more if we proved a credible threat,” Caleb said, seething. “Telling her precious master what we have planned while we’re still in Vegas might win her a point or two. But if she stops us when we’re actually in his city, when we’re less than a mile from our goal, she could expect him to be a lot more generous!”
“Not if she helped us get in to begin with!”
“She can say she was afraid if she didn’t go along, we’d manage to find another way in, and she wouldn’t be able to warn him since she wouldn’t know what it was.”
I tried to think of an objection to that—tried hard. Because if Rian had decided to rat us out, we were pretty much screwed. And that was especially true a moment later, when a rolling, metallic sound clattered across the souk, coming from the direction of the gate.
The door on this side was still open, and still coughing out straggling parties of new arrivals. But I had a really bad feeling that maybe that wasn’t the case on the other side. It looked like they were rolling up the welcome mat for the night—with us inside.
“She timed it perfectly, all right,” Caleb snarled, grabbing my hand and jerking me toward one of the side streets.
“Caleb, listen,” I said, running along behind. “She’s helped Pritkin before, more than once. She’s even put herself in danger to help him. There’s no reason to believe—”
“There’s every reason! You heard her yourself. She’s overdue to return, probably by a few hundred years. Maybe Rosier got tired of her little dodge and her helping his wayward son, and told her she had to make room for someone else. And maybe she decided to hell with that—and to hell with us!”
And damn it, that sounded horribly logical.
“Then why did Casanova spend all that time arguing with us?” I demanded. “He was trying to turn us back!”
“Maybe she told him to ham it up, to make sure we didn’t suspect anything. Or maybe he really didn’t know. He’s a vamp, and they always look out for number one. And Mircea is his master. What kind of reception do you think he’ll get when Mircea finds out he put you in danger?” He whirled on me suddenly. “Can he stop her from saying anything? Can he at least slow her down?”
“If she stays inside his body, maybe. I don’t know. But she doesn’t have to. She can come and go as she pleases, and I don’t think he has any control over that.” At least none that I’d ever seen.
Caleb used one of Pritkin’s favorite swearwords. And then he used a few more. “Fucking demons. You can’t trust them, not any of them. I knew better—”
I didn’t bother pointing out that that was not exactly PC, because at the moment, I kind of agreed with it. “Fucking demons” sounded kind of like the phrase for the day.
Especially since I was about to run a bunch of them down.
“Where are we going?” I asked, ducking and dodging, and trying to avoid slamming into someone and putting a flashing arrow over our heads.
“Away. She’ll be expecting us to stay put, to think we lost her in the crowd. She probably thought she’d be able to tell the guards right where to find us, while we wandered around, eating kebabs or some shit.”
“So, what’s the plan instead?”
“To find a place to hide!”
“Hide?” I grabbed his arm, pulling him into the shade of a balcony someone had forgotten to roll up. It wasn’t much as a hiding place went, but at least it was off the street. “You know what the odds are of us avoiding them until morning?” I asked. “Or of making it back to the portal if we do?”
“You got a better idea?” he demanded. “Because I’m good—I’m real good—but I’m not going to be able to fight our way out of here!”
“Not on your own. But there’s somebody else here who knows the place at least as well as Rian.”
Caleb made a disgusted sound. “Casanova’s her creature. He’s also petrified of ruining that pretty face of his. Even if he didn’t turn traitor, we can’t rely on him to do a damned—”
“Not Casanova!” I said, because I pretty much agreed with that sentiment. “Pritkin.”
Caleb looked at me like I’d finally tipped the scales, like I’d been hovering in his mind between eccentric and downright nuts, and he’d finally decided where the arrow pointed. “And just how,” he said heavily, “do you expect us to reach him? The odds were bad enough before; any minute now, we’ll have the whole city on our asses!”
“But the city will expect us to be hiding, if we figured it out, or hanging around the souk if we didn’t. They won’t expect us to be going after Pritkin.”
“Yes, yes, that’s probably true. And there’s a reason for that,” Caleb hissed. And then he abruptly pulled up the hood on my robe.
“What—”
“Don’t look behind you, but a bunch more guards just ran into the souk.”
So much for any lingering faith I had in Rian. Goddamnit! If she had a neck, I’d wring it, I thought, glaring through the space under his arm at a bunch of guards who were pulling off veils and jerking robes apart and generally acting like none of the people had any damned rights at—
My thoughts screeched to a halt, just like something else had recently. Something else that was still poking out of a ruined shop front. Because around here, you were either a have or a have-not, and it looked like the haves could do whatever the hell they damned well pleased.
